The Turtle Story -- Shani's Birthday, 2009

I know I said I was putting the blog on hold for now, but an experience I had this past weekend, led me to share this with you...


In two weeks, I will be heading to the mountains of North Carolina for a spiritual retreat with an African Shaman where we will be engaging in Indigineous African Grief Rituals for Men. This morning I went to the registration page and found a picture of a turtle, sketched in an African Tribal style. I knew immediately that I am supposed to be there. I don’t know what will happen, but this is destined to be a spiritual experience for me. Turtles became a “totem” for me very early on after Shani’s death. There have been a number of experiences involving turtles, and I even had a tattoo of one done on my right forearm in what I would call a Pacific Islander sort of style.

The appearances of these turtles have typically grounded me at times when I needed it the most. And now, as you will see later on in the story, I can certainly connect with the direction I have been given to “go within my most primal essence.”

I have been waiting to share the turtle story, and after this morning feel more compelled now than ever to do so. Sean is working from these stories to help piece the book together in a different fashion, but here is an excerpt summary from the book proposal we wrote.

This should give you a good idea as to why I love turtles.  Hope you enjoy….

Mike

My Last Blog...For Now

“When people are faced with an evil that’s incomprehensible, they will respond and turn it into something positive.”  -Dr William Petit, Jr.

I came upon a People Magazine this morning and found an article that I could certainly relate to. During a home invasion in 2007, Dr. Petit’s wife and two daughters were murdered and he was brutally beaten and left for dead. Somehow he was able to escape and survive. Further into the article, I learned of the non-profit that he has set up in honor of his family and the $1.4 million that it has generated to this point. The story also told of his struggles to this day in trying to survive his horrible tragedy, including moving in with his parents and abandoning his medical practice. When I read the quote above, I reflected on my own experience. For months and months following Shani’s death, I held onto the belief that in doing something positive, in writing a book, or setting up some type of non-profit championing non-violence, I would honor Shani, and I began to put all of that in motion. Still reeling from the effects of intense grief and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I began bulldozing ahead, following the path of the hero.

A Yoga Practice For Living

When I think back to Shani’s murder 16 months ago, far enough removed from it to now see it from the perspective of an observer, I wonder how in the hell it is that I’m here. How did I not kill myself? How did I not drink myself into oblivion and completely self-destruct? How have I not completely lost my mind?

I read. I run. I ride. I write. I lift weights. I swim. I meditate and pray. I surround myself with loved ones and do my best to keep toxic energy out of my life. I see a therapist. I talk to Shani. I ask her for guidance. I eat healthy as much as possible. I cry. I laugh. I love. I live.

I also practice yoga.

Living

What to write…what to write. I’ve been in a great space for about a week now. I don’t have any stories to share off the top of my head, and frankly I’ve been too focused on my current day and potential of the future to spend much time dwelling on the past.

I’ve been living.

Freedom

I feel an amazing sense of freedom today. To start, it’s an absolutely beautiful day outside. The colors are just starting to turn, and it’s 80 degrees without a cloud in the sky. I knocked out a long run and was cheered on by a few homeless guys in the park downtown as I looped around a couple of times. That was cool. They raised their arms and smiled. I clapped my hands and yelled, “Just keep going, brothers! Keep going!” It was exhilarating.

The Trial (Part 2)

I’m not going to the trial.

The Trial

I don’t even know what to write. I’ve been wandering aimlessly throughout my days since Thursday, literally putting one foot in front of the other with no real direction outside of trying to get in a workout, studying when I can keep some sort of focus, and trying to write. I’ve not been very successful in any area really. I’ve ignored phone calls and text messages and disconnected from most of my friends and family.

I spoke to the District Attorney, whose office is handling Zeke’s case, on Thursday.

New York City Trip

I’m currently decompressing from my week long trip to New York. I hardly wrote anything while I was there, but as soon as I sat down and started to reflect on my visit, a rush of memories from the past week came flooding in.

Do You Remember?

Today would have been mine and Shani’s 9th wedding anniversary, and I will be spending it in the same city we spent our first, New York. I’ll be attending the Yankees game tonight with Sara, my great friend and roommate from my time in Florida last fall and the one who coached me through my first anniversary without Shani last year. She’s the perfect company for me today.

Since this is my second anniversary without Shani, I thought I’d share the story of last September 21st, the first without her in my physical presence, although I think it’s obvious that her spirit was right there with me.

This will be my last post for the next week or so while I’m in New York. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to share when I get back, but for now I’m just going to soak up the energy. Hope you enjoy the story.

Mike

My Element

“…Mike is totally in his element here (NYC).”

-Shani Fecht (excerpt from journal 7/25/03)

I’m headed to New York tomorrow morning for a week of couch crashing with old friends, connections with new ones and a bit of exploration and self discovery.  I’ve always been drawn to that city in some strange, cosmic way. I was the only Yankees fan I knew growing up in Sterling, IL, except for my uncle who turned me onto them as a 6-year-old. A couple of years ago, I asked him why he was a Yankees fan, having been raised in the same small town.

Apathy

I’ve been angry, apathetic and raw. I’ve got a chip on my shoulder the size of Texas, and the best I can give anyone involves little more than a shrug of my shoulders and a look of, “Well, what do you expect?” People see what I write, see me looking and acting differently I guess, and say, “You seem to be doing so much better.” What else are they supposed to say, right? If you call getting more comfortable in dealing with nightmares and putting a good face out there getting better, then yeah, I am. People see Facebook stuff and think they know you or know exactly where you are. There’s a reason it’s called “Face”book and not “Soul”book. This is no linear growth process, and right now, I am in a funk to end all funks. People read a post that’s positive and go, “Must be doing great today!” I struggle every day to try and stay positive. And sometimes that vibe I am putting out there is nothing more than an effort to fake it until I make it. I’m just trying not to do something that will lead to a deeper and darker hole.

One Year Later - A 9/11 Story

This was originally printed in The Pulse-Chattanooga's Alternative Weekly Newspaper, on September 11, 2006.

When I watched the attacks on the World Trade Center on TV in Atlanta, I cried and worried for my friends and coworkers who were living and working in the city. I also had no idea that one year later, September 11, 2002, I would be watching as firefighters and police officers lined the streets surrounding my new apartment on Greenwich Street in Lower Manhattan, less than 200 yards from Ground Zero, preparing for the ceremony to begin just blocks away.

Out of the Mouths of Babes…

“You know why I’m sad, Maw Maw?” Sophie, my five year old niece, had been noticeably disturbed lately. “I’m sad because I never got to tell Aunt Shani goodbye.”

“Oh Sophie, I’m so sorry,” my Mom said.

“Uncle Mikey didn’t get to say goodbye, either, did he?” She looked up through the sad eyes of a wounded little angel.

“No Sophie. Your Aunt Shani had an accident. When someone has an accident like that, you don’t get to say goodbye.”

I’m so sorry, too, Sophie. I’m so, so sorry.

The Dream

My feet are tucked under my body in a crouched position, the pads of which lightly touch the bottom surface of the pool, easily supporting the weight of the two buoyant bodies floating above. Her smooth legs wrap around my hips, she sits gently on my thighs. The defined arms of this well-kept and mature woman squeeze my neck, her chin firmly resting on my shoulder and mine on hers, just above the water line, a combination of sweat and water only adding to the sensation from the skin of our cheeks pressed firmly together. My arms wrap completely around her back, the string from her bikini top beneath my left hand, the thumb and forefinger of my right hand rubbing the base of her head and top of her neck as if to pull any possible remaining tension from her mind. We hold each other and float aimlessly through the shallow end of the pool, completely unaffected by any outside energy other than the blistering sun beaming through a cloudless blue summer Atlanta sky. The energy created in the convergence of souls resonates love earned through time, through experience.

Sitting With It...For Now

Post it. Don’t post it. Yes. No. Ok. Nope.

I haven’t posted much recently. It’s not that I haven’t been writing or that I am struggling to come up with a topic or anything like that. In fact, I’ve probably written more in the last week than I have in a while; I just haven’t put it out there for public consumption. I have one lengthy blog completely prepared.  It’s about an experience I had last week and the feelings that experience stirred up inside of me, but I’m just not ready to share it. I believe that doing so will be quite cathartic, but I’ve come to the conclusion I need to think it through a bit more. It’s really not all that uncommon for me to write something and then sit with it until I feel confident exposing my innermost thoughts. So often I find myself sharing exactly what it is that I am feeling in a particular moment or in response to a particular occurrence in this crazy journey I’m on.  However, this blog post that I’ve written is about a cosmic coincidence of sorts that has forced me to reexamine my feelings about people I personally held, and probably still hold, partially responsible for the circumstances that led us here.  It’s about Zeke’s father and step-mother.

Taking A Swing At Life

As I wrote in my Father’s Day post a couple of months ago, baseball has long been a deep connection that my father and I share. He was my coach all the way through high school, and I can’t even begin count the number of games we have attended together—from Spring Training through the last game of the World Series and everything in-between, including the College and Little League World Series. If it’s associated with baseball, my dad and I are tuned in. The baseball people out there know exactly how I feel. Dad and I decided in late May to finally take the father/son pilgrimage we had talked about forever to the real Field of Dreams located in Dyersville, Iowa, the actual site where the movie was filmed. We made the trip last week. Everything is still there—the house, the field, the bleachers and the corn, all of it. And 20 years later it looks just as it did on the big screen.

Guest Post Notification

Today’s post can be seen as a guest blog at Rockyourbodynyc.com. I’ve been very fortunate to have had some pretty incredible experiences out on the road over the course of my career, and this is definitely one of the most interesting of them all. For those of you who grew up in the 80’s like me, "Just a Gigolo" is a story you don’t want to miss! Rock on!!!

CLICK HERE TO READ TODAY'S POST

To Men

I went on a couple of dates this week with the same woman.

I’ve been putting myself out there socially a bit more recently and have been out with a few women prior to this, but this one was different. We have a lot in common and a lot of differences at the same time. Good differences, the kind that complement each other. With all that’s happened in the last year or so, I’ve had enough time to think about the qualities that I’m looking for in a woman, and it just so happens that she has a lot of them. There’s no need to worry. I’m not running off to Vegas, nor am I allowing myself to be vulnerable to the point of having my heart completely trampled on…at least not yet. If anyone has had to learn what it means to “live in the moment” and cherish it for what it is, it’s me, and I’m doing just that. Hell, I could never see this woman again, and I would still be forever grateful for what she has already given me. The beauty of the last few days is that I can now see that I can actually develop feelings for someone again, someone other than Shani, someone very different from Shani. This is good.

A Picture

I finally started studying for my personal training certification last night. With all of the traveling I’ve been doing, I just haven’t had the motivation to dive in. At the same time, I’m no newbie to this stuff, but I’ve finally made the commitment to knock this thing out. For the first time in 10 years, I am getting back to what drew me to the fitness industry in the first place, the desire to help others. By establishing myself as a trainer again, I am also mobile. Should I decide to relocate, no matter where I go, I can take my business with me. With that, I really can do whatever I choose to do.

As I was discussing a friend’s training program with him this afternoon, I was regurgitating all of the information I absorbed last night and began to feel that spark resurface, that passion I have for helping others experience the feeling of what it is to be healthy and strong, confident and motivated.

Guest Post Notification

I have been fortunate enough to have been invited to share my thoughts in a GUEST POST on another blog, so for this entry, I'm going to give you the link to my post on the other website.  Please, share your comments there, surf around the site, and recommend your friends to visit.  I'd love to throw some traffic to that site.

Here is the link:

CLICK HERE TO READ GUEST POST

What Does That Mean

I was up all night last night. I couldn’t sleep. It’s nothing new. My body simply refuses to shut down.

I fell in and out of consciousness between 7 and 10 in the morning and finally just decided to get up and face the day, what was to be my last day here in TX. My anxiety was high with the lack of sleep and the fact that I am heading back to TN tomorrow. It has been typical for me to experience my greatest breakthroughs and growth during these times of struggle, and today was no different. As I shared on my Facebook status months ago, “The greatest miracles in life happen in that place where ‘hanging on’ and ‘letting go’ collide.”

Just A Flight

I’m sitting next to my father, but no words are spoken. The flight attendant to my left looks as though she knows something is up. I’m trying to keep from falling out of my seat and into the aisle, from mentally cracking, screaming out loud, or both. I don’t trust myself, but I know I’m on a plane and don’t want to startle anyone. I’m hiding behind my sunglasses, with my ball cap pulled down low. The thoughts keep swirling in my head. Dead? Zeke? Where was she shot? How many times? Did she suffer?! God, no!!! Please tell me she didn’t suffer. No, no, no, no…HOW CAN SHE BE DEAD?!?! Dead?! At this point in time, I can’t even begin to wrap my brain around that fact, as if there is some part of me that thinks this is all a dream. I’m in shock. Tears are trickling down my cheeks in deep sorrow, and I tilt my head down to hide myself even further. Everything feels black. I just have to make it through the flight without incident, yet I struggle like a 2-year-old to sit still. I’ve never used so much energy to simply sit still.

Godzilla

I’m currently in Chicago for the weekend, and I’m staying with my cousin, David, his wife, Sarah, and their son 17-month-old son, Tyler, at their home in Aurora, which is about 45 minutes from downtown. It was almost a year ago to the week that I was here on my first trip outside of Atlanta after Shani’s death. I stayed with them for a few days, doing everything I could to just get away and possibly enjoy myself, attempting to escape the horror movie that my life had become only 2 months before. While here, it just so happened that the New York Yankees were in town, so David and I drove into the city to catch one of the four games that weekend.

Who Am I...now?

Sitting in a coffee shop alone in Austin on a hot Sunday afternoon, I look around and know no one. It was suggested that I would enjoy the vibe at this establishment as it represents some of the true, funky character that permeates this city. Everyone, including all of the customers and staff, seems to have at least one tattoo, and I can pick out at least eight different ethnicities or nationalities among them. It’s a very Bohemian theme, also prevalent in a large percentage of the other businesses I have visited as well.

Geneology & Geography

Over the course of my life, I have had situations that have caused me to question my spirituality, none more so than Shani’s death. Growing up, it was never a question. I was raised in a Catholic family, and I was taught this was God we’re talking about here. I wasn’t about to challenge something that could result in my spending the rest of eternity burning in hell. I believed what I believed, and that was that.

When Shani and I met, we were both searching for a sense of meaning in our lives. As time wore on, we became acutely aware of the soulful connection we shared. Shani’s journey was launched with the death of her mother when she was 21, and mine from my divorce at the age of 22. I never thought I would be a divorced father at the age of 25, and she certainly never could have imagined being motherless with a father in prison at the age of 30.

Shani's Little Girl

I’ve spent the past 24 hours preparing for a trip to Texas. I had originally planned on making a full West Coast jaunt until a couple of things at home caused me to stop and revise the schedule a bit. It does seem, however, that the opportunity to get out of here for 10 days or so is presenting itself. I’m going out to Austin to spend some time with Adam, who was mine and Shani’s roommate in our first apartment together in Chattanooga back in 1999-2000. I haven’t seen him in years, but we’ve really reconnected since Shani’s death. I tell him practically every time we speak that I’ll never forget Valentine’s Day in 2000 when he rode with me to get mine and Shani’s first dog, a black Shar-Pei named Bizkit. This dog was so ridiculously adorable that she didn’t look real. We actually nicknamed her “Gund” because of her resemblance to an actual stuffed toy. She was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

Healing Energy

Our bodies serve as the spirit’s connection to the material world. Most people believe there is some sort of afterlife and that our souls move on to another place, like heaven, or another dimension, when the body dies. Many people also believe that we possess the ability to connect or communicate with God directly through prayer and meditation and that these actions allow the spirit to move beyond the physical casing of the body. One might say that we possess the ability to quiet our minds and connect directly to the energy that we cannot visibly see.

I have written about how I feel more connected to Shani now in her death than I did when she was here. Being completely stripped of the human emotions that bog us down, the worry and anxiety of daily life, I believe that Shani is in a truly magical state, something far beyond human comprehension, something we can only begin to understand once we die.

Moving To New York (Part Two)

In my last post, I started the story of mine and Shani’s move to New York City.  CLICK HERE TO READ PART ONE

The following is the completion of that story…

In the time between calling the cops and parking the truck, Shani had located the apartment building and joined us on the corner. An Asian man and his family suddenly appeared among the group motioning over to his car, the Honda with the smashed mirror. I apologized over and over, and he just nodded again and again, apparently unable to speak English. I said that I would pay for it, but the communication barrier posed a problem. As we stood there near his car and he surveyed the damage, I took his information and promised to call him the following day to arrange payment for the broken mirror. We were able to get that much accomplished through broken English and improvised sign language. I returned to my conversation with the police officers.

Moving To New York (Part One)

In July of 2002, I was employed with Crunch Fitness, a health club chain based in New York City. At the time I was the Area Sales Director for the company’s 6 clubs in Atlanta. We had a pretty successful year to that point and there had been a shift in upper management in New York, creating a void for the same position in Manhattan. I thought for sure that they would either promote someone that lived in the city or hire someone more familiar with those particular clubs, so when I got the call offering me the position, not only was I floored, but I accepted it on the spot. Shani and I knew there was always the possibility I could get it, but no one had ever really mentioned anything concrete, certainly nothing along the lines of my having been the front-runner for the job.

I’ll never forget Shani’s response when I called to tell her.

Attachment Brings Suffering

What if everything with which you identified yourself in this world was suddenly gone? What if your spouse was murdered, your career evaporated, and your home all disappeared as if into thin air? What if you found yourself so distraught and haunted that you couldn’t sleep? What if you felt as if you had lost your mind? Where would you find peace or solace?

The Spiritual Path

This week has been quite an introspective time for me. Sean has been out of town on vacation, so we haven’t been meeting to write, and I’ve had a lot going on personally. Things seemed to be all over the place. Whenever I find myself emotionally spun like this, I will inevitably find myself standing there, looking up at the sky, asking, “What do you want me to do with this?”

It was the same back on the night of June 2, 2009. While just trying to make it through the night before catching my flight from Fort Lauderdale back to Atlanta, that was the exact question I posed to God.

“What do you me to do with this?”

Pain Is Pain

I just got home from the hospital after visiting a friend of mine and his live-in girlfriend, who suffered a stroke about 2 weeks ago. I hadn’t been over to see her yet and felt guilty. I was thinking about this and the past two weeks as I sat in the parking lot prior to going in.

Her stroke occurred at a time when I was experiencing my fair share of “heavy,” and I wasn’t responding well to any stress. I felt completely overwhelmed. When I found out about the stroke, all I could manage was just putting myself out there for them in case they needed anything. Regardless, I felt horrible for not having been present before now.

Adventure

Structure has always been important to me. Everything has to have a plan, and when we deviate from that plan, I get frustrated. That didn’t bode well in my relationship with Shani.

On Sunday mornings, I was typically up and off to yoga early, and she would still be in bed when I got home. This drove me nuts, but she believed that the weekends were her time so she was sleeping in on most of them. I would always fix us breakfast in bed when I got back though. It was usually the same old coffee, eggs, toast and veggie sausage, but it worked. It was our tradition.

Celebrate & Grieve

I went to Atlanta this weekend. Originally, I was supposed to go down Saturday night for a party for a friend of mine. Staci and her new husband were celebrating their recent marriage. After having a private ceremony a few months ago, they were just now having a get-together for their close friends.

I was concerned about being alone in a social environment, so I e-mailed her earlier in the week to tell her that I just wasn’t ready. She said she understood but still wanted to meet to have lunch if possible. Considering how busy the day was going to be for her, I was thrilled that she would take the time to come see me. It had been three years since I last saw her. Staci lost her best friend to murder 12 years ago and said she really wanted to be there for me. She thought she could help.

I Hope You Have A Good Therapist

I just got home from seeing my therapist, Allie. I’ve written about seeing her before, but never alluded directly to my visits or the epiphanies that I’ve had with her over the last 6 months. I’m sure a lot of people’s first or second thoughts in considering what I was facing in all of this were probably along the lines of, “I hope he’s got a good therapist…” Well, yes, I do, thank you very much.

I felt sketchy as soon as I got in the car this morning. My days have been difficult as of late, going from one extreme to the other. I’ve been doing a lot of “pushing through things,” carrying the weight of the world on my back for a long time, but I hit the road for my hour and fifteen-minute drive down I-75. Yep, I drive an hour and fifteen minutes to see her. She’s that good.

I’ve written previously about how music has been a vessel by which Shani has communicated with me since her death, and obviously, a huge theme of the book Sean and I are writing is about mine and Shani’s connection with music. I’ve written about how Shani has sent me messages through song lyrics (as I type this, Crazy Love by Van Morrison is playing). At this point however, when hear something that seems to have come at the perfect time, or a specific song comes through, I’m simply comforted. It has become a common feeling that I now have about the interconnectedness of all things.

Opinions Are Like...

In the days following Shani’s death, the story of her murder was all over the television and internet, and the initial reports had none of the information that I was privy to following my debriefing from detectives the day after the murder. All anyone in the general public knew was that Shani was ambushed by Zeke as she sat in her car at the entrance gate to his apartment.

It was released that, while on the way to the police station to be questioned, Zeke had asked to serve his time in a hospital if he was “going away for a long time.” Apparently, one of our neighbors also told the media that we were moving to Florida, which was then thrown into the mix as a possible motive, so a reporter with the Atlanta Journal Constitution wrote that Zeke killed Shani because she was moving to start a life without him.

There was a lot, though, that nobody knew...

Finding Peace Through Meditation

Over the last 24 hours, I’ve done a lot of meditating. For those of you who don’t have a regular meditation practice, which I can only assume is the majority of people reading this, I would highly suggest reading and researching its benefits. I’ll be glad to assist anyone that needs a little direction.

In Limbo

I’m having a hell of a time writing lately. I’ve got so many things going on in my head that every time I start I seem to go in a million different directions. I want to come up with something uplifting, but the truth is that I’m nothing but scattered. I want to move forward, but feel encaged. I want to connect with others, but feel completely isolated. I want a foundation on a new existence and feel nothing but unstable.

Our Brain, The Crazy Computer

The following is a graphic description of my personal experience with PTSD.

In my previous post about PTSD, I referenced a number of symptoms associated with the disorder. Before going any further, I want to make it very clear that these symptoms and this experience are completely out of the conscious control of the individual suffering from them. All too often, people look at mental or emotional issues and think people should just “snap out of it” or “move on” with their lives. Trust me, I have a few of those people in my life that have judged me in the same way. They have no clue.

Just imagine, as difficult as this may be for you to do, the picture of your closest loved one being shot to death. Imagine the sounds of the gun firing, the image of the bullets flying, the blood, the guts, the screaming, anything and everything. Now picture your loved one’s body being struck. Imagine where the bullets penetrate—their chest, arms, legs, stomach, head, whatever your brain concocts. Imagine it.

Emotional Traumas (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder)

This entry will be the first in a series focusing on mental and emotional issues associated with sudden life changes.

Any sudden life changing event can trigger negative emotional responses. The death of a loved one, loss of a job, divorce or personal physical trauma can create an overwhelming amount of stress on the brain, resulting in a physical manifestation of responses directly attributed to the event. Rarely can an individual go through life without experiencing some kind of deep emotional loss or physical injury, and at the very least, everyone knows or is connected to someone who has experienced a tragic situation of some sort in their lives.

What Is Happy?

About 10 days ago, a former colleague of mine suggested I check out a blog written by a young woman in New York City. Tre Miller-Rodriguez unexpectedly lost her husband last year and is writing a book about her experience. I was obviously intrigued by the subject matter, so I checked it out right away and was immediately drawn in by it.

Tre is an excellent writer with a unique, engaging style, and her story has resonated with me on many levels and in a way that I suspect could only happen with someone who has lost their spouse suddenly or tragically. I have not met any people in their thirties who are in a situation like ours, so to connect with someone like Tre, who is sharing her story with the world, has been wonderful. She and I have communicated back and forth via email, and I am blessed to have found her.

The Veggie Burger

My posts have been fairly heavy thus far, so to send you off into the weekend, I have decided to share a short, yet humorous anecdote, with you, just to lighten the mood for a moment. For those of you who know my disdain for the lack of culture in most of the South, you should appreciate this funny, little story. Enjoy!


In January of 2004, Shani and I moved from New York City to return to Chattanooga to attend to some family business. We stayed there until August, which is when we finally returned to Atlanta for good.

One night, while we were out, I decided to pull through the drive-thru of a local fast food restaurant in one of the outlying towns near Chattanooga. I was in the mood for a grilled chicken sandwich. Shani had taken up a vegetarian lifestyle at that point, although she would still eat chicken from time to time if nothing else was available. As we pulled up to order, this is the conversation that took place...

Who Am I?

Shani and I became an item when I was 25-years-old. How I pulled that off at that point in my life is still beyond me. In looking back, it’s easy to see how little I now resemble who I was back then. Of course, my growth has skyrocketed in the last year because of what I’ve had to deal with. Even before Shani’s death though, neither of us were anything like who we were 10 years before.

When we met in late 1998, I owned and operated a small personal training business in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and I’ll never forget the day Shani walked into the gym. Smitten doesn’t even come close to describing my interest in her. At the time, I had completely sworn off dating in order to focus on my business. Well, that was…until Shani walked through the door.

In The Company of the Grieving

“When you think you know what to say, you don’t. When you don’t know what to say, you do… NOTHING.”   -Me


On Tuesday, May 25th, I received the news that a younger cousin of mine, my mom’s nephew, had died a tragic death in my hometown of Sterling, IL. My mom has four sisters, and they’re all very close. Their mother, my grandma, passed away in October, just four months after Shani. So now, in losing her nephew, my mom was absolutely devastated, and my immediate concern was for her. In less than a year, she lost her daughter-in-law, her mother, and her nephew, who was also her god-son. I just wondered how much grief one woman could take before cracking.

Spirituality

I went to bed last night with the intent of riding my bike this morning. Over the past few months, I’ve been able to sleep 5-6 hours on average. I usually get up once during the night for about 30 minutes or so after a couple of hours, grab a small snack before crashing for a few more hours. Last night, I went to bed around 12:30, woke up at 2:00, and ate a small piece of cake left over from the get-together we had Sunday night. I lay back down around 2:30 and just stared at the ceiling. I was wide awake until about 5:00. It was then that I knew the ride wasn’t going to happen, so I took some melatonin and slept until about 9:30.

Happy Father's Day

Field of Dreams is one of those movies that just resonates with fathers and sons, and it’s no different for me and my dad. Growing up, Dad was always available for a catch. He coached me all the way through high school and was the guy everyone always wanted to play for. His teams won and had a good time doing it. He took a genuine interest in all of the kids he was entrusted to lead, and he impacted the lives of many, none more so than mine.

Anger Management

Yesterday, I woke up in a funk. Actually, I couldn’t tell you the last time I woke up with a totally positive outlook.  I suppose it was June 2, 2009, the morning Shani was killed.

She and I had been arguing the night before about where we were going to live when we moved to South Florida. I wanted to get a place on the water, and she wanted to be a bit further inland. I ended up being the one to bend, finding a condo only about 5 minutes from the beach.  When I awoke the morning after, I sent her a quick text apologizing for the night before.   She responded, “It’s ok babe. I get you.”  She did, too.  She always “got” me.  After that exchange of texts, I went about my day, excited about my new job, the move, and our future in Florida.  Little did I know that she would be dead later on that day.

The Purpose

Two weeks ago today, I endured the one-year anniversary of the murder of my wife, Shani. She was my best friend and lover, and not a second of any day passes where my thoughts aren’t with her. I miss her today as much as I did a year ago, and I cherish every moment I spent with her, knowing full-well that the ten years we had together, eight of which we spent in marriage, were precious, yet fleeting.

At 6:49 p.m. on June 2, 2009, I received the phone call that would forever alter the course of my life. I will never forget Detective Trammer’s words. They reverberate somewhere deep in my soul still today.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “She’s dead.”

Nothing can prepare you to hear such a thing. No amount of experience. No amount of faith or trust. Not even God. Nothing.

One minute I was happily married to my soul mate. The next, she was gone. In that moment, I was stripped of all that mattered to me in life...