Eric Devine's Blog, page 6

On Failing Forward: revision literally is everything

It took me 3 years  and 7 drafts to get Look Past right. What exists now is a 288-page story that is fine-tuned and honed to as perfect as I’m ever going to get it. It’s my best work, but possibly not for the reason you think.

People often ask me, “Which is you best book?” It’s unsettling because I know my answer is going to sound so cliched: I can’t choose. That’s like asking me to pick a favorite child. Not gonna happen.

So when I say that Look Past  is my best work, it’s because it was so much work to complete, and because it pushed me so far as a writer. Yes, Tap Out was one hell of a learning curve, but that makes sense. I believe most people assume that the writing gets easier as you go. Not so. At least for me. If anything, it’s gotten more difficult.

I’m constantly trying to one-up myself. I want to be able to see new stories, new perspectives, and then try different ways of approaching how I translate them into novels. I believe that is how any pro stays on top of his or her game–by challenging himself or herself, by taking risks.

But as so often happens when taking risks and gambling on oneself, you lose. I lost big time with my first two stabs at Look Past. Each failure was accompanied by comments from my agent akin to: “There’s a story here, but you haven’t figured out how to tell it.”

And then I did.

That’s how writing goes for me. I try, I fail, try again, and keep at it until I figure it all out. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that as Look Past is about to hit shelves, I’m working on another story, and guess what…I’m failing big time.

Yup, on this third iteration, I flat-out focused too much on one element and forgot the rest of them. I did not adhere to my previous editor’s adage of “seeing the forest and the trees.” (still solid, Lisa Cheng).

So, yeah, it’s tough to have failed, but it’s only temporary. I’ll figure it out. That’s literally my job. And I’m so fortunate to have the space I do. Taking risks and “failing forward” is fundamental for growth, and so when I finally get this one right, I have to believe it will be even better than Look Past.

Which, right now, feels impossible. But the only way for you to find out is if you first read Look Past

Time to Pre-order Look Past

One month from today Look Past will be published. As exciting as this is, and as much as I look forward to seeing people at my events, I also know how important pre-orders are.

“Pre-orders hold the magic. For media, publishers, retailers, and consumers, they represent your book’s potential. Those early sales numbers truly set the stage for how momentum will build and whether sales will skyrocket” (“Why Pre-orders Matter…“).

I don’t write pretty stories. I don’t even necessarily write happy endings. I write stories that I believe in with all my heart. But writing a solid story and selling an abundance of copies are two different things. Bottom line: I want both. And Look Past is a stunner of a story. One worth pre-ordering for yourself, for a friend, for a colleague, for that student who you think will benefit from reading a copy. The time to do so is now. Let my publisher, Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and all of the people who pay attention to these numbers know that this is a worthwhile book to stock. Put it on librarians’ and teachers’ radars. Pre-ordering starts a chain of events that leads to more people knowing about this story and my work.

If this seems like a greedy pitch, trust me, it’s not. Selling through (earning back my advance) is a very difficult thing to do, and so please don’t think that I’m looking to earn more money than I’ve been paid. Not. Even. Remotely. Close. To. The. Point.

I want Look Past in as many teens’ hands as possible, and that starts with you saying to whomever or wherever you purchase your books, “I want it now!” Feel free to bring that book to one of my signings. I won’t be offended. I’ll sign it and thank you for getting the ball rolling.

Trust me, I don’t like to raise my hand and say, “Look at me! Pay attention to me! Buy my book!” That just feels awful. What I have no problem saying is that if you pre-order, you are helping raise awareness, which could ultimately result in a teen who is in desperate need of reading this story having a copy fall into his or her hands. That makes you a damn saint in my book. So, don’t pre-order for me. Do it for yourself, do it for those who need to know this story.

P.S. Here’s my current list of events. Come see me with those pre-ordered books in hand

Sláinte to Ireland & type 1 diabetes

The twelve of us ready to embark on our journey.

This article is not about writing. This article is about traveling with type 1 diabetes. I thoroughly understand that if you are here for my book updates, this might not be for you. No worries, Look Past will be out 10/4, and I’ll be promoting the heck out of it before then.

Additionally, this will be a long article, because I’m going to discuss every aspect of type 1 management that I implemented with my daughter and myself while we were recently traveling in Ireland. Therefore, if you don’t want to read the entirety of the article, I understand and have bulleted the “takeaway points” at the end.

Now, the article…

Daily management of type 1 diabetes is akin to triage therapy, but traveling with type 1 is more like disaster preparation. In spite of this, the planning and strategizing are what make the trips successful. However daunting creating backup therapy can be, in the end, seeing the world is a worthwhile goal for everyone, including us with type 1.

Recently my family and I traveled to Ireland. This was our first International trip with type 1 (for the uninformed, both my youngest daughter and I have type 1). To be honest, I was scared for how I would manage everything, but with a bit of strategy and a lot of support from healthcare professionals, I was able to get my act together and see through how to manage a six-hour flight with a five-hour time change, and a week of variable activity levels and an entire culture of different food and beverages. In short, I walked away with this approach: Plan for imperfection, but enjoy the ride.

Planning and Preparation

Fortunately, I had months to plan for the trip, as it was a Christmas present, and we didn’t leave until August. This left me with months to research and to have endocrinologist visits and discuss best practices for while abroad.

Tip #1: Have backup plans for monitoring and insulin delivery.

My daughter and I both use Dexcom G5 and Omnipod. Therefore, my first step was to make sure I had working apps and receivers. All was good there, and so I reached out to my connections and picked up two back-up PDMs (this is an unlikely scenario for most, so I wouldn’t plan for it.) My first back up, should the PDMs succumb to the rain of Ireland, was our previous pumps. We both used Animas Pings, and they and the reservoirs and infusion sites were set aside. Knowing that they hadn’t been used for over a year, I also asked my endo for pens (Levemir and Novolog). Drug reps drop off samples all the time, so this was a no-cost solution that guaranteed my daughter and I would be able to get insulin into our bodies. Now, for this to work, however, I also had to convert our basal rates into Levemir injection. I didn’t simply look at the total daily insulin intake, but rather looked at the basal percentages from the Omnipod PDM and calculated a daily Levemir injection for both of us. Obviously, the boluses would then be covered by Novolog injections. Bam, insulin delivery covered.

I brought three back up test kits, lancets pens, lancets and test strips. Fortunately, I still had non-expired strips for the One Touch meters, but I’m sure I could have obtained some from my endo, should that have not been the case. Monitoring covered.

Then went in all the other essentials like Glucagon, glucose tablets, juice boxes and snacks, alcohol pads, chargers, batteries, Lidocaine, Skin Tac, Sensors, Pods, pen needles, an additional Luxura pen, our typical insulin vials, and importantly, a note from our endo stating that we did, in fact, need all this stuff. Apparently some customs officials get a little concerned about black market product sales. We didn’t need to produce this letter, but still, it was vital insurance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, to pack it all.

Tip #2: Know what products cannot go through airport security X-Rays and what liquid and gel medications will need to be separated from your luggage.

I travel a bit for writing conferences and school visits, so I know how deal with TSA agents and that made it easier, but not exactly pleasant. For us, sensors, pods and back up pumps and PDMs could not go through the X-Ray. Also, the insulin, Lidocaine and Skin Tac would need to be handled separately. That’s a lot of stuff to juggle with, most likely, a line of anxious travelers behind you. So, I separated the non-X-ray products into a shopping bag, so that I could simply pull it out of my luggage and hand it off to the TSA agent and then put the rest of my luggage through the X-ray. Great idea, I thought, and indeed, it was…in Ireland.

Note the checklist. I really am neurotic. Or safe. You pick.

See. It really did fit. I looked like a drug rep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We flew out of JFK, an airport I’ve never been to. All seemed great as we waited in line, but then came the actual, face-to-face interaction with TSA agents. Hands down, they were the worst I have ever dealt with. I explained that my daughter and I couldn’t go through the full body scanner because of our medical products and was met with an eye roll. Nice. Next, I explained that I had a bag full of medical products that also couldn’t go through the X-ray. The agent, annoyed, took my bag and called for a hand check and then had us walk through the X-ray. Now, my daughter was with me, because we’re a bit of a duo in this. Once we passed through the X-ray, I waited for the hand check of our product, because every single time, that happens immediately. From a security standpoint, I understand why. So I stood there. The TSA agent looked us up and down and said, “Why are you standing there?”

I answered, “We’re waiting.”

“For what?” she asked.

At this point, because of her tone, I knew this wasn’t going to be good. My daughter turned to me and told me she was scared. I calmed her, but had to speak to the agent. I said, “My medical products. You have to hand check them.”

Unfortunately, the TSA agent became very aggressive and yelled at me, telling me I had no business standing there and to move on and that she would get to them. My daughter was on the verge of tears at this, so we moved, and I situated her with my family, and then I went back.

Tip #3: Never take your eyes off your medical products and medication. I stood back from the angry TSA agent and found another one and asked him to help me. He ignored me. And then I got loud and yelled to another agent that he needed to check my bag because it contained medical products. He tried to ignore me, but I got louder and asked again. I was polite, mind you, because I’m not stupid. TSA can ruin your trip, but so can losing your back up plan and products. Fortunately, he agreed, got our goods, wanded them for explosives and then turned them over. I repacked and we were on our way, but with my heart slamming inside my chest.

Flying

I’ve read about people experiencing baggage claim lows, and so when we landed in Ireland I was sure to watch for this. Both my daughter and I were fine. However, on the way home, we took a different type of plane, and take off was more like launching a rocket. We went straight up to almost 40,000 feet, and then we both suffered the worst lows we have in a long time. The pictures below demonstrate our drop as the plane rose. I ended up suspending both our insulin for an hour and we both ate 3-5 glucose  tablets each, and 40-50 grams of carbohydrate just to turn things around. I have never experienced this on commercial flights, and so I can only surmise that the increased altitude, combined with the ascent, forced a bolus via the pressure. Therefore, Tip #4: If you’re traveling Internationally, or even just as a safeguard on any flight, reduce or suspend insulin for the hour after takeoff. You don’t want to be like I was, separated from the rest of my family, with my daughter next to me, her at 45 mg/dl, and me at 50 mg/dl, through shaking hands trying to provide glucose and juice.

The beginning, just before 2:00.

Just ten minutes later.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The drop just won’t stop.

Finally turning it around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the ground

Tip #5: Become a walking pharmacy.

I wore a backpack the entire trip, filled with back up supplies, because you never know, except for the half hour trip to the hotel. And do you know what happened then? My daughter had a pod failure. Not an hour on Ireland’s soil and we had a medical issue, and me, stupidly, had allowed our driver to put the products in the trunk. We changed the pod and I shifted products to my back pack, which I wore through all of Ireland, including walking along the Cliffs of Moher. And it came in handy for glucose and snacks and for a dry place to store PDMs.

Pod failure. But those pants!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tip #6: Recognize that you are traveling and will be most likely walking a lot. Plan ahead and create a new basal profile. Both my daughter and I took a LOT less insulin because of the activity involved with sight-seeing, and in spite of a new basal profile, we still had to reduce often. We kept the new profile on for roughly two days after as well, and transitioned to the previous profile when we noticed our numbers popping up.

Trials and Tribulations

Tip #6: Prepare for things to go sideways.

At some point on the trip, as we were pulling into our hotel and a new check-in, I realized my pod was falling off. We checked in and then I put a new pod on before we were out the door. Also, I went on the dreaded ??? a few days into the trip, in spite of timing a sensor change so that I had a relatively new one on when we left. My wife changed it while we traversed Ireland’s countryside. Not the worst view to take in while making the swap. Both my daughter and I had unexpected highs and lows. We had double arrows up and down and every which way. We bolused and increased rates, ate glucose and drank juice. The trick was constantly checking receivers to get ahead of things. Fortunately, neither of us hit a true HIGH or bad low while in Ireland, and by the grace of some higher power, our overnight numbers were flat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Food for me was no issue. I love to try new things and ate with abandon. My daughter, not so much. So it was tricky to avoid carb-only meals, but as I said at the beginning, perfectly balanced meals are ideal, but when traveling, roll with it.

Also, my daughter gets motion sick, which, through Dramamine and Sea Bands, was no issue. However, when we returned nothing kept her sickness at bay. I say this because her vomiting once we were home wasn’t remotely scary. We monitored and hydrated and proceeded as usual. Had this occurred while we were arriving, we would have had to plan accordingly. An upset stomach is no joke for someone with type 1, and so I would definitely suggest whomever has type 1 be medicated if motion sickness is an issue.

Sense of Adventure and Independence

It is so alluring to stay within your comfort zone as someone with type 1. You do the same things, day in, day out, in order to keep your care as straightforward as possible. But the entire point of traveling is to experience new things, which means you have to set aside the rigid schedule and be flexible to the world around you. Fortunately, the Irish we encountered made that easy. They were gracious and accommodating, and more than willing to point us in the right direction for food, beverages, attractions, and entertainment. In part that is because we weren’t focused on perfect care, but rather immersing ourselves into the country. Now, that wouldn’t have been possible without all of the planning and prep work that went into the trip, so it truly is like gearing up for a disaster. Be ready if it hits, but chances are, it won’t. Therefore, enjoy the scenery. It goes by so fast.

Braveheart! Oh, you meant the movie. Yeah, that was here, too.

The payoff for all the hard work.

Side note

We traveled with Hammond Tours and they were an exceptional tour group. They don’t only tour Ireland—although it is our true love—so if you’re looking for the best while you are out in the world, juggling your awe and diabetes, let Hammond show you around.

For those of you tl;dr folks, here are the bulleted takeaways

Kirkus Reviews Look Past. Spoiler, they loved it.

LOOK PAST
by Eric Devine

 

Sweet, popular Mary, the pastor’s daughter, has been viciously murdered, and the killer makes it clear that it’s because of her relationship with Avery, a transgender boy.

Read the full review here—–> LOOK PAST by Eric Devine | Kirkus Reviews

Broken Phones and Terrible Techies

I recently went a week without my phone. It wasn’t because I wanted to take a tech vacation or anything like that. One day I simply forgot my phone was in my bathing suit pocket and the two of us went swimming. Only one survived. But the death of this phone ushered in a second life for my previous phone, one with a smashed screen but otherwise, fully functional. Yet, this is a cautionary tale, not of pools, but of the cottage industry of people who “fix” broken tech things.

If you are local and find yourself in need of service for a computer or phone, and you find yourself on Route 9 at a place that proclaims to have Computer Answers, back out of the parking lot. You will find no answers there. For those of you who are not local, make sure that wherever you go, parts are in stock for your device, or just buy the insurance. Simply put, don’t be me.

I went to the aforementioned store over a week ago with both phones, the waterlogged and the cracked screen. My instructions were simple: if you can dry out the one, great, if not, please put a new screen on the other. Call me and let me know how things go.

I waited three days and then went back to the store, where much confusion ensued, as in the gentleman working there couldn’t find my phones, and then when he did, proclaimed that he had never handled an iPhone. Which I believe, because he literally did not know how to turn it on. I instructed from behind the counter and wondered what kind of training one must have to proclaim that they are the fixer of tech things. Soon, it was obvious that the answer was none. Truly, none.

The gentleman deduced that since the phone had been packed in silica gel packs for three days and was still not turning on, then it was dead. I understood this. We exchanged glances. Then I asked about the broken screen. “Right! Yes, I have to order that part.”

It took a lot of willpower not to yell. You see, my instructions were simple and a screen isn’t expensive, and if you are thinking, “So what, it was just a phone,” I understand, but I use my phone for medical purposes for myself and for my daughter, so truly it was more than “I can’t use the facebook.”

I asked how long it would take to get the screen and was promised two days at most and that the screen would be replaced the same day as when the part arrived. I waited three days and when I called to ask about picking up was told that my phone wasn’t ready, that the screen might not be in for another five days. I hung up the phone and went to the store, where I calmly lost it, and by virtue of a sit in at the store, waited for an hour and a half for the screen to be fixed by a “technician” who watched a YouTube tutorial on how to complete the service.

At least I got a discount.

But, truth be told, aside from the medical issue, which I did work around, being without a phone was a bit liberating. I was unreachable, like it used to be when I was younger. People had to call my house to find me (or text my wife, which, for her, became annoying quickly). I had nothing to distract me from my day, and so I read more, completed more yard work than I would have, had less busyness in my life because my phone wasn’t constantly chirping at me. It was nice, but in the way a vacation is nice. At some point you feel the need to return home.

And so I’m back, and distracted and able to watch the medical information I need, and hopefully a bit wiser form my disconnected days. At least I know where I won’t go should I hop into my pool with this phone.

 

Complete and Total Side Note: Look Past comes out 10/4. Pre-order now and make my publisher think I’m someone whose work people are highly anticipating[image error] Or, so that I have money to replace my next phone. Thanks!

LOOK PAST as a Top Summer Reads for LGBTQ Teens – NBC News

Top Summer Reads for LGBTQ Teens

by JULIE COMPTON

Getty Images

LGBTQ teens will see more of themselves in books this summer.

In its BNTEEN Blog, Barnes and Noble’s released its list of 22 most anticipated summer reads for LGBTQ young adults. The books that made the cut span multiple genres and include many colorful characters.

Among the top 22 reads are M-E Girard’s Girl Mans Up, about a girl who looks like a guy and is just fine with that, and Eric Devine’s Look Past, about a transgender teenager who receives death threats after his girlfriend is murdered.

Read the rest of the article, here: Top Summer Reads for LGBTQ Teens – NBC News

From Oz to Orlando

On the Fourth of July in 2002, I found myself having the time of my life at a club in New Orleans called Oz. And so when the massacre at Pulse in Orlando occurred this weekend, I felt an array of emotions, because change the date and location, and I could have been part of the horror in Florida.

I was married in 2002, and spent my honeymoon in New Orleans from late June through early July. On the Fourth, my wife and I decided to take a riverboat cruise of the Mississippi with dinner and drinks and a prime spot for the fireworks.

After dinner, while I was happily staring at the mighty river and thinking about Twain (yes, I really did that), my wife was chatting up the couple next to us. Chad and Brian were just a little bit younger than, knew the city well, and were in town for a mini-vacation of their own. We talked and enjoyed each other’s company and then when it was time for the fireworks, Chad, who was military, explained the chemical reactions that were occurring to create the various colors of the fireworks. It was stunning. All of it. The river, the city, the fireworks, the company. And so when Chad and Brain asked us to join them for drinks after, we jumped at the invite.

We met on Saint Ann Street, which essentially begins the LGBTQ district in the French Quarter. My wife and I had no idea that this was the case, but when Chad and Brian met us and asked if this was okay, it was. New Orleans is as vibrant as any city can be, and especially then, pre-Katrina, it was glowing. So we followed along to a club called Oz, because there was to be an annual show for the Fourth.

And a show there was. I will skip some of the details as they are not pertinent, here, but I will say that my wife and I spent hours at Oz. We met people Chad and Brian knew, hung out and told stories of our lives, and everyone there loved that this was our honeymoon and that we chose to spend part of it with them.

This situation–strangers being happy for us and wanting to be with us–was actually a regular occurrence in New Orleans once we told them it was our honeymoon. But, at Oz, and later at the club across the street, the thrill of having us was more effusive. We literally felt like honored guests, and walking home that night and discussing it thereafter, it was obvious to my wife and I that it was precisely because we were not the expected, that we were an open and accepting heterosexual couple, that made it unique. Which is at the same time wonderful and heartbreaking.

I have to think that the people who were celebrating PRIDE week at Pulse were out to enjoy themselves, to revel in a time in our country when legal marriage is on the table, where people are becoming more accepting, where I would assume, people like my wife and I were not as unique.

Of course there is the other side to the story, the one that will be everywhere, the focus on the killer and not the victims. I don’t want to spend any time there, because that is an injustice to the loved ones lost. 

It is a disturbing mark of our country that hate is still so sanctified. That people still feel so self-righteous as to believe it is fine for them to hate. Because that’s what this boils down to. Pin it to any cause or belief or religion, it is at its base, a measure of disgusting hate. And it’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. Not for the LGBTQ, nor for any other marginalized group.

This is not the country I want. This is not the county I believe so many of us want. But some do. Or possibly, so many. Because the hate is omnipresent, and as much as it is fought, it continues in its vitriol. I literally cannot understand it. And I don’t want to lose family, friends, any loved ones to it. I don’t want to look down the road and watch my daughters lose their friends and family and loved ones to it. I don’t want them to ever be afraid to go out and to celebrate with whomever they want, like my wife and I did. 

Maybe we were naive as twenty-somethings. Maybe we should have been afraid of the walk home, when we saw plenty of drunken fools giving us the side-eye. But we weren’t. Not in that moment, not during the good time we were having. Because the point of all this freedom is that we get to enjoy it. All of us.

I will be in Orlando for the ALA convention in less than two weeks, and I intend to support the victims by donating blood or money or books or whatever I can. I refuse to give in to the fear. And yes, it’s a lot easier for me to say that, to be “brave” when I am an ally of the community and not a targeted member, which is possibly why I feel the weight of such hang on me. 

I was able to walk into Oz and back to my hotel with my wife, and in spite of the side-eye, we were fine. No one bothered us. Had I been with my husband, or she, her wife, different story. That is the brutal sadness to it. That is the hate.

We can only do what we can, but maybe we should do more. The beauty of this country and how it operates should be in our hands. I’m not sure that’s the case. But I would also not suggest we throw in the towel. We can choose to live in a bubble, or we can choose to pop it, and step out with eyes and hearts wide open.  

 

Deadlines and Dreams

Fifty-five days ago, I received an email from my agent, the amazing Kate McKean, and in it she offered a deadline. I say offered because the deadline did not have to be met, but if I wanted work to be considered this year, she needed it by 6/1. She is due with her first child in September, and I know the extent to which this impacts your life. I understood that she was doing me a solid, so I got to work. 

For the past fifty-five days I have been working my tail off on the revision of my Work In Progress that I had intended to submit to Kate sometime this summer. We’ve already been through two drafts of this story, and so far I have not succeeded in telling it well.

Before the email,  this revision was already planned as not a tweak of scenes or a hashing out of characters or setting, or an expansion of the conflict. No, this was to be a completely new story. I was to begin from scratch, and so I did. And then 55 days ago, I realized just how fast I was going to need to write.

I estimated that the story would be 280 pages or so. Enough that I could manage, yet also enough for a solid story. Yet, my limitations were stupid. The story had more to say, and in spite of the deadline, I had to listen. If I’ve learned anything about writing over these years, it’s that you cannot force it. The draft I am writing has its own path, and I have to follow it.

So, 350 pages later and this draft is complete. I am not so foolish to believe it is done. In fact I watched an interview with Ta-Nehisi Coates the other day that summarized the situation of writing and being an author very adeptly. To paraphrase: To be a writer you have to accept that what you write is awful. But then have the ability to go back and revise until it’s less than awful, then revise to okay, and then revise to less than good, and hopefully continue to revise until you know it’s good.

I will read through this manuscript over the next few days, tweak what is necessary and then submit to Kate by 6/1, just before my 38th birthday. She might hate it, and then it’s back to the drawing board. Or she might love it. Or most likely, she’ll feel something in between. I’ll count that as a win.

So if I have seemed completely distant for the past seven weeks, this is why. There has been one goal in my life, and that is to finish this novel. I think right about now my wife is less than thrilled with me, my kids wonder why dad keeps talking to himself, and my colleagues might be concerned over my more-than-usual disheveled look. That doesn’t mean any of these things will change, but at least there’s a book that came out of all this[image error]

Going forward, I am preparing to launch Look Past. Some family and friends have already read and have reported what I expected: minds blown. This is yet another book that I had to completely scrap and rewrite from scratch. If you’re on Goodreads and would like to win an Advanced Reader Copy, go here. If you want to wait for the real deal, no worries. But advanced orders are always nice. They make my publisher think we’ve got a winner on our hands. Come fall, I’ll have a lineup of signings and events.

Until then, well, I’ll probably start writing something else, but with much less pressure on me. That is until  it’s this time next year, and I’m a worn out mess from finally getting that manuscript right.

Look Past Cover Reveal

Check out the cover, details about the story, and enter to win an Advanced Reader Copy over at YA Books Central!

On Life and Death and the Aftermath

Life doesn’t ask for permission, nor does it beg forgiveness. The past month for me has been extraordinarily difficult and has truly driven home this point.

If you read my last post, then you know my wife had fairly invasive surgery mid-February. It was a struggle for me to juggle the multiple roles she takes on for our family, but we were getting by. Then, 11 days after her surgery, after a long fight with dementia and other health issues, her father passed away.

At one point during this past week, leading up to the wake and funeral, my wife told me that she hurt on a cellular level. That might be the most apt description for the obvious pain that radiated from her. And yet, because there was no other choice, she had to see the arrangements through.

Fortunately, my wife’s family is close-knit and everyone pitched in to make sure my father-in-law’s services were an appropriate testament to the man. Flowers were ordered, funeral cards were made, picture boards and a slide show were created, and outfits were bought, tailored and arranged and rearranged–much like our emotions.

It was a roller coaster of unbearable sadness, punctuated at times by hilarious memory. As it is with life.

My father-in-law was a police officer for 36 years, and when his former partners came through the receiving line at the wake, every one was distraught, and every one had a story to tell. Like the time my father-in-law, wearing only his bathrobe and slippers, helped subdue a perpetrator.  And I stood at my wife’s side as she laughed at every story, cried with those who shed tears, and endured every gripping hug that pulled taut the six-inch incision on her chest.

Then there was the funeral. Nothing undoes me quite like bagpipes. And when “Amazing Grace” overtook the church, I think every family member felt the gutting. Yet we endured, somberly, holding hands and crying

I was fortunate enough to deliver the eulogy, which you can read at the end of this post. It’s a rare honor to speak about someone’s life is one last, public, and meaningful way. I shared the honor with my father-in-law’s nephew, and I believe the two of us did justice to the name and to the character of the man.

And now we are in the aftermath. This is where, in spite of kicking our asses, life moves on, offering no apologies. It’s why Billy Pilgrim’s line from Slaughterhouse-Five is so apt, because, indeed, “So it goes.”

Fortunately, spring is in the air, and hopefully the season will usher in positive change with its warmth. Not that is has to, because life is the ultimate, uncontrollable entity, which is why we should cherish it so. But it would be nice for it to atone, if only a little while.

Eulogy:

On June 29, 2002, Chris Connelly stood with his daughter, Carrie, at the back of this church and asked her if she wanted to go through her marriage to me. He assured her that he’d have a police escort to get them out of town if she wanted to run. In his classic, half-kidding, half-serious tone, he opened a door for his daughter, protecting her, if she felt she needed it.

Fortunately, she did not, or I wouldn’t have the honor of being here today.

In essence, that moment says all you need to know about Chris Connelly. He lived to protect and to serve. And he did so with a joking manner that he hoped put you on the right side of where he thought you should be. Whether he was bantering on his way into Albany with Geraldine and Joanne, while he worked at CT, or the countless times, here in Waterford, when he pulled someone over, and even later, while at Peebles Island, he cared for the people he interacted with. He wanted the best for everyone and saw ways to help make that so, however he could.

Chris was proud of two aspects of his life over all others: his family, and being a police officer. And in his role as patriarch and policeman, he served not for the respect nor for the money, but for the loyalty he felt. He worked overtime and holidays–when no one else wanted to be there. And yet, he still found his way home for a brief stop, for a bite to eat, to check on his family, until the walkie talkie crackled with a call.

Chris Connelly was blessed with a sense of duty and was supported by his family. Donna and he shared 40 years together, creating a family he adored. He watched the streets where his children grew and knew he had the greatest hand in protecting them. Carrie, Christopher, and Shannon understand devotion in ways many of us do not, because they were allowed to see it firsthand, through tireless effort on their father’s part.

And yet, we all learned things about Chris, once he became a grandfather. He became Poppy and he drove his granddaughter Grace around the cul-de-sac in his police cruiser, she on his lap, steering, both with enormous smiles on their faces. And later, when Chris had the heart attack that ended his working days, along came Kaygan. She helped to pull him through his recovery, and beyond, transitioning him completely into the grandfather figure he became.

He embraced the transition from cruiser to couch. It allowed him more time to watch the Cowboys or to read a book, to enjoy the downtime he so very much deserved. Yet, he retained the spark, the fight within, that was forged through his years of service, and he kept it all the way through. The famous poem by Dylan Thomas, “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” is the ideal way to envision Chris’s approach. He raged against the dying of light, like a man who understood how precious life is. And in that fight, we were given a blessing, to once again see how it is to fight, to persevere, to protect and to serve those we love, by never giving up.

So, to Chris Connelly,

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal;

Love leaves a memory no one can steal.