Seven Years

For each of the last two years on today's date, I've been tempted to write something like what appears below. For various reasons--not the least of which is that we just don't do much personal blogging here--I haven't. But this year, for some reason, I feel compelled to do so. Or maybe just more able to. My apologies for this lengthy, self-indulgent post.

Seven years ago today, my only sibling--my sister, Julie--died in a car accident. She was 27 at the time. She was traveling between the two families she loved the most: after spending a long weekend with her boyfriend and his parents in Pittsburgh, she was on her way to our parents' house for dinner in New Jersey. Julie worked in Brooklyn and lived on Long Island, so she'd planned to spend the night in New Jersey, head into work the next morning, and then return to her own home.

Julie had managed to touch a lot of people in her 27 years. Following her graduation from college (which, unlike me, she completed in four years), she joined the Peace Corps, living and teaching in Burkina Faso, a small nation in West Africa. She worked for a few years as a youth minister in Presbyterian churches in Pennsylvania and New York. Eventually, she returned to school, earned her master's degree, and became a teacher. The 2003-04 school year was her first as a full-time teacher; she taught English at a public school for gifted and talented kids.

Julie's death was devastating for me, as it was for so many others. I can remember that terrible, terrible phone call from my parents as though it were yesterday. I was talking on my cell phone with my best friend from law school, chatting about women and football. Monday Night Football was on the TV; the Bulger-led Rams were playing. My land line rang; the caller ID said it was my parents. Thinking they just wanted to chat at the end of the holiday weekend, I'd told my friend to hang on for a minute (and that I'd ask my folks if I could call them back). Then my dad's voice: Donald, I have terrible news.

Still without any premonition of what was to come, I told my friend I'd need to call him back. Back to my dad: Your sister has been in an accident. Oh my gosh, I thought, she'd just gotten a new car, had she totaled it already? Where is she, I asked. Donald, it was bad. She didn't make it. Julie died.

With those last two words, my world changed. I think it's only recently I've realized how much. Part of who I was--who I am, who I'd always been--was Julie's brother. I don't think she knew exactly how much that was true. I was a year ahead of her in school. We'd gone to different grade schools, but the same high school. Since I was there first, a lot of teachers came to know her as "Donald's sister." But socially, the opposite was true. Among the student body, I was Julie's brother. To this day, I have friends (or at least "Facebook friends") who stay in touch with me only out of a sense of loyalty to Julie.

In October 2003, I'd been living in West Virginia for a month. I'd graduated from law school the previous May, and had just begun a year-long clerkship for a federal district court judge. It was supposed to be a great year, full of intellectual challenges and the beginning of learning my craft. Instead, work was a necessary distraction from what seemed to be a huge hole in my soul. The only people I knew in town were the people I worked with, and I'd only known them for a few weeks. Thank goodness that they are among the most caring, wonderful people I've ever encountered.

Work was a useful distraction for a while, but it, too, eventually became an all-too-painful reminder of what my sister had meant to me. As kids, Julie and I fought as often as any closely-aged siblings do. But as adults, we'd been really close, even though we weren't living in the same state. We regularly talked about our personal and work lives. She was beginning her career as a teacher, and I was beginning mine as a lawyer. We called to tell each other about the cool stuff we were doing. And suddenly, that was gone. Six months after my sister's death, I was sworn in as a lawyer at a ceremony in Columbus. And I couldn't stop my eyes from overflowing with tears. I couldn't shake the thought: my sister didn't live to see me become a lawyer.

It took a while--longer than I could have imagined--for the wound left by my sister's death to begin to harden into a scar. As anyone embarks upon their profession, they want to believe that what they're doing matters, that their work has meaning. But I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing mattered. After all, my sister had done as much as could be expected of her, and she had still died far too young. Making matters worse, probably, was that the circumstances of her accident yielded no one to blame. It was just a freak occurrence, one that 99% of the time would have resulted in a fender-bender or no accident at all.

Learning to be a lawyer (which is really what a lawyer does for his first two years in practice) is tough. It's even harder when you no longer have a firm conviction in the value of your profession--or any profession, for that matter.

I'm always amazed by the people who find meaning in tragedy. I've been moved, over the last couple years, by Kate the Great's discussions of her niece's illness and death. Why couldn't I find such serenity? Why couldn't I let go of the sadness, the bitterness? I remember the platitudes offered by well-meaning people: God needed another teacher in Heaven was a common one. I wanted to scream back, Really? I can think of a couple He could have had instead.

Work wasn't the only hard thing. When I returned to Cincinnati in 2004, my friends welcomed me back with open arms. Or at least, they tried to. I'd never been a really big party animal, but for a long time after Julie died, the thought of just hanging out with a bunch of people was intolerable. One or two was OK, but more than that? Couldn't do it. Weddings were out of the question. Every time I received an invitation (to a wedding, or a party, or just a happy hour), I really wanted to come. I'd even say yes. But I usually found a last minute reason--a headache, a work project, undone laundry--to skip out. It became so common, my friends had a name for saying you'd show up somewhere and then not doing so: "pulling a Caster." I avoided meeting new people. First dates were unbearable; inevitably, the question comes up: Do you have any brothers or sisters? How was I supposed to answer that? No. Oh, so you're an only child. Well..... Or: Yes, a sister. Really? What does she do? Umm.....

Thanks goodness for the patience--and loyalty--of those friends. My best friend--the one I'd been talking to when my dad called that terrible night--was amazing. He knew when to call, when to worry a bit if he'd not heard from me. He knew when to prompt me to talk about how I was dealing with things, and when to talk about anything but. And over time--a long, long time--things got better. Over the last couple years, I'm no longer just accepting invitations, I've begun actually showing up. I take joy in being an attorney again. As I begin a new chapter in my life and my career (more on that in the next few days), I'm filled with a sense of optimism. For a long time, change--no matter what kind--only brought a sense of dread. I enjoy my friendships and the company of others again. I'm not sure I could have ever predicted this when I chose to make it my home, but it turns out that Cincinnati was a good place to learn to live again.

I can't say that "hole in my soul" has healed or closed completely. That will never happen. But I've learned to fill it with other things. I've learned that it's OK to let go of some things, and grasp hold of others. I've learned that it's OK to move forward--and that moving forward isn't the same thing as "moving on."

So why do I write this here, exposing myself in such a public way? I don't know. Partially because I'm sure there's someone reading this who is where I was five or six years ago. Someone who experienced some loss recently, who feels stuck in the mud, and who can't seem to gain any traction. My message: keep the wheels turning. It gets better. You'll start to gain some momentum. Just be patient with yourself. And for those of who know someone in that spot: don't give up on them. Keep throwing them lifelines. Eventually, they'll grab on to one of them, and let you help pull them onto solid ground. Just be patient with them.

Another Challenger for 2011 City Council

Yvette Simpson announced last week that she is a candidate for the 2011 Cincinnati City Council race. By my tally, that makes her the second non-incumbent to announce. Her campaign's Facebook page is here.

Yvette is a 2004 graduate of the University of Cincinnati College of Law, where I came to know her as an intelligent, hard-working, passionate individual. If she doesn't win a Council seat next year, it won't be for lack of effort.

I haven't seen news of this in the traditional media or on any of the local blogs, yet. (Griff's lack of coverage is surprising, since Yvette is a 2000 Miami grad and is currently the Director of Pre-Law Programs at MU.)

For those of you keeping a geopolitical scoreboard, she is (I believe) a downtown resident.

I wish my friend Yvette good luck in next year's race.

Preemptive Strike From the CFD in Budget War

Resolving the City of Cincinnati's 50 million dollar budget deficit will be a battle of wills and the Cincinnati Fire Department has fired the first volley in that fight. The Cincinnati Police Department will soon take a shot at countering the CFD's claims of critical need. Putting panic in the minds of the public is the biggest weapon in this battle, and both departments will fight until the last round is spent.

The question ahead: will city council be able to stick together and find an equitable deal? We're over a year from a city election, but is that far enough away for the conservative block to fend off the FOP's tar and feathering to come for those who vote to cut any FOP jobs? Or is the deficit big enough to force even the FOP to take some sort of cut to uniformed members? More to come. I'm wondering if anyone will try and rustle up some shock and awe. I don't think it will fly this time around.

Thank You Cincinnati Reds!

If you had told me at the start of the season that the Reds would make the playoffs and lose in the first round, I would have been excited for a great season. Well, the Cincinnati Reds had a great season. They were not the best team in baseball, but they were near the top.

Last night I witnessed that loss in the first round from the upper deck at GABP and it was thrilling. The crowd was the biggest ever at GABP and they stood a majority of the game. It was what baseball is supposed to be. Our team was playing and that was enough to cheer about. We wanted the Reds to win, but it was just great being there.

The team played well this season and shows great promise. They made watching baseball fun. I want to thank the team for helping me find that fun again in baseball.

2011 will be a good year for the Reds. We have something in our baseball team most other cities don't: character. Let's build on that. Let's Go Reads.

Bearcats 45, Miami 3

O Cincinnati, magic name
I proudly to the world proclaim
No sweeter word e'er charmed my ear
None to my heart was e'er so dear;
A fountain of eternal youth,
A tower of strength, a rock of truth.

Varsity, dear Varsity
Thy loyal children we will be.
Thy loyal, loyal children we will be!

Eddie Fingers Appears To Be Gone From WLW

Afternoon radio host, Eddie Fingers, appears to have been fired from 700WLW-AM. The long time FM morning host on WEBN switched to the higher rated AM Station within the last couple of years. His show on the "Big One" was getting good ratings. There is no official word on why he was fired. John Kieswetter, of the Enquirer, blogged last night that he sources indicate it may have been a contract dispute that got out of hand. That seems like a B.S. answer, but not totally false. There is always more to the story.

This all assumes the whole thing isn't a really bad hoax. WLW is known for pretending to fire people. If they did that here, and Fingers is on vacation, then this much lying is really pathetic. WLW is not above being pathetic.

I listen to either NPR or my ipod in the car both on the way to work and on the way home. The only value WLW holds is a breaking news outlet. If there is a tornado coming or snow storm, WLW does great work. It does pretty good work on 'news' but it devotes so little time to it, it is lost in the shuffle.

No-Hitter Rant

I just posted the following to my facebook page. Feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

Halladay was terrific yesterday, and what he did was historic. But let's not pretend that he joined Don Larsen. Larsen is still in a class of his own. Larsen pitched a perfect game, not just a no-hitter. And he did so in the World Series, not the league semi-finals. And finally (though not Halladay's fault), while I love my Reds, the 2010 Reds are not the 1956 Dodgers.

Also:

For the uninitiated, the playoffs did not even begin until 1969. Before then, the best team in the AL and the best team in the NL, based solely on season record, met in the World Series. Larsen threw a perfect game (27 batters retired consecutively, with none reaching first base safely) against the best team the National League had to offer. Halladay threw a no-hitter against the third-best team in the National League.

And with all due respect to Brandon Phillips and Joey Votto, I see no one with the stature of Pee Wee Reese, Duke Snider, Jackie Robinson, or Roy Campanella on the Reds Roster.

Here's the box score to Larsen's perfect game. Here it is for the Reds-Phillies game last night.