Challenges

The blog has been relatively quiet for about a week, as its sole writer has been stepping up to face some challenges. And I’ve had a cold.

Personally, I’ve known for some time that the time has come to step out of my comfort zone. That zone is essentially comprised of my apartment, where I hide from the world. If I don’t try to get dressed up to go out with friends, I don’t risk a bad hair night, potentially awkward social interactions, or the sometimes-scary dating world. I often fall into my comfortable place that presents no challenges but keeps me single and anti-social. So, I’ve been accepting invitations - even instigating outings - in order to change that situation. And getting out more often, spending time with my girls, checking out new restaurants, and interacting with the world has been well worth the time and effort.

Along those same lines, dating comes into play. And it’s about damn time. But the risks are greater.

I started my foray back into the world of dating, sorta, by accepting a challenge I presented to myself months ago. A long-standing flirtation with the guy who has been helping me buy wine for more than a year led me to attempt my first big risk, which consisted of giving him my business card and suggesting that we go out sometime. Granted, I knew nothing of his relationship status or personal life beyond our interactions at my wine shop, and it was those unknowns that caused me to leave several wine excursions near tears because I couldn’t get up the nerve to make the move. But last week, I did it, and our conversation ended with my offer to grab wine and the handing over of the business card. He gave me a hug, which could’ve meant one of two things:

1.  Great! I’ll be calling you.

2.  Awww, you sad lonely woman!

Yes, the second hug meaning was a slight exaggeration on my part, but I was ready for that possibility. The challenge was to take the chance and put myself out there. And I did that.

A week later, Wine Guy has not called. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I’m far from broken. And I do know that the simple act of asking him out was a huge step out of my comfort zone and an indication that I’m ready to be in the dating world.

Professionally, my challenges are similar. I’ve been writing for the same poker media outlets for some time, and though I have no objections to staying with them, I find myself lacking creative challenges and writing assignments that require serious creative effort. So, I decided to step outside that comfort zone and query major magazines with poker-related story ideas.

This is harder than many people think. I have one shot at these magazines - to hit up the right editor with the right words that jump out of the e-mail, to summarize the article I hope to write in a few sentences but make him/her understand that it’s perfect for that magazine and I’m the perfect person to write it. So, I’ve sent nine so far this week, and though I’ve gotten no excited responses, I’ve seen no rejections either.

I’m prepared for the rejections, though I remain hopeful that at least one of the publications will take a chance on me. But I’ve done all I can for now; I took on the challenge and now wait for the results.

Taking risks in life is stressful. It is a process that is easily avoided - for months, years, or an entire life - but a little German woman I knew always summarized it best. “What’s the worst that can happen?” The answer to that question - with regards to dating or career goals - is rejection. But the truth is that I’ve lost nothing but a little time by trying, and what I stand to gain is far greater than any hurt feelings from a rejection. Sure, I can sit here and be content with my life, hoping that I meet the man of my dreams at the grocery store and hoping that my writing break comes from Joe Publisher reading my tournament recap of the WPT event at Foxwoods. Or I can put a little effort into trying to make things happen and possibly stumble upon true love or the work opportunity that takes my career to the next level.

Gotta step up to the challenges.

Leaving Las Vegas a Winner

Some people leave Vegas feeling like a winner because they didn’t lose their shorts and make any utterly stupid decisions. Others leave as monetary winners with a few extra million dollars in their pockets. I took the first, and a 21-year old from Michigan took the second.

As a brief follow-up from my last post in which I faced a decision to respect my limits or ignore them, I was able to find a compromise. After dinner with friends on Sunday night, I retreated to my room for nearly two hours to work before meeting the crew downtown for the 1am tournament. I was glad to be there and had fun playing, though my intuition told me not to fork over the $105 to play the Golden Nugget tournament, and I should’ve listened. Though I was running like a god at my first table, flopping sets and picking up pocket pairs like the game was rigged, that luck quickly ran out, and I finished well before the money. Nevertheless, it was fun, and I was back in my hotel room around 4am. I was tired the following day but not overly so, which allowed me to have a super productive work day, a nice dinner at the Rio, and a solid work night at the WSOP final table that ended before 2am.

Much of the poker media gathered at the hooker bar at the Rio after the tournament wrapped to chat over drinks, and I was honored - as always - to be amongst the group. But two or three drinks later when 3:30am hit, I left the festivities despite the party going strong, finished some work in my room, and fell asleep by 5am. Somehow, I managed to get up by 9am and be on the road back to L.A. by 10:30am.

I could’ve spent more time with friends on this trip, but I respected my limits, completed work I was proud of, and left with money in my wallet. It’s not to say that my degenerate tendencies are gone, but as long as I know how to control them, I can leave Las Vegas a winner every time.

Speaking of winners, there was a little tournament that wrapped at about 1:30am on Tuesday morning with one winner taking home more than $8.5 million. The World Series of Poker saw its final two players take to the felt at 10pm on Monday night with a jam-packed Penn & Teller Theater cheering them on. The enthusiasm of the crowd was quite amazing, and the electricity within the theater made the whole experience that much more exciting.

The two heads-up players were not only playing for $8.5 million (and $5.1 million for second place), but they were playing for the most coveted title in poker, the WSOP Main Event champion, which comes with a corresponding gold bracelet that only 39 others were ever able to win. The winner of the tournament also has the opportunity to become an ambassador of sorts for the poker industry, by playing in tournaments around the world, carrying himself with class and dignity, and even becoming a spokesperson for various charities and the cause of passing positive U.S. online poker legislation.

Darvin Moon, the 47-year old logger from the woods of Maryland, was quite clear in pre-game interviews, the few that he gave, that he had no intention of doing any of that. He was going to put any winnings in the bank, with the exception of buying a new lawnmower for his wife, and go back to his full-time logging job. He detested the media attention and planned to avoid it at all costs in the coming year, no matter the outcome of the tournament, and he seemed sincere about it.

Joe Cada, the 21-year old professional poker player from Michigan, embraced the championship potential from the moment he became a member of the November Nine. He actively sought a sponsorship from PokerStars, he traveled the tournament circuit and played events, and he honed his skills as much as possible in the hopes of winning the WSOP. He even chose to wear a patch representing the Poker Players Alliance, the lobbying organization pushing Congress to legalize and regulate online poker.

Personally and quietly, I was cheering for Cada, as I felt confident that he would best represent the poker industry in the coming year and beyond. When he won, I couldn’t stop smiling.

Despite some of the lucky cards that propelled Cada to victory, he was clearly one of the most skilled players at the table. He also brought a seriousness and determination to the table that garnered respect from his peers. He proved that skill will win over luck in the long run, and the person who will do the most for poker in the coming year won that opportunity to do so. But it was a moment at the end of the tournament that showed Cada was mature and level-headed well beyond what was shown by his fans. As the last card was turned over by the dealer and Cada was officially the WSOP champion, his friends and relatives on the stage prepared to smother him with a mob-type group embrace, but it was at that moment that he literally extended his hands to push them away. He quickly turned toward the stage and rushed over to his opponent and congratulated Moon on a well-played heads-up match. He showered Moon with praise and let him know what a tough match it was before going back to his entourage to officially celebrate the moment.

Class. Maturity. Sportsmanship.

Joe Cada displayed these qualities and more, and the new WSOP champion started his reign on a positive note. For me, that speaks volumes about the kind of respect and credibility that Cada will model in the years to come. As a representative of poker, the young player has already shown more class and sportsmanship than many players twice his age.

I couldn’t stop smiling that night as I left the theater, and I felt positive about the future of poker for the first time in months. Not only did Cada win the most prestigious poker tournament in the world this week, but the poker industry won as well.

Limits

The final table of the World Series of Poker (WSOP) started yesterday with nine players and the intention of playing down to the final two. Though that event didn’t begin until noon, I was up at 6:30am to shower and get ready, at breakfast with Linda at 8:30am for a pre-game powwow, and at the Rio by 10am to pick up my press credentials and scope out the scene. We were allowed in the Penn & Teller Theater by 11am, where we found our seats in press row, set up our computers, and started articles that would be completed throughout the day and night as play progressed.

By the time we went on a two-hour dinner break at 7pm, there were still seven players at the final table. Instead of going to a Hall of Fame dinner for inductee Mike Sexton, I chose a laid-back dinner at my favorite Gaylord Indian food restaurant with friends LJ, CK, and F-Train. It was the perfect choice for me and loved it. Back to work, we continued on with the poker action with the exception of 20-minute breaks every two or three hours. As the clock neared 3am, there were still five players, and we didn’t find our final two until 6am.

The last few hours found me fading due to pure exhaustion (as evidenced by my less enthusiastic Twitter messages as the night wore on) and coming to grips with the fact that I am truly 40 years old and not in fabulous shape. And my body is not used to such an erratic sleep schedule for the majority of the year. But at the times I felt the extreme urge to nod off, I got up, walked to the casino, grabbed another bottle of water, and convinced myself that I could do it. Despite urges all evening long to sidle up to the hooker bar and have a drink, I stuck with water and tea, remembering the WSOP summer well and how drinks at various points in the day only seemed to bring me down. And I made it to the 6am stop time of the tournament, though the words on the laptop were becoming jumbled and my eyesight was a bit blurry. When it was over, I wrote the last few words, packed up quickly, and walked back to the Gold Coast with Pauly and Matt. Starving, I chose a call to room service for breakfast, and waiting for it gave me the chance to look over my last-written words to make sure they made sense. I emailed the article, ate what I could of the breakfast, and let myself go to sleep by 8am.

It was a brutal night, and I became acutely aware of my physical limitations. But I also stayed aware of my mental limitations, and staying away from the drinks and keeping from participating in most conversations that weren’t focused on the WSOP action allowed me to watch the entire tournament, soak it in, write about what I saw, and do a job that I was proud of.

After sleeping all day, I’m staving off the depression that could come with missing an entire day of sunlight by working and getting ready to join some friends for drinks and a great Noodle Exchange dinner. More decisions face me tonight, as I actually have a great deal of work to do but the crew wants to head down to Binion’s in downtown Vegas to play a 2am poker tournament. Not only will my work not get done, but I’ll be exhausted tomorrow when I have to head to the Rio at 1pm for a press conference with the two WSOP finalists. Play then resumes at 10pm tomorrow night, and I have to check out of my room and leave Vegas by 11am the next morning.

The decision tonight will involve testing my limits by following my friends into a night of debauchery or knowing my limits and doing the responsible thing. Choices, choices…

Fine Lines

I wanted to call this post “Lethargic in Las Vegas” but then thought about switching it to “Leisurely in Las Vegas.” Both words seem to apply with a fine line separating the two.

The drive from Los Angeles to Las Vegas was made a bit longer than expected by a few construction-and-resulting-traffic delays, but I arrived at the Gold Coast by 2:30, checked in without issue, and went to my room to unpack and watch news of the horrid shooting at the Ft. Hood military base. Hunger prompted me to hit the casino for a meal, and I spent a little bar time with a friend after.

The next few hours could have easily been spent continuing to drink, but I had to visit my room to complete an article…and stop drinking. I’m not one to go strong for more than a few hours, nor did I seek to get to the kind of drunken stupor that non-stop bar time would have created. But by 10pm, I was ready to meet a group of poker media friends at the Gold Coast bowling bar for more drinks. It was a mellow night that consisted of catching up, as most of us hadn’t seen each other since we departed Las Vegas in mid-July. Though we stayed there until a very late hour, no one was sloshed (that I was aware of), and I left close to 2am with a few of the guys remaining behind.

It was truly a leisurely day in Las Vegas…and an enjoyable one. But there is a part of me that felt listless. I’m in Las Vegas with all of its nightlife and clubs and music and gaming action, and I brought with me some club-worthy clothes and the hopes of being in the thick of the nightlife for at least a few hours of the trip. Sure, I’m 40, but I haven’t lost my urge to boogie and let loose, and Vegas inspires that part of me. However, with very few of my colleagues interested in such a night out, the club clothes might have to stay packed away for this trip.

Going to bed on the first night of the trip feeling lethargic led to waking up today without much energy, though my breakfast with a work friend/colleague encouraged me to pursue a work endeavor that is right in line with my recently established goals…and then some. And the opportunity is in front of me now to jump right in, should I be able to pull off a challenging task. Reinvigorated, I hope to continue this level of enthusiasm through the rest of the trip. While it’s not the same kind of high that comes from the dance floor of a nightclub, I may be able to stave off lethargy as my mind reels with new opportunities.

It is a fine line between enjoying a leisurely time with friends and slipping into a state of sluggishness that makes me feel ten years older than I am. Much of the remainder of this trip will center around work assignments, which is positive, and a night out at a club would only hinder my ability to be focused. Maybe it’s a good thing that I keep those club clothes in the suitcase, simply enjoy the time I have with friends who are scattered throughout the country most of the year, and rely on mental stimulants to keep feelings of listlessness away.

I have a few more days here to establish my ability to pull that off.

Where the Cards May Fall

Tomorrow morning, I toss my luggage in the car and head off to Las Vegas for several purposes, most of them relating to work. The World Series of Poker main event will host its final table this weekend after nearly four months of a break to allow the ESPN programming to catch up, and that event dictated this trip.

After a very tough summer of poker tournaments in Vegas - two months that tested my emotional boundaries, friendships, and physical stamina - I feel a bit of trepidation about going back. While the logical side of me knows that it wasn’t the city of Las Vegas that did anything to me, it was the location of some hardships. But since that time, I’ve come to grips with most of the issues that bothered me over the summer, and I’m clearly in a better place to deal.

There were some personal differences that made the last few weeks of the summer uncomfortable, but most of those have been worked out. One recent conversation led to an apology to me, which I accepted, and another consisted of an apology by me to someone I felt I treated unfairly, which that person accepted. One circumstance remains unsettled and in a strange place, though that didn’t stem from the WSOP, and I will try to figure out where that stands when possible. On the other hand, there are some people I’m very much looking forward to seeing, and I plan to let those experiences far outweigh and outshine any discomfort from situations over which I have no control.

The WSOP final table will play down to the final two on Saturday, and the heads-up portion of the festivities will take place on Monday night. I’ll be reporting on the action in article format for PokerWorks, but at the same time, I’ll be working on other articles, such as tournament recaps for the FTOPS online poker series, Sunday majors on various online poker sites, and the WPT event at Foxwoods. But with the focus I’m carrying with me for the next few days, I should be able to handle the duties with relative ease. And I’m actually more excited about the poker action I’ll witness than I anticipated, which always helps during a work assignment!

I also hope to do some networking this weekend to explore possible writing gigs for the future. There are several people I hope to meet with to discuss collaborations, so I will have to put my self-promotion hat on for part of the trip. Though I fully realize that opportunities in this industry are somewhat limited in the current environment, it doesn’t hurt to try and see what happens.

In addition to taking care of work and seeing Vegas in a brighter light than when I left in July, this trip will serve as a getaway from my home in Los Angeles. Working at home begins to feel like a quarantine of sorts after a few months, and with the turmoil of late surrounding the death of my neighbor’s son and drama that ensued with the family afterward, the drive across the desert and some excessive drinking in Las Vegas will be a welcome change. Sin City has always had a special place in my heart, and I truly enjoy most of my visits there. No matter where the cards fall during this trip, I look forward to a good time.

Relationship Counseling With Poker Update

It was nearly one month ago that I decided to undergo self-imposed relationship counseling with poker. The goal was to decide whether we could rekindle our initial romance, or at the very minimum, find a way to work together that leaves each of us with more positive feelings than negative.

I can say that there has been no giant breakthrough, no tear-filled moments or light-bulb ideas. However, I can also say that we’ve come to an agreement. Poker and I are staying together indefinitely, but it will be an open relationship. I may stray into other genres if the opportunities arise and work on several non-poker projects that need to be moved off the back burner, but I will continue to write about poker as my predominant source of income. Doesn’t sound like much of a shocker, but there’s more to it.

When I fell in love with poker during my stint as an accountant for the World Poker Tour, there was a mutual admiration between us. I was infatuated with the personalities in the poker world; the players had fascinating stories that I wanted to tell, whether they fell into poker after a singular success and stayed, or they grew up in a gaming-centric household and never knew any other kind of life, of they saw the possibilities in the game and worked their tails off to overcome the failures in search of the victories. Every story had its nuance that made it interesting, and there were media outlets willing to pay me to tell those tales.

Over the last few years, the stories have been told. It’s old news that Jennifer Harman struggled with her family, Phil Ivey’s underage adventures in Atlantic City, Daniel Negreanu’s focus on satellite wins to get him into WSOP events. Even Tom Dwan’s quick rise to fame has been documented. Player bios can be found on nearly every website, and magazines show little interest in telling compelling, detailed stories anymore, as many of the bio-type articles are tied in to advertisers. There are some articles still written by a select few that make it into poker publications, but those opportunities for writers are limited. However, it is what I enjoy and what I feel is an important part of the game that should remain a focus. If we lose sight of the interesting stories that lead players to the felt, we lose the chance to draw more players who see the immense possibilities in the game that are deeper and more meaningful than the prize pool.

Thus, my first goal in the coming months is to find a media outlet with an appreciation for the faces behind the cards. There is more to tell about the guy who comes out of nowhere to win $1 million, and there’s even more to say about Phil Ivey than why he mucked a winning hand in the 2009 WSOP. But I have to find (or create) a publication that truly values those detailed, interview-driven narratives.

Much of what I write these days consists of tournament reports, which can be mind-numbingly boring to write but also tell a story in their own ways. While I don’t have the ability, at this point, to go to most of the tournaments and dig into the meat-and-potatoes portion of the events, my second goal is to find a way to make my reports more than standard. While I know how to watch an online tournament and make the recap somewhat interesting, and I can take the hands from a live update team and write a tournament recap that gives every important detail of what happened, I will strive to find an opportunity to take that skill to another level.

The third goal as poker and I move on together is a bit more complicated. Poker has gone in a direction that I have found frustrating. Media tends to focus, in many cases, more on hot chicks than women who actually prove their poker abilities through tenacity and results, as well as on players who make a fuss like Phil Hellmuth rather than the players who are able to ignore the madness and thrive in spite of it. Important political news that relates to the future of online poker is often given a short blurb while a string of articles is dedicated to a never-ending online poker game between Dwan and Ivey; both should be covered, but there should be a healthy balance. I hope to be able to bring more attention to topics that don’t get it now, and without having a game plan for how to do that yet, suffice it to say that I have my work cut out for me. But more than that, I am looking to ignore the silliness that sometimes poses as news and rise above it without letting frustrations cloud my own purpose.

With that said, I’d still like to have some fun with the poker industry but be taken seriously as a writer. Often feeling unchallenged or underchallenged is something that I tend to attribute as the fault of others, but in fact it’s my own fault for not pursuing tougher work assignments and working harder to achieve my own goals.

It’s time to buck up and make my relationship with poker work, while actively seeking other opportunities and diving into my own projects. Time to get off the counseling couch and just do.

Punny!

My mom clipped a cartoon from her newspaper and sent it, knowing that I appreciate a great pun. And she wrote at the top: “Dick Newell inspired this!” My dad did love the puns, which always makes us smile.

The cartoon consists of a conversation between the cat and dog of Mother Goose & Grimm:

Cat:  Some laboratory in California is raising medical marijuana.

Dog:  So?

Cat:  A flock of terns landed in their garden…and ate all their plants.

Dog:  Oh, no… Are the birds okay?

Cat:  There was no tern left unstoned.

Now that, my friends, is a joke!

Growth

Today’s post is going to focus on life and growth, if for no other reason than to balance out this day.

My neighbor’s son, who died last week at the age of 27 after a struggle with MS, was honored and buried today. Well, in truth, the past week has been one of honoring and celebrating Joey, as family members have been coming over by the dozens each day and night to cry and laugh and eat…and eat…and eat. The Israelis know how to do it all, loudly and consistently. But today was the day that they did the deed; they hosted a viewing at the mortuary this morning, which was followed by a church mass and the burial. I paid my respects at the viewing, which shocked me with an open casket, but I skipped the religious services.

Back here at the duplex, the mourners began arriving around 2:30pm, and the final number had to be over 125. My neighbor’s back yard was filled with tables and chairs, as well as a buffet spread of Middle Eastern food like I’d never seen. And true to form, the dessert table was just as packed with items as the other food table. I popped in, at their insistence, for an overflowing plate of goodies, and popped back into my apartment, as I felt very out of place in the midst of such a huge family and so many strangers.

It was a day that began with me staring directly at the body of a young man and those who were absolutely heartbroken by the loss of him. It has been a difficult thing to watch, though that doesn’t compare in any form to the pain of the Qatto family.

So, in an effort to steer my thoughts away from death, I took a good look at my basil and parsley today. The growth of the basil is phenomenal! Both basil plants not only lived but are thriving so greatly that I may have to find new pots for them. For now, though, I may be stripping it of its leaves for some homemade pesto.

The Italian parsley is alive and trying desperately to thrive, though its growth seems to be stunted a bit. I won’t post a picture of it because it’s just not that spectacular to see, but I vow that it is alive and doing its damnedest to produce leaves that I can use.

The day ends for me with a desperate attempt to focus on life and growth instead of the heavy weight that death brings. The mere fact that I have taken plants that were clearly at death’s door and brought them back to life - successfully growing plants for the first time in my 40 years of life - lets me know that there are more possibilities out there than I’d have thought possible a few years ago.

Health Insurance Companies & Their Dirty Secrets

In the pursuit of answers from my insurance company - Anthem Blue Cross - some interesting facts have come to light, or, in more accurate terms, been kept secret. It turns out that the underwriting guidelines set by insurance companies for individual health care plans in California are confidential and are not required to be released to the public, and it is those guidelines that allow the companies to raise rates or deny coverage, all via a secret code.

**********

You’ve just secured a job with a company, and you’re grateful for the employment. The company welcomes you with a packet of company rules from the Human Resources department, but when you leaf through, you realize that most of the pages are blank. “Proprietary information” is not available to employees, and you suddenly realize that you don’t know what is and is not allowed by the company you work for.

Weeks later, you receive notice that your salary has been decreased. The rules did state that you must be given a reason, and that reason reads: “You wore jeans to work on casual day, which is against the rules.”

How were you supposed to know that was against the rules? Sure, the company assures you that the rules are written and registered with a state regulatory commission, but you were never allowed to see them. But if you break them, they can reduce your pay by an amount established by the rules (which you can’t see), as long as they tell you why…after the fact.

This is exactly the procedure under which the state of California allows health insurance companies to operate.

**********

AB 356 was enacted in 2005 to regulate individual health insurance policies. But what it does, essentially, is demand that insurance companies inform applicants of the reasons they’ve been denied or their rates have changed. The underwriting guidelines that are used to determine those actions, however, are only submitted to the Department of Insurance and may not be released to the public.

Realistically, Anthem Blue Cross can deny an application because a person has admitted to a doctor that he or she has chronic headaches. The company’s only responsibility is to send a note to the applicant stating that headaches pose a health risk, thus coverage is being denied. Whatever rule used to determine that - if there even is one - will not be disclosed.

Further, any correspondence with the Department of Insurance regarding a complaint about a particular insurance company first goes through the insurance company. No lie. When I wrote a letter of complaint to the Department of Insurance, it was rerouted to Anthem first, and I know this because I received a letter from Anthem stating that my complaint was not valid. Several days later, I received a letter from the Department of Insurance stating the same thing.

The fox is most certainly watching the hen house.

The insurance companies have the state by the balls, and there is nothing that the people of the state can do about it. Personally, if I protest by dropping my entire policy with Anthem, I will be completely without coverage, because the minor health issues from my past - including nothing terminal, chronic, or requiring treatment - will be just cause for any company to reject me. The state of California has done nothing to protect me from being unfairly judged or charged unfair rates because the insurance companies seem to operate hand-in-hand with the state. The insurance companies look for any way to make an enormous profit, and the state allows it.

Meanwhile, the people’s representatives in Congress debate the need for health care reform. The people are literally begging for help, asking for the government to step in to require that insurance companies stop using preexisting conditions to deny coverage and give us a public option that will force said companies to become competitive in a marketplace that offers a truly affordable option for consumers. But insurance companies, waving past and potential future campaign contributions in the faces of those members of Congress, ask to be left alone to rape and pillage as they have done for years.

It really is this simple. But Congress can’t decide on anything. And I have to remit payment to Anthem Blue Cross for another month of coverage, regardless of the way they abuse me as a consumer, otherwise risk surefire bankruptcy if I so much as get into a bad car accident or find that my appendix is prepared to burst. What kind of choice is that? The only kind that insurance companies want me to have. And since they have purchased the majority of Congress, my government is willing to allow it.

If Congress does not pass substantial health care reform, I will be seeking residence in Europe. You can bet your insurance payment on that.

Heavy Hearts

They surround me this week. And though my heart suffers with the weight as well, it is nothing compared to the sadness of my neighbor and his family.

My neighbor, Sam, is a 60-something man with a kind soul but overbearing need to take care of people, especially single, helpless me. Since I moved into half of this duplex in January, the man from Jerusalem has felt the need to attempt to feed me and take care of me because I have no man in my life to do so. I have been somewhat successful in rejecting his assistance with anything and everything to let him know that I’m fine by myself. While his attempts remain annoying, I try to stay aware that his concern comes from an old-school but good place.

Sam’s life has been somewhat empty since the death of his wife several years ago and the escape of his daughter, Mary, into marriage in Colorado last year. That left him to stay home and care for his bed-ridden son, Joey, who had been diagnosed with MS in 2001. The 27-year old had gone from a vibrant, active young man, as I saw in pictures, to a crippled version of himself, unable to eat, speak, or move freely. He spent his last few years of life in a hospital bed at home with a feeding tube protruding from his stomach and his father changing his diapers. Still, he was a member of the family and much loved by the many aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews, brother, sister, and father who tended to him.

On Monday, Joey became ill. The vomiting became uncontrollable, and by the evening hours, Sam grew concerned enough to call an ambulance to have him transported to the local hospital. It was on the way there that it was quickly discovered that he had pneumonia and died before reaching the hospital doors. Sam calmly called his family and me to say, plainly, that he passed.

By Tuesday afternoon, the family was arriving in droves from the Southern California area, Nevada, and Colorado. The tears fell from their faces as Sam’s expression stayed concerned and sober, but the weight of his sadness was the most dramatic as it had not yet surfaced. But what bubbled underneath was something that no one could pretend to understand - the sadness of a man who buried his beloved wife only several years prior and who now had to arrange the burial of his son. The caretaking of his son was what kept him alive and spirited since the death of his wife, and that job now ceased to be. Sam was lost and his heart was shattered.

I hardly knew Joey. I saw him several times but avoided the scene as much as possible. But I know death and how it pains the soul. And I see it in every face that comes and goes from Sam’s house this week.

When my father died, I was only eight years old and did not fully understand the tragedy, though it came to affect me greatly as the years passed. What I also came to understand was the pain of my mother’s loss - that of her husband, her children’s father, and the love of her life. I saw the pain of suicide when a fellow student in high school took his own life and his parents buried him. I saw my grandmother bury members of her family. In my adult life, there was the death of my grandpa from cancer that nearly killed my grandma, as her great love was taken from her, leaving her more heartbroken and empty than I claimed to understand. And years later, I watched dementia take her from our family before she finally took her last breaths in front of my mother and me, dying, literally, of a broken heart.

Death has always had a profound effect on me. It could be a result of my inability to fully grasp the idea of an afterlife, or it could be the simple depth of my emotions. But when I see death and the grief surrounding it, I feel it with an almost abnormal intensity.

This week, I am doing my best to comfort those next door with the broken hearts. They know that Joey suffers no more, but they are left with an emptiness that feels endless to them. To bring food each day and other necessities like boxes of tissues seems silly to me, but they appreciate it, and if it makes them smile or think positively for a few moments, the purpose is served. And it lightens the weight of their sadness for me, just a bit.

Sam should be returning from the mortuary very soon. That means it’s time for my banana bread and another box of Kleenex.