tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64320537575293901702024-02-21T02:27:05.995-06:00Minus One SonA site dedicated to our son Marcus Manny. Hopefully through this blog we can persuade people from driving while distracted. Hoping we can convince people to turn their vehicles into Phone Free Zones. Hoping that we can show that Distracted Driving is a harmful phenomenon with devastating effects. We pray that by sharing our loss and experiences, we can prevent people from making the same mistake our son made and in turn save lives and families from immeasurable grief.Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-85180527765534199932016-11-19T05:02:00.001-06:002016-11-19T05:02:39.121-06:00Here Comes the Cold Weather39* F was the low today. <br />
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The Tabor College BlueJays are playing in the NAIA playoffs.<br />
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Thanksgiving is mere days away.<br />
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It has been SEVEN years since Marcus has gone Home - yet my body still acts like he is coming home for the Holidays.<br />
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My brain knows that is not possible. Nope! Not a fucking chance.<br />
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My heart on the other hand. <br />
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What else is there to say?<br />
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The days are shorter. It was dark around 6pm today.<br />
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When the fuck does this darkness leave. <br />
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My depression and I are BFFs - it only bothers me when I breathe.<br />
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I love you Marcus. Look over your Bro and Mommy every chance you get.<br />
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<br />Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-78544958860116151922016-06-26T03:06:00.000-05:002016-06-26T03:06:40.607-05:00How heavy is a full grown elephant?I don't have a fucking idea!<br />
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I just wish it would find a better sitting place - coz my chest is fucking worn.<br />
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<br />Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-15247455675291347592016-06-07T03:59:00.000-05:002016-06-07T03:59:00.912-05:00The fucking summer is here again...<br />
Everyday is still tough! What is it now - SEVEN years THREE months and SIXTEEN days.<br />
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I know I will never be truly happy. I try my best at acting like I am fine. Physically I have never been better in years. No diabetes. No high blood pressure. Depression is another matter. Thoughts run amok in my head. Thoughts of running away, of changing everything to even suicide. No desire to go on vacation. No desire for anything other than to make a better life for Alex and Trish.<br />
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I am bewildered at the fact that I am actually updating this blog.<br />
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<br />Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-86526505398755594062012-12-30T00:49:00.000-06:002015-12-28T18:05:09.649-06:00Tattoo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have shared the middle image above, in this earlier </span><a href="http://www.minus1son.com/2010/06/i-miss-him-so-much.html"><i><span style="color: orange; font-size: x-large;">post</span></i></a><span style="font-size: large;">. Ever since Marcus passed I knew I wanted a tattoo in remembrance of him. </span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>I had a design in mind. We even had Jenny (she is the Jenny in the note that Alex wrote above) redesign an angel with Marcus' face. The angel tattoo will will be for the future, but I knew once I was ready for a tattoo, Alex's chalk on paper sketch was it. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>When I posted this same pic on FaceBook - the original picture-taker had this to say. "I took that at my parent's house... Summer of 2005. We had a spontaneous dance party and I snapped a picture of him. Really happy memories." Thank you so much Ms. Chloe!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">So from an innocent enough picture. To an inspired sketch by our youngest. To my arm. Forever</span>.</b></span><br />
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<br />Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-14522963825268440362012-12-25T07:55:00.000-06:002012-12-25T07:55:25.304-06:00Whole Bean Coffee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Another Holiday Season is upon us. For my family another season of torment, melancholy and mind numbing sadness. I walk around like a soulless zombie during these days. My family and I try to be part of festivities but we mostly fail. My extended family is great. So welcoming and very understanding. Well most are. My friends are the same. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It is cliche' and we have all heard it a million times. The Holidays are the worst season for the blues. The weather is wet and cold. It just adds to the prevailing mood. Seeing families celebrating it what seems like endless laughter is a joy to watch. I just wish we can have the same. When I greet people and wish them a Merry Christmas and next week a Happy New Year, I mean it from the bottom of my heart. I do hope they all remain merry and happy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The picture above is the last Christmas gift Marcus gave me. This is such a typical Marcus gift. Over thought and a little off, but very sincere. He knew I like coffee. He knows I frequent Starbucks. He wanted to give me something unique so the special limited blend. So far so good. Here is where it goes "off" a little. The coffee is whole bean and when he gave me this I did not have a coffee grinder. When I told him this, he looked at me, as if to say, "So what's the difference?" I had to explain to him that in order for me to brew this coffee I will have to grind it. Oh! Light bulb goes on - stares at package - and it clicks! Whole Bean Coffee! He assumed it meant WHOLE FLAVOR. Don't ask. I didn't.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Less than two months later Marcus was gone. And yet here is my whole bean coffee still unopened - almost two months from the four year anniversary of Marcus' death. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Fucking time flies even if you're not having fun.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">By the way, we did buy a coffee grinder last year. So now we have a package of unopened coffee and an unused coffee grinder still in the original box.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I just cannot rip open this golden foil packaging preserving the coffee. Because if I do, the coffee will be gone - just like my son.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Merry Christmas everyone. Cherish your family. Hug your kids extra tight - tell them you love them a little sweeter next time you speak to them. Treasure your time with your loved ones.</span></div>
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<br />Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com2Plano, TX, USA33.0198431 -96.69888559999998332.806917600000006 -97.021609099999978 33.2327686 -96.376162099999988tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-15108370680726811412012-11-25T21:34:00.000-06:002012-11-25T21:34:20.995-06:00Tabor Memorial<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">After the accident, Marcus' friends and Tabor College put together a Memorial for him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have only watched this once until this year. I made the mistake of watching it by myself a couple of weeks ago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It was at the same time heart warming and heart breaking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I had to share this as a thank you to the loving friends of Marcus who loving put this together as tribute to his life and as a way to grieve.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am also sharing this as a reminder to all of us to not wait until we lose somebody to let them know how we truly feel about them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Tabor Memorial Part Two</span></div>
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<br />Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-80847470643064338682012-05-13T03:54:00.000-05:002012-05-13T03:54:15.049-05:00Happy Mother's Day Patricia!<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy Mother's Day!</div>
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At John and Sheryl's Wedding</div>
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Alex and Mommy time.</div>
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Marcus and three-day old Alex.</div>
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At Dallas Academy Homecoming Game with Mydia</div>
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Goofy time after a game freshman year.</div>
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Finally a "Good" shot</div>
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I recall you saying "One more shot!" Which turned into a dozen more or so. So glad you insisted. <strong><u>This shot is a treasure.</u></strong></div>
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Alex with two of the best Mom's in the World </div>
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Freezing in Hillsboro </div>
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Senior Game </div>
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Mother's Day 2002, with Marjorie a soon to be great mother then.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em>Your boys and I love you Patricia. </em></span></div>
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<br /></div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-66226044130884757812012-05-06T05:28:00.000-05:002012-05-06T05:28:42.525-05:00Another Post on Facebook<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This is another post on Facebook by one of Marcus' friends on Facebook.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">From Heaven Above</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">by <u><strong>Alicia Hendricks</strong></u> </span></div>
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on Friday, March 23, 2012 at 9:46pm </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I wrote these words in what seems like not so long ago....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">My hand shakes as my pen writes these words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The tears stream down my cheeks to splash the page.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">To grasp that you've gone makes my heart hurt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I see your smile and your dancing eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The laughter and humor in your voice rings in my ears.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I remember how you made me laugh till I cried.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Cracking jokes to lighten the mood or to ease my pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">You lend an ear and give words of advice when I'm in need.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">You were someone we all admired. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Always treasured and remembered in all the hearts that your character and personality touched.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">We ALL will forever miss the fun loving YOU!!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Marcus Manny</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">02/22/2009</span></div>
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<br />Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-30599551470474817662012-02-29T21:25:00.001-06:002012-02-29T21:29:06.933-06:00A Facebook post by one of Marcus' Tabor Friends<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><em>Marcus, 3 years ago you reminded us of how we can unexpectedly go "home" and leave many people behind feeling "homesick". </em></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><em></em></span></div><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><em>I'm glad that you encountered Jesus Christ on this earth, but now, you are face to face with Him. </em></span></div><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><em>May we sing these... words out these next few days, that "In Christ, there are no goodbyes. In Christ, there is no end. So I'll hold on to Jesus with all that I have, to see you again . . . to see you again."</em></span></div><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><em>Praying lots for you Roland, Patricia, and Alex. On this day, I am reminded of a laugh and a life that has pointed me to live everyday intentionally for Jesus. Love you all SO much!</em> </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/g3k1rJOQPdY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">The young woman that posted the above on each of our Facebook pages is <strong>Joanna Chapa</strong>. A source of positivity and strength for our family since the accident. The first time I recall meeting Joanna was when she helped us pack up Marcus' dorm room. That day we met young persons like Joanna. Grounded in God and Faith. The funny thing is that we may not have known who she is if not for the accident. Strange how things work out and I am absolutely clueless how and why things happen. What I do know is that my family loves Joanna and we are fortunate to have her in our life now.</span></div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-23116790846251330442012-02-28T17:33:00.001-06:002012-02-28T22:02:38.070-06:00This is Marcus - from Modern Mom in Heels<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Most of my posts usually talk about my grief, my wife's grief or our youngest's grief.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I sometimes fail in including other members of our family.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Other persons greatly affected by the passing of Marcus are my younger sister Marjorie and my younger brother Christopher.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Christopher lost his boyhood pal. Marjorie lost a nephew and her Godson.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I am taking this moment to acknowledge my sister's grief on this post. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I love my sister very much. I still cannot believe that she is a Mom herself now and a great one at that.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">She has been very supportive all through this ordeal. The kind of support that is not intrusive or comes with strings. She will just listen. Sometimes thats all we need.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Here is a blog post she shared last week about Marcus. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Please click on the link below.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://modernmominheels.com/?p=598"><span style="color: red; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong><em>THIS IS MARCUS</em></strong></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjSdiDCRnjyzoiLefxKtrzFMlW4zcYw_6QBoSJfmH6iYFj8-VOihbQkl5AY8bl95ezReFVIKSDCXArNZiG4r2fN729N_0Y3OG-F7tI-5XrgZJYkCZ9kao-cBYkkjf0npczUAdgs3Z2ZGp/s1600/scan0033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjSdiDCRnjyzoiLefxKtrzFMlW4zcYw_6QBoSJfmH6iYFj8-VOihbQkl5AY8bl95ezReFVIKSDCXArNZiG4r2fN729N_0Y3OG-F7tI-5XrgZJYkCZ9kao-cBYkkjf0npczUAdgs3Z2ZGp/s320/scan0033.jpg" uda="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Marjorie and Marcus might be Christmas 1993.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBRqPUzNkjOJkklcHRpGOzR3KO5Ap0azzW17CuzRfLNqY7DoRQJUJt-bAvwkUdaVDXNfijrts9Hyn6lL3lB-MC1xoVQQjszhTH9FdC59oj_UeJn3IA89p5i5U04uUsYQC8D2VIwSDFmhS/s1600/scan0043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBRqPUzNkjOJkklcHRpGOzR3KO5Ap0azzW17CuzRfLNqY7DoRQJUJt-bAvwkUdaVDXNfijrts9Hyn6lL3lB-MC1xoVQQjszhTH9FdC59oj_UeJn3IA89p5i5U04uUsYQC8D2VIwSDFmhS/s320/scan0043.jpg" uda="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me, my Lil' Bro Christopher and my sister at her engagement party</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKebO0XOkmHPlUOv_sUmlcH4N3ePFmTt-P9ZpUq1_V1r4mM5cf-SqLzUnjT1bGTt24n0BKTMi7hezueX0QUEgGIt5OMUvw4FToEYkM9dDugrpZT15pWkRY8Vw0th5kkxhgBJgUCDzPvNwV/s1600/scan0049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKebO0XOkmHPlUOv_sUmlcH4N3ePFmTt-P9ZpUq1_V1r4mM5cf-SqLzUnjT1bGTt24n0BKTMi7hezueX0QUEgGIt5OMUvw4FToEYkM9dDugrpZT15pWkRY8Vw0th5kkxhgBJgUCDzPvNwV/s320/scan0049.jpg" uda="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Christopher, Alex and Marcus in front of the house of my Mother-in-law circa 1994.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcN21BIRWUF2wQmFB-ZeWERncpIEtWWNnlNh_6T0vjzZJHUXXm2hLSVX7rIeK7ACVMtrrufSRT4Pq-aagHkuE7c4MEbn-PpLXBPazKN7EJd9642hKxBEgkoreSEx2x_l-KiEcMx5kvnDyz/s1600/july12f.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcN21BIRWUF2wQmFB-ZeWERncpIEtWWNnlNh_6T0vjzZJHUXXm2hLSVX7rIeK7ACVMtrrufSRT4Pq-aagHkuE7c4MEbn-PpLXBPazKN7EJd9642hKxBEgkoreSEx2x_l-KiEcMx5kvnDyz/s400/july12f.JPG" uda="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Marcus with my nephew Tristan, my sister's oldest kid on the day he was born.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim1tmOZiuNdKr4MjPAQPTjgti9_gwPouqBAT1RFG2trXWd54yo10EDlL2AuglhW6qbw56yI5A_9qcKzTiFz8niiKXp1cEzMx9GWoXyYX8ZFRLLHv_N3e0LguUtgHbMJZ0bEc0TbgMvqsCN/s1600/MVC-048F.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim1tmOZiuNdKr4MjPAQPTjgti9_gwPouqBAT1RFG2trXWd54yo10EDlL2AuglhW6qbw56yI5A_9qcKzTiFz8niiKXp1cEzMx9GWoXyYX8ZFRLLHv_N3e0LguUtgHbMJZ0bEc0TbgMvqsCN/s400/MVC-048F.JPG" uda="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">At Tristan's Baptism.</div><br />
</div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-55274192592022800362012-02-22T04:12:00.000-06:002012-02-22T04:12:56.507-06:00The Day that Changed Us<div align="center"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong><em>February 22, 2009</em></strong></span></div><div align="center"><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><em></em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Times; font-size: large;"><em>Before that day this February 22nd has always been Patricia's birthday. President's day. George Washington's birthday.</em></span></div><div align="center"><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><em></em></span></div><div align="center"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Times; font-size: large;"><em>At around 6:15 PM of that day, this all changed. Sure it is still all of those. But it seized to be anything but the day this happened.</em></span></div><div align="center"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXr0W-K-RZN_dd5C4yhoNH8mwPGVTbYeJW2Ew8RSrJY5dn8wZjlHImCSsr7E2aeUIMWuiNj0aGr4dpxS1k4Ltc457J2bo80YGCzDZdhybLYe4KbrlmZv0TUUhMh7L9ZraD46TO38rw6wxI/s1600/DSCF0504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" lda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXr0W-K-RZN_dd5C4yhoNH8mwPGVTbYeJW2Ew8RSrJY5dn8wZjlHImCSsr7E2aeUIMWuiNj0aGr4dpxS1k4Ltc457J2bo80YGCzDZdhybLYe4KbrlmZv0TUUhMh7L9ZraD46TO38rw6wxI/s640/DSCF0504.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">From that minute on, a heavy weight was set on my heart that will never leave. At the same time a void so huge was created that created an emptiness that will never be filled. Everything that I was ended, anything that I will be was sealed. No matter what lows or highs I attain, there will always be a longing. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGN36MezAFN6wKb6a_3Zp_6t3Xa1H6ccjtthOKvOclWM4fC155HrYHO-ebf5h9YDfQq1Vu51g678mRFbyhSIC9gWAP_ep05h7Rpy_-3j-SaQzZ7XLGyxjvFhKW9rqZMJAVBTNdTqjPABm/s1600/marcus+bobby+josh+hall+new+years+2009+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" lda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGN36MezAFN6wKb6a_3Zp_6t3Xa1H6ccjtthOKvOclWM4fC155HrYHO-ebf5h9YDfQq1Vu51g678mRFbyhSIC9gWAP_ep05h7Rpy_-3j-SaQzZ7XLGyxjvFhKW9rqZMJAVBTNdTqjPABm/s640/marcus+bobby+josh+hall+new+years+2009+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>That day guaranteed this never happens again...</em></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaxtF3z7yAlTAPbT3OkbBrdkonHolj_r8uJ84-_1b7mNVGHiRnQvvn_VPsvX9UaPh4DiP5iLyFROnjjLPBtJfXtnmY4XmWu-FrA6MaxUceNc2qhj17sY2x8YJpZXMswDp6jLzrKcNNc9e/s1600/10+pictures+1+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" lda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaxtF3z7yAlTAPbT3OkbBrdkonHolj_r8uJ84-_1b7mNVGHiRnQvvn_VPsvX9UaPh4DiP5iLyFROnjjLPBtJfXtnmY4XmWu-FrA6MaxUceNc2qhj17sY2x8YJpZXMswDp6jLzrKcNNc9e/s640/10+pictures+1+013.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>this...</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1w3blDx9gU7xN_dUhV4hDtmy-9wSpm29pJLfLf_fQtf4Joo1eOCJhNwsT4Z-sg-HVFdGvNlf-ocWg3u7bMbYO58RPDfZt2DLow-nMTWW6CpElDjjToVWND7jhaj04PjSbS-tCQB7Zz6qw/s1600/8+IMG_1337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" lda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1w3blDx9gU7xN_dUhV4hDtmy-9wSpm29pJLfLf_fQtf4Joo1eOCJhNwsT4Z-sg-HVFdGvNlf-ocWg3u7bMbYO58RPDfZt2DLow-nMTWW6CpElDjjToVWND7jhaj04PjSbS-tCQB7Zz6qw/s640/8+IMG_1337.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<em>or this...</em><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBM90XqsDEn64uWI8aCHI1KBZVc_b0HEe_ucZQjthJEs3j74fByvpnVdCHlGJ1TKcfRxVlNm5qnz2CkEXVy7hlj1ZgL37OeRICqmjC9cwNVr9gF2z1Ic7BpZb-b4P45_5nsxd3558i93-x/s1600/2t+McCoy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" lda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBM90XqsDEn64uWI8aCHI1KBZVc_b0HEe_ucZQjthJEs3j74fByvpnVdCHlGJ1TKcfRxVlNm5qnz2CkEXVy7hlj1ZgL37OeRICqmjC9cwNVr9gF2z1Ic7BpZb-b4P45_5nsxd3558i93-x/s640/2t+McCoy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<em>and most off all this.</em></div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-48866712014135767872012-02-19T11:28:00.001-06:002012-02-19T11:39:54.462-06:00Dodge ball in McPherson KS<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I think this was during Marcus' freshman or sophomore year at Tabor. Marcus and some of his friends entered a dodge ball contest. It was fun watching this for the first time. I try to film all of the activities our boys do. Most of the time we never watch them again until much later. Seeing these moments on video almost feel like seeing something new about Marcus. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I think one of the most saddest thing about losing a loved one is the fact that you will never see anything new about them again. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I believe that is why supposed mediums or channellers are so popular. People like me get so desperate for a connection or a "conversation" to their loved one, that they can be easily victimized by con-men or charlatans. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">The Tabor boys won over the crowd. They did so by not crushing their obviously out-matched opponents. There was a squad of girls that were maybe high school or maybe even junior high aged, called The Pink Ladies. The Tabor boys beat them by catching the balls thrown at them instead of trying to hit the girls. They would even roll the balls back at the girls. It was hilarious. Of course the Tabor boys would feint throwing the balls and the girls will shriek in fright. That match had the gym laughing out loud. These were the same girls cheering the loudest as Tabor played Sterling college for the championship of the event. Even though Tabor lost, everyone still had a blast. <strong><u>*<em>Quick side note - Tabor beat Sterling on the football field that year.*</em></u></strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Another thing to not is that the Tabor boys wore their "Band of Brothers" shirts. That was a theme these boys really adhere to even now.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Here are those moments in four parts.</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/HcAc2Rwp3zo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Part One</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/iZ4g1tZYMmQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Part Two</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/JRiDMnvm3dQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Part Three</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/qTwJf6rUXFE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Part four - take note at around 10:25ish minutes when Marcus is the last man standing against Sterling College and the gymnasium started cheering him on screaming "Marcus, Marcus, Marcus!"</em></div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-66448559601429408972012-02-14T06:20:00.000-06:002012-02-14T06:20:30.293-06:00FEBRUARY<div align="center"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate the month of February!</span></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate the month of February!</span></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate the month of February!</span></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate the month of February!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate the month of February!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate the month of February!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate the month of February!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate the month of February!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I do not care if it is Black History Month!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">It is unfortunate that my wife was born in February.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I do not care for Valentine's Day!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I do not care for President's Day!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I hate the month of February.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I used to love the month.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Shortest month, leap-year month, tax refund month, blah, blah, blah.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">I use to celebrate all of these days.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">But no more.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">February of 2009 is the shittiest month of all time.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">February of 2010 was shitty.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">February of 2011 was shitty.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">February of 2012 is no fucking better.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Unless I am in coma in any future Februaries, I am certain they will not get better.</span></div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-49105637893824288122012-02-13T03:48:00.000-06:002012-02-13T03:48:46.029-06:00How do you answer a simple question?<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">If you were me, how would you answer this question?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">How many kids do you have?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I always answer two. Two boys. </span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Usually the small talk dies off or changes subject. </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">But this instance while at the bank, the other person actually cared about my answers. Instead of the other person just moving on, she pressed on. How old are they? "Twenty-six and eighteen," I reply. She notices my Plano Wildcats shirt on and says, "I graduated from Plano. Did they graduate from Plano?" No I say, our youngest is a current Senior and our oldest went to Dallas Academy a private school. She continues, "Is your oldest in school?" "No, he graduated in 2009," I said. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This went on until we got interrupted by the teller.</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I just kept on talking as if both boys are still alive. Detail after detail. Where Marcus went to school. What his major was. If he played sports. What made things worse was that the woman knows about Tabor College. She has lived in Salina, KS and was very familiar with Tabor. It was like a surreal bull ride that has gone way past eight seconds. What if she ask if he is back in town? What if she asks what he does now. Luckily we never got to that. </span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I do not handle this question right. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Perhaps, people do not handle the answer correctly. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">If I say our oldest has passed, as I have sometimes, people start stammering and seemed to be put on the spot. As if they have to show how sincerely caring they are for my loss. Some just literally just want to hug or embrace you for the lack of words. Some will try to empathize by saying, "Oh, I have a friend that lost their kid, too." Or some just totally ignore the statement as if not hearing my answer.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I know how Trish answers this question. Her answer makes me smile. Her answer makes me sad. If it stays in the small talk, she answers as if <em><u>both</u></em> boys are still alive. ALWAYS. No blink - No hesitation - No look-aways. But that is her. It may be discussion for another post, but she will speak of Marcus in the present tense a lot. A couple of our friends have approached me concerned that she may be in denial. No she is not. I think it takes a lot of fortitude to do what she does. Like I said that is for another post. </span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">So how would you answer this question?</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOypzCUzUn3sZPu5GJ7dquVlYq5yfe5Et2M59VvS1bTCYZYd_PI6sB1r3DY_evO_ZY7gjo-RorD-DxajGP5IA2TVAtQW8Z2i0VBgwQy-AvhOEZGdAG7wdQ1Cqt3nZpTBtee43gHu0O8tQh/s1600/McCoy+Alex+Delias.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOypzCUzUn3sZPu5GJ7dquVlYq5yfe5Et2M59VvS1bTCYZYd_PI6sB1r3DY_evO_ZY7gjo-RorD-DxajGP5IA2TVAtQW8Z2i0VBgwQy-AvhOEZGdAG7wdQ1Cqt3nZpTBtee43gHu0O8tQh/s640/McCoy+Alex+Delias.bmp" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Our two boys at twenty-two and fourteen, for some reason wearing matching shirts, while I look-on in the background. I think the shirts were Christmas gifts that year.</span></em></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-46501354784699334792012-02-12T05:14:00.000-06:002012-02-12T05:14:52.573-06:00Videos from February 11, 2009<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Three years and a day ago...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzjYVwkHYpM7DKa10vS3wNO-5hV9-UbjjXk1ltDBMn7UoJNML5J-GWu0aFs9R7mg_BlyHSYZw3wEWkX_9U-nA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Marcus and his roommate Mario and the rest of their townhouse mates goofing around with a camera and an airsoft gun.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This was our son - so full of life, so full of joy.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">We love you and we miss you Marcus.</span></div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-16402323665011871672012-01-21T00:54:00.000-06:002012-01-21T00:54:55.083-06:00Great Sorrow<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><em>"There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery." - </em></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><em>Dante Alighieri </em></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">While watching television with my wife the quote above was shared by one of the main characters. It really resonated with me. </span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Readers of this blog may think that we are living in a state of misery. Yes we do. But we still try day in day out to make something of our days. </span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">We may be broken in spirit, but our family is not broken. We still have a great life. My wife and I have each other to love. We have Alex to embody our hopes and unfortunately for him the object of our affections. </span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">We have our extended family so willing to extend a hand to assist and shoulder to lean on. We have friends that are just waiting to swoop in and be there for us. </span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">For this I am a rich man.</span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Yet I will not deny that there is a pall over us. Hearing this Dante quote tonight made me think. When do I feel the loss of Marcus the most? Is it when I am miserable, having a tough day at work or juts an altogether lousy day. </span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">The answer is the opposite. </span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I miss him more when I am having a great day. I miss him the most when my family is cheery and together. When my good days happen is when I think of him most. Because he should be here to share those times. It never fails, with Alex too. Whenever he brings his brother up is during a laugh session of some sort. I am certain he misses sharing laughs with him. </span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">So I guess the reason why the quote resonated to me is because of the exact opposite. My greatest sorrow is that in my happiest of days, I am reminded of my most sorrowful hour.</span></em></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvg0S8CQrzQmyCCu0tjO4W8Ap9KhY47VSUICMUk_9sNK6vgE_tcDDZOfqEsCE2iBgnm37cfpX1yIVKCu0dZCpCaYLyR3IyzKUIqlEo6RH4MVX0SuECPGDkrRL1s0UolTS3L5YfTL3mjjd/s1600/64ee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nfa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvg0S8CQrzQmyCCu0tjO4W8Ap9KhY47VSUICMUk_9sNK6vgE_tcDDZOfqEsCE2iBgnm37cfpX1yIVKCu0dZCpCaYLyR3IyzKUIqlEo6RH4MVX0SuECPGDkrRL1s0UolTS3L5YfTL3mjjd/s320/64ee.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>After a win at KWU in Salina KS</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE1QBz_3dEBgpCAUoW-OgD4jcLBRiozleEN1qB978giwML2vQZN960N8p9wVVXJTdXyb-07B7jYTdUG4iuR8RZXEDH69XChv1NWP8RX4SBGFcXkvGS1YluE7zgkCSApbNshvaQ5UsaSlg/s1600/Image003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" nfa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE1QBz_3dEBgpCAUoW-OgD4jcLBRiozleEN1qB978giwML2vQZN960N8p9wVVXJTdXyb-07B7jYTdUG4iuR8RZXEDH69XChv1NWP8RX4SBGFcXkvGS1YluE7zgkCSApbNshvaQ5UsaSlg/s320/Image003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>At WalMart in McPherson KS waaay after midnight</em></div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-32078486004181479362012-01-03T00:17:00.000-06:002012-01-03T00:17:43.350-06:00Holidays 2011<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Everyday is tough. But if there is a time when my family misses Marcus the most it is during school breaks. There is a certain panic that comes over me when I see the calendar counting down towards Thanksgiving and Christmas. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The sentimentality of these holidays feel like an elephant is resting on my chest. The past couple of years we have done a great job distracting ourselves. This year we failed miserably. We did absolutely nothing. We planned on joining my in-laws for Thanksgiving Day but cancelled the day before. To their credit my in-laws were really gracious and very understanding.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Christmas was the same way. No energy. No celebratory spirit for the season. New Years was exactly the same way. I felt numbed. Just going through the motions. I hate being around our extended families, because I just feel like a wet blanket. I feel like we are hindering all from a true celebration. After counting down the New Year, I did all i can to stay festive and cheery. But I felt like I just hit my limit. Apparently I laid down and took a nap.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This year also marked the first year our youngest was not with Trish and I for New Year's Eve. He chose to celebrate it with his girlfriend and a bunch of their friends. I recall when Marcus first asked if he can celebrate New Year's Eve with friends I was angry. But I finally warmed up to the idea that our boys will grow up and make their choices. This year I was glad that Alex felt like celebrating. I was Saddened that he was not there but at the same time proud that he is becoming independent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">My Lola being in the hospital since before Thanksgiving did not help much. Although sending time with her and seeing her as feisty as ever towards the nurses, gave us plenty of reason to smile. Lola means grandmother in Filipino. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This year we at least tried to stay positive at each other. No sniping. No taking out our frustrations on each another. </span><br />
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<strong><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Why do I share this? Fuck if I know. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Perhaps if you read this and you still arrogantly Text and Drive maybe you will stop. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Pull over. Wait. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">No text, post, tweet or picture is important enough. None!</span></strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOul1RwiDteTcNwbSHueRdISVrx54lLPKIr8SPkzk9vEKiivoO9bt34AeH44M4WCo_acyi334xpnXuvRg_a0jAdNRbfnbnrr7fRsnk_nWw4yR4qqHBpgpnLlFRVwkoZvBMXipF0qXiW212/s1600/scan0042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="434" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOul1RwiDteTcNwbSHueRdISVrx54lLPKIr8SPkzk9vEKiivoO9bt34AeH44M4WCo_acyi334xpnXuvRg_a0jAdNRbfnbnrr7fRsnk_nWw4yR4qqHBpgpnLlFRVwkoZvBMXipF0qXiW212/s640/scan0042.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><strong><em>2003 was waaaay different from 2011.</em></strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-37974031899243679892011-11-09T01:19:00.001-06:002011-11-09T01:20:48.780-06:00I guess I deserved it.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This past Sunday morning just before the Dallas Cowboys football game against the Seattle Seahawks, I did my usual pre-game routine. </span></div><br />
<ul><li><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I check my Fantasy Football line-up.</span></div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I check my DVR. Make sure the pre-scheduled recording is still correct.</span></div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Get/Make a snack or meal for the game.</span></div></li>
<li><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Get on Twitter / Facebook to see what the mood is among Cowboy fans and haters.</span></div></li>
</ul><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">During this last step is when I saw this Tweet about the Sunday Dallas Stars game:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0t-yNj-3M9NY_65OzOkHfL44l_SUPbBKyISSytgPzlFVP5GKhuG06x4ZUvyN2_pGzLRyetziDk6y7TYDByP3tog7EARxwy43rhp_PhMkGkBh9aUmyaz6bzGd0dNavlfDPYRn-vItAxU5/s1600/chapmanNate+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho0t-yNj-3M9NY_65OzOkHfL44l_SUPbBKyISSytgPzlFVP5GKhuG06x4ZUvyN2_pGzLRyetziDk6y7TYDByP3tog7EARxwy43rhp_PhMkGkBh9aUmyaz6bzGd0dNavlfDPYRn-vItAxU5/s400/chapmanNate+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Being an avid Cowboys fan, I am pretty defensive of the team. Add to that fact that I can be an idiot myself and can be pretty annoying. Plus heightened my testiness and surliness influenced by the lackluster perforamance of the 'Boys this season. Putting all of that together, I shot this Tweet back.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4t8i9VCAcakqts2VXLmGpzigpjB6pLU4I5BAWC_etcvhsbV8gdYAQRgE-vvvID5KHmAC7uzenOtVCAuc4YL5HGiQf389FzvAAkob8DtQaMd3hDmsf9Lx7z9TZclU9Ns6YsYk3uG0oMSL/s1600/chapmanNate+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4t8i9VCAcakqts2VXLmGpzigpjB6pLU4I5BAWC_etcvhsbV8gdYAQRgE-vvvID5KHmAC7uzenOtVCAuc4YL5HGiQf389FzvAAkob8DtQaMd3hDmsf9Lx7z9TZclU9Ns6YsYk3uG0oMSL/s400/chapmanNate+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Pretty idiotic I know. I love the Stars myself. The reason I even found the Tweet was because I am a follower of Ralph Strangis. Strangis is the play-by-play broadcaster of the Stars on radio and tv. Along with Razor Reaugh they are my favorite game announcing duo in the Metroplex. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">But, I Tweeted that anyway.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Perhaps I should have not been surprised when I saw this email notifying me of a reply from my Tweet.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2w2aU-CP84SxQ5qYq8TOCxVpb4FFhQXd3H_EduCYU-RtNsAkvuaBioC8UgPoEF5lr4cPuI2gygdEFz0-9Hfqta9OVOTzxYvS3IWVFXgKXusqDMEH7X09I8Y77gWesJTbNFc0adYk1mhtd/s1600/chapmanNate+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2w2aU-CP84SxQ5qYq8TOCxVpb4FFhQXd3H_EduCYU-RtNsAkvuaBioC8UgPoEF5lr4cPuI2gygdEFz0-9Hfqta9OVOTzxYvS3IWVFXgKXusqDMEH7X09I8Y77gWesJTbNFc0adYk1mhtd/s640/chapmanNate+3.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">His reply was.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><em><u><strong>@trirol1 don't take a shot at the Stars or I'll take a shot at your dead son. #burytheweak </strong></u></em></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Shocked? Not really. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">More like STUNNED. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I just sat there in my office, frozen. Reading and re-reading that email over and over. I wanted to talk my wife and share this. I even called her, luckily her phone went to voicemail. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Luckily I say, because she would have exploded.</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Sure, I was trying to get this guy off-sides with my Tweet, but his best shot back was a threat to "take a shot at your dead son?" And that super offensive hash tag of #burytheweak?</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Not a shot towards Garret Top, Romo or any of the Cowboys. No snide remark about the Death Star or Jerry Jones.</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Nope not any of them. He went way below the belt.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I should have ignored it. But I could not. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I thought of every possible scenario to get back at this guy. It really bugged me. I was wishing physical harm on him. I was trying to channel my inner Voodoo witch and cast a bad spell on him. Hives. If I was lucky even some kind of venereal disease. At the very least I hoped to ruin his day.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I tried to private message him through Twitter. I could not. You have to be a follower of a Tweeter before you can PM them. Asking to follow this man is not an option. So I did what I can by shooting another Tweet back on Tuesday.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">What I wanted to say, "was trying to get you off-sides, but not that FAR - best tweet ever - have a nice life." In my haste and anger i left out the word FAR.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Morbidly I checked his profile page after posting this, and I notice that the #burytheweak Tweet is gone from his Tweets. Which leads me to think he either a) deleted the Tweet because he sickened and embarassed himself (I hope) or b) he wanted no witnesses for his crassness aside from Ralph Strangis and Billy Jaffe.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">So why make a fuss about this now and share it here? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I guess I just wanted to share this experience to friends and family. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I wanted to show that people like Mr. Chapman exist. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I wanted to show how people will go after what you hold dear just to one up you. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Plus I want all to be warned. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">This blog's URL is on my Twitter profile. That is how the sweet Mr. Chapman found out about my "dead son" as he put it in his brilliantly chosen words. Be warned. Do not expose or share anything that you do not want to be used against you.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I hope the worst loss he experiences in life is never close to what we have experienced. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I hope the worst thing you suffer from is an annoying Tweet directed at your favorite hockey team.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">I do hope the next time you get flamed by someone, you do not react in the same way you reacted to my Tweet. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Have a nice life Mr. Chapman.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-74060833647761900772011-10-03T03:00:00.001-05:002011-10-03T03:18:43.162-05:00First Visit by Myself<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhHMNHle9vJAQVS2J3Ipr5k019x3yXUnHrTocVa3YwObd28-cY8Csoe8Gq26_FvOgSHZeEnkT6_CjQrlOabGKqQENFAguxG7Bu2ukd_HbXgZqPVArNy-enorCrnzRWhXDQf4RJNJdutYO/s1600/IMAG0791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhHMNHle9vJAQVS2J3Ipr5k019x3yXUnHrTocVa3YwObd28-cY8Csoe8Gq26_FvOgSHZeEnkT6_CjQrlOabGKqQENFAguxG7Bu2ukd_HbXgZqPVArNy-enorCrnzRWhXDQf4RJNJdutYO/s640/IMAG0791.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I cannot recall the exact number of times we have visited Marcus' graveside. The number isn't very high. Perhaps more than ten, but definitely less than 20. When we do visit it is usually with Marcus' friends from out of town or when it marks an occasion or another anniversary of the accident.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">One thing I am certain is that I have never visited by myself. Until this day. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I had to miss work this day because my scooter had a mechanical problem. What I thought was going to be major dollar wise turned out to be a minor thing. A loose oil filter and then a loose gasket. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The scooter shop is on Greenville Avenue, the same street the cemetery is located. I had only passed the cemetery twice that I had not stopped and visited his grave. One</span></span> <span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">of those times was not planned, we just ended coming up Greenville for no reason. It was late almost midnight and we couldn't have gotten in the cemetery, so we decided to just drive-on. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The second time, I was also coming from Vespa Dallas. I was avoiding riding on the freeway and I unconsciously rode up Greenville. I was almost at a panic when I got to the intersection of I-635 and Greenville. I knew I was not skilled enough to ride on the freeways, so I kept on up Greenville. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">By the time I can see the cemetery my emotions had gotten the best of me. I was in tears and I was talking aloud apologizing to Marcus that I cannot stop by because I do not think I can do it without his Mom or Alex. Which is odd because I always contend that I do not FEEL he is at his grave. I feel his presence the most at home or in his room at his Mydia's house. But still the overwhelming guilt of not stopping, got the best of me.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This day I was prepared to go up Greenville. As I left the shop, I was not sure if I was going to stop or not. I figured I will know by the time I get there. But as soon as I got lost in the din of road noise and the whine of the scooter in my helmet, I can almost here Marcus taunting me. It was just like when I am afraid to look down from a tall building or when he found out I will never try bungee jumping. The teasing is in incessant at these times. But at that moment I can hear him saying, "You'll be fine. C'mon I will do it with you!" After that I knew I was going to stop by.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAm_Jx3i1_PxB_2VHOXPXtElb-m_QNqV-TDOKFYgJBokKRYxGkqJO3v4CwjTghSfMixmhEM4ojdN4GHD9YvG7q-qydeODGo6DKehN3p4Gbjrk_Qeym6phkT5eNm1ZGlWCbk6snrZgXWmO0/s1600/IMAG0794.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAm_Jx3i1_PxB_2VHOXPXtElb-m_QNqV-TDOKFYgJBokKRYxGkqJO3v4CwjTghSfMixmhEM4ojdN4GHD9YvG7q-qydeODGo6DKehN3p4Gbjrk_Qeym6phkT5eNm1ZGlWCbk6snrZgXWmO0/s640/IMAG0794.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">It was one of the most unusual hours I have ever felt in my life. Once there, I did what always do at first. I inspected the immediate area around his marker. Due to the drought, there was very little green grass left. I had a quick fright because I could not locate the marker at first glance. Marcus' marker is almost the same color as the grass. Plus there was a mound of dug up dirt where I originally thought his marker was. I thought somehow his marker was damaged and the maintenance crew has taken it in for repair. As soon as I located his grave (<em>still not used to admitting that my son has a fucking grave!),</em> a certain peace came over me. And I literally felt Marcus with me! Not the physical Marcus in the grave, but him. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I spoke out loud talking to him. No, he did not answer of course. But it felt comfortable. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I looked around and I saw a woman eating a plate of food at a nearby grave. She seemed to have been talking out loud herself. She, like me, was sitting on the ground and visiting someone she obviously cared about. Afterwards she chalked the grave marker on what seems like butcher paper. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I looked across the other side and I saw a mid-aged woman stepping out of a late 80's or early 90's White Firebird. She too had some sort of "goodie bag" with her. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Seeing these two women put me more at ease. Seeing them also saddened me more. They seem to be old pros at this visiting someone at the cemetery. Just another reminder of how forever the loss of our son is. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">While there I trade to pray the rosary, but I could not remember how to properly do so. So I tried to read out my Novena book and I cannot find an appropriate Novena prayer. Again at this point I imagined Marcus giving me crap about the two failures. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">So I just laid on the ground next to the marker and prayed. I prayed what was in my heart. I spoke to my son and as if we both just laid there. The picture on the top of this entry is what is directly above the grave. I can almost hear him say, "Didn't Mom say we were suppose to get chimes for this tree? Not for me of course, but for the other visitors that come see my grave?" </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This may seem insane to any reader. And it is true I may be insane.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">But I know on one of the next visits I will have a ladder, a long stick with a hook on the tip and some sort of chime. So when you visit his grave you will hear more than just road noise. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">If you do visit, please let us know.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-37379079638728328022011-09-12T00:05:00.000-05:002011-09-12T00:05:30.853-05:00Anything can be a bitter reminder...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirt53U49felv7S_DkGFx36xcWIhCDTL-DBu00jvmyqS7r1ThhopxHC5N99B6UhdzrR7w2FEKqrubY7KLxWOavqeOAdkQ8l2d1l6fsJFau6gtSZ4nz7RYvEBRcJazAGIOV6PHiCzIE3p-7d/s1600/sonic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="382" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirt53U49felv7S_DkGFx36xcWIhCDTL-DBu00jvmyqS7r1ThhopxHC5N99B6UhdzrR7w2FEKqrubY7KLxWOavqeOAdkQ8l2d1l6fsJFau6gtSZ4nz7RYvEBRcJazAGIOV6PHiCzIE3p-7d/s640/sonic.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">What would you pay for a burger like this? I would give up so much to just be able to have this meal at the Sonic in Hillsboro, KS in the winter of 2008.</span></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">That was the last time we visited Hillsboro with our son still alive. It was for his Football Awards Night.</span></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHpO-lAvI1GCzVRi0bz87yFpx6nvwm_mQ_mgPm4yDN4LmYMU7esImk0bUg4goyxhlnbwQLnr1LImy_nefk9Ml3Ka_xjn8SDPWzMGcSPd4k6STFORs7-cwUltQnNVrRLgGV7J-BjGnhDbY/s1600/DSCF0359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="480" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHpO-lAvI1GCzVRi0bz87yFpx6nvwm_mQ_mgPm4yDN4LmYMU7esImk0bUg4goyxhlnbwQLnr1LImy_nefk9Ml3Ka_xjn8SDPWzMGcSPd4k6STFORs7-cwUltQnNVrRLgGV7J-BjGnhDbY/s640/DSCF0359.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">He was awarded Special Teams Player of the Year Award and this watch for being on the squad four years.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXe0d4gGlFo3wflZTVKVYhYii4_6sQEBB37K4tvQ_JIP7ufkjWEUjpJUy-An7UM8pA1roq_Bedrt45fznm16NsogXC2cCB4JfXdmCGg786B3bu0KKYy8-4DrSl_WKc_LxhUUixbEYLEM1K/s1600/DSCF0357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXe0d4gGlFo3wflZTVKVYhYii4_6sQEBB37K4tvQ_JIP7ufkjWEUjpJUy-An7UM8pA1roq_Bedrt45fznm16NsogXC2cCB4JfXdmCGg786B3bu0KKYy8-4DrSl_WKc_LxhUUixbEYLEM1K/s320/DSCF0357.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Here is a picture of Marcus along with Grant (middle) who was his host when Marcus visited Tabor in April 2004 as a pre-frosh. Grant was an Assistant Coach and the Offensive line coach for the BlueJays in 2008. The gentleman in the gold tie was then head coach Mike Gottsch.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUVPlu2uMGU0EAL2ZRSrNGKnQ9NdQ_SUuhvD5QikQ_urCIq_kBo_pq9aWSxR2Rsc_yolOl1RwTIAKQvC4XhM2XaXsel1M4MjoMsHQVi2PjQEIv3FSXJnVZeamZRLWoTPpr1we5SFa5FX7o/s1600/DSCF0355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUVPlu2uMGU0EAL2ZRSrNGKnQ9NdQ_SUuhvD5QikQ_urCIq_kBo_pq9aWSxR2Rsc_yolOl1RwTIAKQvC4XhM2XaXsel1M4MjoMsHQVi2PjQEIv3FSXJnVZeamZRLWoTPpr1we5SFa5FX7o/s320/DSCF0355.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Marcus and Mario his last roommate at Tabor.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7o6Rm-17HoQwYicSOf_i79qY3U16CfCVHjTt0YodWctEzxClkJd49aUvgspsMfv4-kR9GBUd9sETEoOdy0RtA2HjOCgKEPuzHRn8D3EyXHLak9bizV7cZaTaj26WYr-5FgD_mklrGtUUW/s1600/DSCF0356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" nba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7o6Rm-17HoQwYicSOf_i79qY3U16CfCVHjTt0YodWctEzxClkJd49aUvgspsMfv4-kR9GBUd9sETEoOdy0RtA2HjOCgKEPuzHRn8D3EyXHLak9bizV7cZaTaj26WYr-5FgD_mklrGtUUW/s320/DSCF0356.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Same guys just more skin.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I guess it is just normal that everything and anything can remind you of your lost loved ones. Scents, lyrics of songs, dialogue in a movie or the smallest meaningless thing can you send you bawling. This happened to me and my wife tonight. She asked simply, "Why are you taking a picture of your food?" Then opens the floodgates of emotions.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">This happens to us a lot. Most of the times on our own, but sometimes when we are together. I know my wife has these episodes on her own and conceals them from all of us. It is not because she is ashamed. It is because she does not want to make me or our youngest Alex feel sad any more than we already are.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">We love you and we miss you, Son.</span></strong></em></div><br />
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</div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-22150721578614935092011-08-05T13:33:00.000-05:002011-08-05T13:33:38.022-05:00Missing<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">There are days when I cannot get comfortable in my own skin. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">You know that feeling? </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Am I missing something? </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Did I lose my wallet? </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Where the fuck are my keys!? </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Did I leave the garage door open? </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Did I miss a conference call? </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Did I forget to reply to a very important email?</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Then I just try to slow down and breathe...</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">That is how it feels most days...</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Then the sad realization sets in. I am not missing any of those trivial things. Its the fact that, we no longer have our son, our big brother, our grandson, our nephew, and our friend. </span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdHh9KfDlpOqZmAenONgNjfWdb44AuZz4fb7ctvIet0ySE8lSVJI23URH0WG_aypkA-WJxaYRpfAPCB1l6-voufkWPd1fXJ-kzJsqHwCWbtyq29FNYYokTY38p7q4RHpYRdMei7X0nkUl/s1600/in+venice+gondola.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdHh9KfDlpOqZmAenONgNjfWdb44AuZz4fb7ctvIet0ySE8lSVJI23URH0WG_aypkA-WJxaYRpfAPCB1l6-voufkWPd1fXJ-kzJsqHwCWbtyq29FNYYokTY38p7q4RHpYRdMei7X0nkUl/s320/in+venice+gondola.jpg" t$="true" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;">Our Marcus!</span></strong></div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-62942376419336315462011-07-25T03:57:00.005-05:002011-07-25T04:16:22.396-05:00VegasLast month Trish and I went to Las Vegas to attend my 25 year high school reunion from my schools in the Philippines. A joint HFA-CS 25 Year Reunion was held at a private residence and the Grand Reunion was at the Aria. <br />
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Trish and I stayed at the MGM Signature condo that the company I work for owns. Managers at CentiMark are allowed the use of the condo yearly.<br />
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We were so impressed with the condo that we took loads of pictures. Subsequently the pictures made it on my Facebook page.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYm7q6SmCanJYo3qknDKrhycu28Va7_mzqwX4FQPyt3XalQ9-dVW1tPJ2A46CMgqnmIoMs8kPxpYZy9hEbQZX9cp37gGMWKO_Rtnhvwr8ujTVT05hGExsCyLqk4acuThqyITictT0xJt7/s1600/Vegas+059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYm7q6SmCanJYo3qknDKrhycu28Va7_mzqwX4FQPyt3XalQ9-dVW1tPJ2A46CMgqnmIoMs8kPxpYZy9hEbQZX9cp37gGMWKO_Rtnhvwr8ujTVT05hGExsCyLqk4acuThqyITictT0xJt7/s320/Vegas+059.jpg" t$="true" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>A pic of us awaiting for the Fountain Show at The Belaggio.</em></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBosyMzVb13MPDzJCTqF69ooxSmlxBatJ2mWSED1Z2AP46fvCx0z9BycYNpQWEPP3yx9gWhv9D8FPM-wTbglmjpjhX6a1TtEvc9IbG46m6aPd6DWwh5E__NYgLArzJfpSATeqI8JMeInJZ/s1600/vegas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBosyMzVb13MPDzJCTqF69ooxSmlxBatJ2mWSED1Z2AP46fvCx0z9BycYNpQWEPP3yx9gWhv9D8FPM-wTbglmjpjhX6a1TtEvc9IbG46m6aPd6DWwh5E__NYgLArzJfpSATeqI8JMeInJZ/s320/vegas.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">I also shared this photo and a Facebook friend<u><em><strong> </strong></em></u><a href="http://www.minus1son.com/2010/10/roadside-memorial.html"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><em><strong>Barbara</strong></em></span></a> posted the following comment. <em>"<span data-jsid="text">I have a friend there at a np (nurse practitioner) conference. I think I will heading there in October!"</span></em></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">I read that statement and my only thought was, "Sweet! Honeymoon maybe?" I didn't really pay much attention to the "friend in Vegas part." But my brain definitely filed it for later use. How soon or if ever was unknown, but it was tucked in there. Little did I know that this data will be used on our red-eye flight home.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">It is strange how coincidences happen. One coincidence is that the reunion fell on the same week the Nurse Practitioners Convention. Secondly, our choice of flying Spirit Airlines. Oh by the way this was the first week of Spirit's flights out of DFW. I may have procrastinated a little bit in buying our tickets. If I had not we most likely would have been flying American Airlines or Delta, our choice of airlines. Spirit also enticed Barbara's friend to drive down to DFW from Oklahoma rather than to drive up to OKC. Which guaranteed her a return flight to DFW. And last factor was somehow I got to board the plane with the first group to board. Which almost guaranteed that I can eavesdrop on fellow passenger's conversations. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Sure enough, as I was sitting I hear a woman in the row in front of me say, "I am from Oklahoma and I was in town for the NP convention." Hearing that I mentioned that I have a friend from Oklahoma, who had a friend in Vegas for the same convention. Somehow I felt emboldened to ask the woman if she knew a Barbara C. To my delight she said yes! That one of her best friends was indeed Barbara C. By this time I am forcefully smiling because I do not want to freak out Tasha P. by bawling in front of her. So I just said, "Barbara is my hero and I cannot wait to introduce you to my wife." I sat back in my seat and tried to calm myself. At which this time Tasha looked back and said, "I think I know how you know Barbara. Son?" I just nodded with tears running down my face. Tasha then warmly said, "I am so sorry, she called me that very same night of the accident. She wanted my advice if she should reach out to you guys and contact you." She kept on saying I am so sorry for your loss. Again I just sat back saying, "I cannot wait to introduce you to my wife." Fifteen minutes or so later Patricia has finally boarded and I told her about Tasha. My wife is definitely the more social person in our marriage. She handles meeting people way better than I do. But this occurrence she was almost as clumsy as I was. She handled the meeting very well and did not have a lot of opportunity to talk because the plane was full by now and getting ready to take-off.</div><br />
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That flight took-off at 2:00AM CST. Time was not an issue for me - I had to tell my hero, Barbara, that "Tasha is sitting in front of us on the plane." So I texted her that right then and there. When we landed in Dallas, I had two texts from Barbara. One was just plainly "HUH?" and the other was, "Lol how funny! Really is a small world! Just dawned on me who this was and who you meant. She is my buddy. I miss her." Tasha and Trish did get the opportunity to speak while waiting for our luggage. My wife exchanged numbers with Tasha and we are all now FB friends. <br />
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I do not know what all this means, but what I do feel is that somehow we have to meet Barbara face-to-face. I know it will take a lot of strength from us. But I do know we have to meet Barbara. <br />
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</div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-17742659275503395332011-06-15T01:49:00.001-05:002011-06-15T09:39:20.630-05:00Mavs Finally Win the Big One!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4YdLeAmrCK-h4Bz29oi6G6ZX2wB54Mkn1D6k4uwCrjiMCXT0VtYkcGo1wB4n76tyc7oXsSnO07R7Ecrp8VvHRXOQcLvoNrb_qWXSGulIIbtrCAiz6wZljaJE8tHsLmcbg9SEegg8Octf/s1600/si+mavs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4YdLeAmrCK-h4Bz29oi6G6ZX2wB54Mkn1D6k4uwCrjiMCXT0VtYkcGo1wB4n76tyc7oXsSnO07R7Ecrp8VvHRXOQcLvoNrb_qWXSGulIIbtrCAiz6wZljaJE8tHsLmcbg9SEegg8Octf/s320/si+mavs.jpg" t8="true" width="242" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Hey McCoy,</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The Dallas Mavericks won the NBA Championship this past Sunday against the Miami Heat. They won the series 4 - 2. It was one of those things I have always thought I would be lucky if I saw an NBA championship in Dallas during my lifetime. Well I was wrong. It was during you lifetime. As soon as the buzzer sounded I had to go in to your lil' bros' room and woke him up. I had to wake him because he just came back from A-Kon and had very little sleep the past three nights. To his credit he played it off like it was important to him too. He high-fived and knucked me. He knew I was happy they won and he joined me in the moment. I was glad I did not turn on the lights because he would have seen tears rolling down my face. I cherished that moment with your bro. It is those moments of supposed happiness that makes me miss you the most. I know if you were still here with us, you, me and Alex would be celebrating that win together. Notice how when you wear home to watch a game, Superbowl or the NCAA Football your brother is suddenly interested? I do not think it's really the game, but it's the bonding moments we always shared. We hoot and holler at the great plays. We hiss and cuss at the dumb ones. Since you've been gone I haven't shared that moment with Alex. Your Mom was plenty nice by accompanying me during the Rangers run last October. I miss you kid. I miss our times. One of your Facebook friends posted one of your videos and captioned it by saying "You would have been so proud of the Mavs winning!" She is right! You loved your Mavs. You admired Dirk for his weirdness. The Championship would have been so much sweeter with you here. I will never get used to you being gone Bud. Never.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">Dad</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-29745560730488779662011-06-03T03:24:00.005-05:002011-08-23T02:22:25.426-05:00FOREVER 23<div style="text-align: center;"><strong><u><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">More facts that drive me absolutely insane daily.</span></u></strong></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<ul><li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Another season of graduations has passed. Two years ago your lil bro had to walk accross the stage for you.</span></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDf5t9AF0bxWZAfTXK8FPE0SmrbxicuIOp6QjNMdAmNcQhwalNGvbSBSLTjAM8MMov3oLnxAlzDkD97ujvQgVcMJTaUDNuv9G8H2OCAhNGT7vC9C_D_E7ENYJpxNeGFDOQ25VuCYncYrq/s1600/alex+walking+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDf5t9AF0bxWZAfTXK8FPE0SmrbxicuIOp6QjNMdAmNcQhwalNGvbSBSLTjAM8MMov3oLnxAlzDkD97ujvQgVcMJTaUDNuv9G8H2OCAhNGT7vC9C_D_E7ENYJpxNeGFDOQ25VuCYncYrq/s320/alex+walking+1.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></span></a></div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><ul><li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Your first serious girlfriend of any importance to you got married last month. You will be a FOREVER BACHELOR.</span></li>
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div><ul><li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">One of your closest friends, the one that you were his best man at his wedding, just signed the divorce papers to disolve the marriage that you opposed vehemently. You are not here to help him through the mess and cockily say, "I told you so!"</span></li>
</ul><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvdUGHDM_xz8klWCZJqg309tc1x90LU2GsTWYkZsWG92aaF-ruKTPOjq5oS24ST4pkQx9EzZu-NF-hibPkIkcw55D6hVYtkqfkXDqnEIl1nCCtSeAkzzsZKpl2Bf_sK8ns5Sik0fn2YQH/s1600/marcus+and+josh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTvdUGHDM_xz8klWCZJqg309tc1x90LU2GsTWYkZsWG92aaF-ruKTPOjq5oS24ST4pkQx9EzZu-NF-hibPkIkcw55D6hVYtkqfkXDqnEIl1nCCtSeAkzzsZKpl2Bf_sK8ns5Sik0fn2YQH/s320/marcus+and+josh.jpg" t8="true" width="255" /></span></a></div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<ul><li><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Your cousin Tristan started playing Little League Baseball this year. His team has not won yet. He is crushed everytime they lose. He lifts his front leg to bat, just like you did. He played short and now first. Just like you did. He wants to pitch. Just like you did. Your Uncle Josh works very hard with him. But he can still use some extra hitting tips. I guess the extra tips will have to come from me, reluctantly, instead of you. I love going to his games, but it reminds me of your games so much. I know that is the main reason why your Mom avoids these games like the plague.</span></li>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fUHGmK7I4i-ynxg8nv4ffT6d1CxpMkM_1T8q-vdSMtpxmuIuWNciNL3DWdajyKeBl6F1YrrWdJwNidRjsjHJEvYy2toBW0_PTQx0goP0GUxalyWAG767n9lUc-2lUEapJDwh1Gi0j0rG/s1600/tristan+baseball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5fUHGmK7I4i-ynxg8nv4ffT6d1CxpMkM_1T8q-vdSMtpxmuIuWNciNL3DWdajyKeBl6F1YrrWdJwNidRjsjHJEvYy2toBW0_PTQx0goP0GUxalyWAG767n9lUc-2lUEapJDwh1Gi0j0rG/s320/tristan+baseball.jpg" t8="true" width="240" /></span></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><ul><li><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Your cousin Audrey started swim class this year. You being the fish that you were, could really help her out. She is getting so big and so smart. I wonder if she still remembers you?</span></li>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaci1Jlw69c7HjUowc0jaUqKr7mDFvccy_o8AK8lzw3d3u9Z7HfGchgJIqp9VLDxf1yxnc7r6R7kXYixxghhD6Tbl6wuYjQDw2uwFUyG_zB2MvJYJesLsoFgu5Z1f8d9KK71HjC_lGqUO7/s1600/audrey+gaming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaci1Jlw69c7HjUowc0jaUqKr7mDFvccy_o8AK8lzw3d3u9Z7HfGchgJIqp9VLDxf1yxnc7r6R7kXYixxghhD6Tbl6wuYjQDw2uwFUyG_zB2MvJYJesLsoFgu5Z1f8d9KK71HjC_lGqUO7/s320/audrey+gaming.jpg" t8="true" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<ul><li><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Your wali will be a Senior in High School next year. I cannot believe it either. He started dating and has officially named somebody his girlfriend. He is such a young gentleman. You would be so proud of him.</span></li>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKX8ZO9OxM0scObSMLl2Lh_g2cv1ewBt5MWlupVFjWEDOyRZmbPEtImul5bD3n7wo0IJ9P6yfHuItq0qOcKkxUMpQGIakQ-Nd4jRJ8nTDB84hupApy0SEzHnxc0ZZyfPh1_sHOUFAczNEl/s1600/alex+jackie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKX8ZO9OxM0scObSMLl2Lh_g2cv1ewBt5MWlupVFjWEDOyRZmbPEtImul5bD3n7wo0IJ9P6yfHuItq0qOcKkxUMpQGIakQ-Nd4jRJ8nTDB84hupApy0SEzHnxc0ZZyfPh1_sHOUFAczNEl/s320/alex+jackie.jpg" t8="true" width="191" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<ul><li><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Your Mydia is still as tough as could be. She misses you dearly. When I call her I try not to speak of you. I fail almost all of the time. So I do better not calling.</span></li>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkjjmBSpFdG4vGRBaiDoUelWzWLd7_l9-vOEFxfe53Wn5G3ERz_KwL-z2xjPOZcmN9gjYboLMmHxKAKfVgmmJ_3LYMSWFPqxvp5hA1b7NcaOO-fApMLcMirdsyDsjb3dppySIEYMtv73bu/s1600/mydia+alex+patricia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkjjmBSpFdG4vGRBaiDoUelWzWLd7_l9-vOEFxfe53Wn5G3ERz_KwL-z2xjPOZcmN9gjYboLMmHxKAKfVgmmJ_3LYMSWFPqxvp5hA1b7NcaOO-fApMLcMirdsyDsjb3dppySIEYMtv73bu/s320/mydia+alex+patricia.jpg" t8="true" width="191" /></span></a></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><ul><li><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Your Mother's heart is still broken. She tries to save every person and every animal she comes in contact with. She tries to make everyone around her as happy as she can. I know not one person in this world you left misses you more than she does. I know no one hurts more than she does. She loves you and she longs for you each moment of her life.</span></div></li>
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OsYdWldGuNLrSf12Nq75ujxN4RJm2I5QFeH-POe_4YXUG4cLV2st1LTxROzkPSthn62JU87C9jsXwv7rEwAyjjctWqEnAQBw6gVa_rt68mMxwcA-36XPlUonX3hH2sT7jLMRiTS_3Qz2/s1600/0509102112-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OsYdWldGuNLrSf12Nq75ujxN4RJm2I5QFeH-POe_4YXUG4cLV2st1LTxROzkPSthn62JU87C9jsXwv7rEwAyjjctWqEnAQBw6gVa_rt68mMxwcA-36XPlUonX3hH2sT7jLMRiTS_3Qz2/s320/0509102112-01.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><strong><em>You should be here kid. You should be here experiencing the same successes and failures your friends are experiencing. The heartbreaks, the new loves, the new jobs, even the losing of jobs. You should be moving from one apartment to another. Or perhaps even moving back home with us. You should be here arguing with your Mom until you both are blue in the face. You should be here giving Alex the "talk" I gave you about sex. You should be here making me in insane with concern for your future. You should be here for everything! </em></strong></span><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">But you are not here. No new experiences, no good, no bad.</span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">As everyone that knew you matures (hopefully) and ages, you will be FOREVER 23.</span></em></strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong><em>I miss you son and I love you.</em></strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<div align="center"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div>Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432053757529390170.post-1416282766088026342011-05-16T12:46:00.001-05:002011-06-15T09:43:51.456-05:00Heaven in a bag of Skittles candy.<div style="text-align: justify;">As soon as Marcus passed - the first question in my mind was, "Was he going to heaven?" Being raised Catholic there are certain beliefs that I have that I know I did not lead my son to fulfilling. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Marcus was baptized Catholic when he was eight years old. The same day as his lil' bro' Alex. This was one of the proudest days of my life. This day was a confirmation of Patricia's trust in me to lead her sons spiritually. (Which I failed tremendously) My wife was born Baptist. My wife is a Baptist. My wife will die as a Baptist. This fact and many reasons more are why I love and respect her so much. But even with her being a proud Southern Baptist, she willingly without second thought agreed to have the boys baptized as Catholics.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Due to my poor spiritual leadership and an awful parting of way with a Catholic School, Marcus' Catholic faith never developed fully. In fact there was a point, in Marcus' latter teen years, that he questioned the existence of God. I addressed his questions to the best of my abilities. I remember telling him, "God exists in us. The reason your Mydia loves you, the reason why your Mother loves you unconditionally and the mere reason why a man like me born thousand of miles and oceans away came to your life to love you." He seemed perplexed by my answer. But I think he tried to comprehend. Plus with my mother-in-law's insistence of him going to Bible school every Saturday, perhaps we has able to find answers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Years later, even in the midst of Tabor College, Marcus again had bouts of doubt. This was when he was mired in a bad break-up. Then he came out of it fitter and stronger than ever. He felt like he was a self-made man and owed nobody for his existence. That phase too, he grew out of. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As if on queue before Marcus passed, he finally outwardly accepted God into his life. A speaker who came to Tabor used Skittles as a metaphor. This is almost so simple, Marcus favorite candy growing up was Skittles. I am sure his A.D.D. brain just perked up when he heard/saw the bag of Skittles. For whatever reason the message stuck with him. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I thank God everyday that it did.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A year and some months after Marcus' passing, I still felt that I had things left to do. Below is my email exchange with Father Vincent Serpa.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;">Dear Roland,</span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;"></span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;">I’m sorry for your loss. I suggest that you have a Mass offered for the repose of his soul. It would be good if a priest blessed his grave. He may very well be in heaven, but it would still be good to pray for the repose of his soul on a regular basis as we do for all our deceased. I will remember him in my prayers as well.</span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;">Fr. VS</span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;">To: Fr. Vincent Serpa</span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;">Subject: Question about my son</span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;">Fr. Serpa,</span></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;">I would like to know if my son died in the God's Graces. My son passed in a car accident in February of last year. He was just 23 years old. He was baptized into the Church when he was eight (he is my step-son) He went to Catholic School until his sixth grade so he received Holy Communion and Reconciliation. I was not a very good Catholic (still struggling) so after we had a falling out with the school, we did not go to church regularly. (holidays and Special days we did) Since I was not a very good leader as my son got older my mother-in-law started taking him to her church. She is southern baptist. When it was time for him to go to college, we chose a Mennonite school in KS for him. While there he was mandated to attend service weekly. A year or less before he passed he re-acknowledged his belief in Jesus Christ. My son lived a very good life. He was caring and very respectful. </span></em></div><em><br />
<span style="color: blue;"></span></em><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><em><span style="color: blue;">When he passed last year he did not receive a Catholic funeral or burial. His grave has not been blessed by a priest. The year or so before he passed I was starting to get back into the Church, I joined my Parish's Men Fellowship and TMIY group. I am just learning about the faith I was Baptized in and I want to know what should I do for my son. Should I have a Catholic memorial for him? Should I have his grave blessed by a priest? I am originally from the Philippines, so we did have 40-Day Novena/Memorial for him at our Church. </span></em></div><br />
<em><span style="color: blue;">Please advise.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="color: blue;">Thank you Father.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="color: blue;">Roland Miranda</span></em><br />
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Now my task is to guide Alex towards the same path of self discovery. I fail tremendously in doing so. I fail in my own path. But any day can lead us to the right path. Everyday is a second chance. The question is will we choose the correct path?Roland Mirandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10410376693148458412noreply@blogger.com0