Corey Peter Miller

He left his home in Queens that morning to take the train into the City.  Heading for his job there as a supply manager, he might have been thinking about what needed to be done that day.  Or he may have been worried about his widowed mother or younger sister, Cara, who has cerebral palsy.  Perhaps he might have been thinking about Stacy Rosen, his fiancée.  Or he could have been planning to attend a hockey game with some of his friends.

After he had logged on at work at the multi-national investment firm, he settled in and began working.  He may have thought about how he needed to keep working to enable him and Stacy to buy an apartment and get it set up.  But Corey Peter Miller had no idea what he soon would be thinking about.  He would be experiencing overwhelming fear and terror as he faced his imminent demise.  Those feelings were his and almost 3,000 others that morning of September 11, 2001 in the World Trade Center.

I’m not sure how much control he had over the circumstances of his survival that fateful day.  I thought about him and those were killed or who died as I visited Ground Zero last week.   I experienced and wrote about the potential of my own unexpected death in a recent posting, I came to feel then in some way what it might be like to know that you might soon die, and as I walked around the two fountains there that occupy the space where the Twin Towers stood, reading the names of the dead, I felt a knot in my stomach as I considered their fates. 

I started crying as I silently strolled around the fountains.  Thinking back on that warm Friday afternoon  last week, I wonder if I was not only crying for them but also for myself.  Corey Peter Miller and others had their lives snuffed out with no regard as to their future lives and plans.  I realized once again how dear my life is to me, how desperately I want to keep living,

Like my tears and those of many others, the fountains starkly flow downward on all four sides of the squares then fall again into smaller squares where the water disappears—like they did.  Even though I have faith that existence does not end in death—I’m not sure whether or not Corey Peter Miller did—I am still overwhelmed by how fragile we are.   I realized again how wonderful it is to live another day.

He Did It!

            Yesterday was a very special day for me.  I saw a good friend reach a goal that he has worked 9 ½ years to achieve.  During that long stretch, he has transformed himself (been transformed) from a proud and stubborn SOB (his description) into a teachable and sensitive man.  The former is what he would say that he was, and the latter is what he would say God has made him.  I would say that he was always teachable and sensitive but that it was covered up in a toxic way, and that he is now is what he used to be before he allowed himself to be swallowed by his toxic thoughts.  I would also say that his stubbornness helped him to doggedly cling to his ideal in the wobbly moments.

            Isn’t it wonderful that we have the ability to change (be changed)?  Change is so difficult, so scary.  It requires us to surrender what it is that we want to change about ourselves, to give it away.  It requires us to acknowledge the status quo and to realize that there is discomfort ahead.  But at least we can change. 

            My friend says that he is not finished changing, that there are rough edges still to be smoothened.  He has more goals to accomplish, and knowing that he needs God’s help and the help of others is a great discovery.  He will utilize that help to achieve them and continue the transformation.   I likewise recognize that I cannot change without such outside help.

            I am grateful for the changes in those around me.   It gives me hope that I can continue transitioning—changing.  Change is a good thing!

59

I’m coming up on my 59^th birthday.  That’s one away from 60.  I used to think 60 was getting old, but I certainly don’t feel old, except sometimes in the morning when my inactive lower back lets me know it’s there.  I think it’s that I don’t feel mentally or emotionally old—maybe more experienced than those around me who are younger—but not old.

I think my thoughts about my age and aging are influenced by memories of my mother and father.  When my Dad and Mom were 59, I was attending BYU, freshly returned from my proselyting mission for the LDS Church to Argentina.  They seemed tired with low energy, content to sit on the front porch of the house and watch the cars go by on 8^th West. 

In contrast, when my siblings were 59, they were active, traveling places, going to grand children's athletic events and school events, working in their yards and at the Cabin in Emigration Canyon and at Bear Lake.  My siblings and their spouses have their aches and pains, but they stay active, even now in their 70s. 

 

I mentioned to someone recently that I occasionally marvel that I am as old as I am and that I sometimes wonder if my maturity level is that of a teenager, or younger!  I see a 20-something, and realize that I am 30 years or so older than them—I could be their parent, almost a grandparent.  Yikes!  But then, I like being around young folks because they energize me.

I do feel 59 as I consider how long I have been working.  My first job was as a caretaker of a park at the age of 14, picking up trash, cleaning restrooms, chalking ball diamonds.  A year later, I was living with my brother in Indianapolis cutting grass at an industrial park near his work.  For the next few summers, I worked on a survey crew, a checker in a supermarket, and a freight unloader at a trucking company.  I have worked non-stop since age14, and frankly, I am a tired of working, although I must say that being a psychotherapist invigorates me.

This is a transitional time as my wife and I plan for retirement.  She plans on working until she has 20 years completed at her work and she is over half way done  Having completed those years, she will receive a nice retirement.  I am busy making yearly contributions to my 401k, partly putting away money for retirement and partly keeping it away from Uncle Sam.  Theoretically, between the two of us and what little if any Social Security money comes in, we should have a fairly comfortable retirement.  – But frankly, it’s feels kind of bizarre to be planning for retirement; that’s what “old people” do.

So Happy Birthday to me, you old redhead, you!  I’m grateful to be alive, healthy, and happy!