AUTHOR'S NOTE: In 2007 when I wrote this Story, I was particularly inspired by this song HURT by Christina Aguilera ...I found a definite cadence associated with the Content,... particularly toward the end, and the spiritual unification.  Do I believe this is what God and Heaven are like...Probably...It surely suggests the importance of Faith within our lives  now more than ever; perhaps, after 15 years when I literally found it by accident, it was meant to be....Now at an advanced age almost 80, grateful for excellent health, I do feel we are going through a Spiritual Crisis, I hope this Helps....The small player can be turned off and on at will.

There was a little boy aged five who liked to visit his Grandfather. Like many children of that age he knew that at the end of his visit there would be a nice treat….Grandpa., throw me the ball I want to show you what a good ballplayer I am.. Is that Tommy…Yes grandpa.. His mother nearby was smiling, under her arm she carried a book, with a bright orange cover. Tell Grandpa you can read… Excitedly the little boy grabbed the book from the arms of his mother. Who taught you to read asked the old man. Jimmy !…He told me that if I didn’t read the words, he would not let me read it anymore, he said that I was getting all the pictures dirty, and that everyone reads, and I did not know why I couldn’t read.. He told me that I could talk and knew my alphabet and If I said the letters out loud and put them together I get what the letters said and read the words Grandpa. The book was "Lucky to be a Yankee", the story of Lou Gehrig. He knew all the players by heart… but only saw a few who still played ball like Joe DiMaggio, but heard stories of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig from his father. His reading ability commenced by sounding out the letters of their names from under their respective pictures. He was always careful to put the book back belonging to his older brother Jimmy less he might not let him read it.. He looked at the pictures over and over again, wanting to be just like them some day when he was a grownup.

The little boy always carried his baseball glove around with him.. When he went to the nearby park, he would un-hesitantly run up to anyone throwing the ball around.. or a small group hitting on the many available fields… crying “Gimmie a game”. Sometimes he was welcomed, particularly by an adult with children.. sometimes told he was too little to play. The little boy would yell out throw me the ball or when occasioned, hit me the ball and I’ll show you just how good I am…always having to prove himself.. This was invariably met with Gee.. The kid’s good.. let him play. Everyone said what a good ballplayer he was.. He was known as that little kid who could catch anything..

His older brother Jimmy just started high school for intellectually gifted children . His brother, also a good ballplayer played on his high school team. On weekends when his brother would take the subway down town to play ball, their mother would say, take your little brother with you. The little boy never needed to be asked twice.. If they were playing a game, whenever the ball was hit foul, he would run after it as fast as he could run, and throw it in. He even got to know everyone’s bat on his brother’s team. When they practiced, he never asked if he could play with them, they were much older. His brother a Freshman on the team was nine years older. He would chase after foul balls, and throw it in. They all said the kid's got an arm. One day a foul was hit, a high fly ball, the boy ran and ran and made a great catch….The older boys said.. Did you see that catch. Pretty soon on weekends he was expected and even began to practice, shagging flys in the outfield. Knowing everyone’s bat, he became their unofficial batboy and would practice shagging flys before a game.

Sometimes when there was a pickup game, needing players, they would let him play. He wasn’t much of a hitter. He was only six. Oh he could hit OK..His father would take him to the batting cage and let him hit and said he was a good hitter. But they would have to throw the ball right in there, not very hard without any stuff on the ball. He could hit that pitching pretty well.. choked up on a 28 once bat and get him out on the base paths. A competitive little kid, he’d slide into the bag pretty well, showing some real hustle and determination to win..

Coming from the park with his brother, the long walk to the subway, he was crying.. You let Eddie and Harold play, and they stink… but you wouldn’t let me play.. Eddie and Harold, childhood friends of his brother. That’s because you stink too…The little boy taken back. No one ever told him that he stunk.. You can’t hit…What do you mean I can’t hit Daddy said I ‘m a good hitter. That’s because they throw it right into you without any speed or stuff on the ball. . You stand all over the plate not even giving Gilbert a strike zone to pitch it in.. If you did that in the majors, they would throw the ball right at your head and the ump would call a strike…that would back you up real fast.

A short time latter the little boy went to the batting cage with his brother…Not to the machines that his father took him, the area for slow pitching, but the fast pitching ball machines where all the promising baseball players who were serious would go…His brother put in the 10 cents for ten balls. The little boy never seen such speed on a baseball, that close up. His brother fouled a few off, missed a few and got some solid contact on a couple. After the 10 balls were pitched he said to his little brother, do you know what protecting the plate means.. The little boy thought a minute and said No…It means , his older brother replied, that when the ball comes over the plate, your job is to hit the ball when it’s in the strike zone got that…That’s protecting the plate…from the inside corner to the outside corner, from your knees to the shoulder. You got to give the pitcher the strike zone and when it comes in there, your job is to hit the ball and protect the plate…Got it. That bit of practical philosophy burned into the little boy's soul and he never had a problem again with his stance…adjusting later for the pitchers he would face. His brother told him to wise up…Do you know what uncle Tommy told me…“A good glove is a dime a dozen“, his uncle whom he was named after, was a pitcher in the majors a short time before the war…Do you know what that means ? The little boy thought a minute and said No…That means that anyone who suits up can catch a ball and throw it.. but what impresses scouts and managers is someone who can hit…who scores runs…Now put a dime in the machine and hit.. The boy choked up on his bat…his stance pretty good with the intention of protecting the plate…but the ball was coming in too fast past him before he could even get the bat off his shoulders…His brother yelling.. You’re looking at the ball when it is already past you….You got to pick it up as soon as it leaves the pitchers hand…anticipate.. and get the bat off your shoulders.. He understood it.. but he couldn’t do it…not even close striking out on all ten balls without contact…He was very discouraged, trying to hold back the tears. His brother then gave him some advice, probably the only other advice that he would ever need.. Do you know why Ted Williams hit 400. The little boy was going to say because he was a good hitter, but instead said No ..why?…Because he practices in the batting cage 5 hours a day till his hands bleed that’s why... watching and anticipating... that’s why he has such a good eye. Let me see your hands…The little boy put his hands up...soft... his older brother said, they are not the hands of a hitter, no calluses…Those are the hands of a cry baby…if you want to play ball you got to practice hitting that’s it.. Got it.. The little boy got it…

One evening his father home from work, relaxing after dinner , put the newspaper down and said he needed to have a talk with him. His report card from school had a red mark on it. His father saying that he was disappointed. His older brother and sister never had red marks on their report cards, always on the honor roll. Your teacher tells us, you are a smart boy, but don’t pay any attention in class and your homework is sloppy and haphazard. Do you know what red means...the boy just looked at his father waiting for the answer. It means stop.. If there are any more red marks on your report card and if we get any bad reports from your teacher, We will stop you from playing baseball for a good while, do you understand.

The little boy found it hard at first, but he soon found it easier and easier to pay attention and his homework became a lot easier and was generally completed before his father came home…He found the benefits to being a good student and worked even harder and still had plenty of time to play ball and practice his hitting in he batting cage.

The little boy came home crying late one afternoon. He was playing ball and left his glove by the backstop and went for a drink of water, when he came back his glove was gone.. He looked all over whoever took it was gone. He thought that if only he didn’t go for a drink of water, or if only he took his glove with him this would not have happened. His mother knew that her youngest had a careless nature, and thought she would try to teach him a lesson. His mother told him that he was not getting a new glove till his birthday which was almost a month away. In the meantime she said, use your brother’s old glove.. He doesn’t lose his gloves. Jimmy is a righty and I’m a lefty, the boy looking sad, I can’t use his glove.. The little boy didn’t go to the park to play and counted the days till his birthday. Every time that he got a dime, he would go to the batting cage and practice. His uncle gave him a whole dollar, and the little boy got better and better batting behind the plate.. Finally his father came home, on his birthday, and presented him with a beautiful glove with the name Lou Gehrig inscribed in the pocket. He promised he would not lose this glove or ever leave it out of his sight.

The boy now was nine and in the third grade. Two rows over from him, up three desks, there was a little girl with big bright brown eyes and dark hair who was staring at him with a big smile, like she knew him for a long while. He remembered when he was very young, his mother telling him about angels and how they looked over him. He thought that she was an angel whom he saw in his sleep years before. After class, the young students dismissed, the boy walked up to the little girl and said Remy, I have 10 cents, do you want to go to the candy store with me. She smiled as if she was anticipating the question and crisply said ..yup.. grabbed his hand, and skipped off. He had to run just to keep up. The next day he asked her if she wanted to come over to his house, his sister, who was now in high school had all these dolls, and if she wanted, she could play with them.. Her eyes lit up, she grabbed his hand and they ran off together. His mother was quite surprised when he showed up with a little classmate, he rarely wanted anyone over, he usually met his friends and left them on the ball field. Mom, I told Remy that she could come over and play with Maureen’s dolls, is that OK. Remy standing there silently and passively looking around , looking very frail, was gently asked by the boy's mother.. Remy do you have a telephone number that I can call your mother. Remy replied that her mother died in France during the war, that her father was at work, a chef in French restaurant and that her older brother didn’t get home from school till five. It was not unusual for several children in class not to have fathers due to the casualties of the war, but her loss, was understandable in the recognition that they came over from France where much of the war was waged. Remy never knew her mother, she was too young when she was killed.

When the little girl saw all the dolls, she changed from passive, frail and silent, to active, engaged and happy, a complete and instant transformation. The mother seeing this was happy that her little boy had made, hopefully, a good friend and told the little girl she would be welcome over anytime….The young boy had all his sisters dolls all over the bed.. trying as best he knew, how to please his new friend. When the boy’s sister got home, walking into her room, seeing her brother with the dolls over the bed, became a bit angry. The little girl didn’t know what to do, embarrassed, she drew within herself, not knowing what to say and wanted to run out of the room. The young boy said to his little friend.. She’s not so smart, she’s taught by French nuns, but her French stinks…She went over to playfully kill her younger brother.. Laughing he said.. say something to her in French Remy while ducking playful punches…I bet she doesn’t understand anything…The little girl started to speak with an accent clear as a bell, the sister halted the pursuit of her little brother with a look of astonishment. Having studied the language in school for almost a year, she had never heard it spoken so beautiful…She turned to the younger girl, smiled, and said in haltingly terrible French, you can play with...these,... these... not knowing the word dolls…The little girl correcting for the word dolls...anytime... She told the young boy's sister, that her father was a chef in a French Restaurant downtown, and speaks to her in French all the time, as well as her older brother, who is studying to be a chef as well, and that she had five dollars.

The young boy was anxious to show Remy his room decked out with pictures of famous baseball players and baseball gum cards everywhere…He was explaining to her that someday, he would be a famous baseball player.. She seemed somewhat disinterested in what he was saying ; yet, it was apparent that the bond was getting close between them.. She was building a castle with his baseball cards, the young boy thought this was the angel he had seen in his dreams when he was very young.

After school they would run off to the candy store…he learned that buying her whatever she liked, and making her happy was more fun than buying whatever he liked, except maybe for, his very favorite, root beer barrels. He also took her to the baseball machines where he would spend much of his time practicing. The boy figured out that if they did their homework together, he could do half and she could do the other half copy it and be finished in half the time…Since they were good students in class no one seemed to object.. Before long Remy was just part of the family.. On weekends they would go to the movies, the local theatres prone to screen kids matinees. Remy said, Tommy take me to a scary movie…There was a particularly scary movie playing.. The Thing.. about a giant vegetable man found in the polar ice who was attacking this remote outpost.. It was so scary that the little girl started to scream and held on to him tightly. It seemed as if they never wanted to let go of each other . At times when they were not together, they always seemed to be aware of the presence of each other and where each other was

She was an active young girl and while the boy was playing baseball in the park , she would be over in the play area doing cartwheels, swinging on the monkey bars, the swings or jumping rope with the other girls. The young boy walked in the door with Remy. It was report card day the little boy eager to show his mother how well he was doing…His mother asked Remy gently to see her report card. The young girl began to cry, she had gotten a D for neatness. She suspected as such, a young girl living without a mother…The next day, she showed Remy a new dress that she bought for her. Remy’s eyes lit up. She wanted to immediately put it on. The young boy’s mother immediately put her Catholic school girls uniform in the washer and dryer, and before she left it was all starched and ironed. She never again got a D for neatness.

As they grew older the young boy was turning out to be a fine athlete, the young girl an active beauty. It seemed the world was always smiling at them.. They never had an argument, each learning quite young that their love for each other grew the more that they thought about the other’s interest., in short they became one and never seemed to be a bit fearful. There was nothing to be afraid of..The world smiled at them

They went to separate schools. He to a Catholic boys high school, she to a Catholic girls school. She would always try to be in the stands when her slugger was playing ball. He was always the best hitter, by far, on his team.. having enthusiastically embraced the lessons he learned long ago from his older brother. Whenever he got up to bat he would always wave to her and a feeling of love and power would overwhelm him and he would tear the cover off the ball.

Whenever he wasn’t home, she knew where to find him, at the batting cage. She would inwardly smile and seductively say… hey Candy man.. finish up and take me to a scary movie…or Hey slugger take me dancing..

The boy learned a valuable bit of humility from his favorite book, long ago, the book that he learned to read by, the words of his spiritual mentor Lou Gherig ..Let your bat do your talking. Calm, quiet, well liked by his teammates, learning from his young lady to look after his team’s interest…This feeling of connectiveness and love added to his strength and gave him the power to become All City high school baseball player. Happy inside , he liked his opponents and teammates alike. Felt himself whole with these guys regardless of race color or creed, part of a big fraternity. They were his friends, they all shared the same common interest.. Talked the same language baseball. He was always the other guys favorite fan.. He learned to trash talk, it relieved tension on the diamond, from his friend, the shortstop on the team, Carlos. One day before a big game, Carlos went a bit over the top... He turned and said hey boy with the big bat…Where’s your Puta…don’t see her in the stands…There was silence. It appeared Carlos went a bit over the line.. Carlos knew it radiating a rare regretful look. The slugger, holding back a laugh, turned around and said. Carlos I don’t know any Spanish, just Latin and French,…You mean ..Pooter an Irish word, meaning the most beautiful girl in the world… Carlos looked at him in astonishment and everyone laughed and laughed, the slugger now swinging a bat in his hand.…Everyone on the team knew Remy…She was quite a fox…and the slugger was lucky to have her.

Carlos and his girl Rosalie would invite them to a favorite dance club in Spanish Harlem…it was amazing how quickly Remy would pick up the dances…It just increased their love of each other.. The grace and agility of the young lady who never seemed to get tired.

The young man, a quiet kid, the all city baseball player, had many scholarships to go to college and play baseball including offers to sign up to play professional ball. His mother always encouraged education pointing out the success in business of his older brother and sister. Remy was going to go to secretarial school when she graduated . His sister was currently secretary to the Chairman of the Board of the second largest advertising agency in the world.. His mother secretary on Wall Street before marriage and his aunt and Godmother secretary to one of the top executives in a large construction firm…leaving during the war for the duration, to build airplanes in Long Island as a “Rosy the Riveter” girl.

The young man was very close to his Aunt and Uncle. His uncle a very charismatic attorney in New York . The young man was named after his uncle because it was not sure he would survive the war in Europe. He landed in France on D day coming home with several medals, the purple heart, pneumonia and the shakes that he had till he died 20 years after the war had ended.

There was a very special occasion planned by Remy’s father the head chef at the very exclusive French restaurant where he had worked and become well known for his culinary excellence over the last 10 years.

The young couple met with his aunt and uncle downtown in the city courts. His uncle a former pitcher before the war wanted to introduce his nephew who he was very proud of, who had just made all city high school baseball player, to his associates and the various court judges.. They all openly welcomed the young man with admiration, feeling he would be one of them after he played ball, and completed his education, and admired the grace and beauty of the young lady accompanying him. They were all impeccably dressed , his uncle explaining where they were going to dinner, the young lady’s father the head chief in a restaurant they all knew all to well, very exclusive.

The young lady’s father was so happy and proud when they arrived the best table reserved for their presence. Chef Coussard known for his intimacy with his frequent, and best customers equaled and surpassed only by his culinary excellence, announced his joy at the presence of his beautiful daughter, and her young man, all city baseball player, and his honored guests and favorite customer, who helped liberate his country, the war sentiment still fresh in peoples psychic, at times, irrespective of the after war optimism. The gratitude, love and warmth was so profound and real, that there was a moment of spontaneous applause and tapping of the glasses. The young man never seeing the glowing beauty of his young lady, radiating so strongly. He thought that she was unquestionably the most beautiful lady in the restaurant, surpassing the bejeweled elegant ladies, just in her simplistic and inner grace and calmness., that accented her beauty.

It was a wonderful festive and memorable night. Both the young man and his lady had turned eighteen, the legal drinking age, and her father made sure they all drank with his finest wines complimenting the wonderful dishes he had specially prepared for them.

The young couple were growing up their high school days behind them.. The young man a bit apprehensive about hitting college pitching on a regular basis. He was also a bit saddened that she would not be sitting in the stands with her high school girlfriends saying that’s my boyfriend, he’s the best hitter in the world. ..smiling and sending her love.. He’d just laugh and send the ball rocketing out of the park.

It seemed like a long year. Perhaps it was just the cold and the intermittent rain as they played a double header in New Jersey. It was getting to be the end of the season and scholastic year as well. They had won the first game 6-0 and were winning the second 7-2 in the ninth. It seemed everyone just wanted it to end and go home regardless of who was winning The young man ripped a shot over the first basemen’s head with a standup slide into second. Team members, hooted, thought a little more hustle and he would have gotten third. The next batter, hit a weak single to right, the young man not exactly humping it into score. When he saw the throw coming in, he knew it would be close. He hook slid to touch the outside corner of the plate, he was safe, the ump saw it different and called him out.. Ump he never tagged me with the ball, the ball in his throwing hand., the catcher getting rid of the ball quickly down to first with the call.. The ump missed the call. The young man looking at the ump, just spit on the ground, an appropriate response to a bad call. The manager was coming out of the dugout…The young man thought he would protest the call but he just wanted to meet him. Before hitting the dugout.. You know here it’s a game, in the pros it’s a business. You should have come in high with your spikes and taken him out, he should be seeing stars about now with the ball laying on the field.. He didn’t deserve that much plate on that throw.. With two games left in the season, the manager saying, I want to see more hustle next year, the young man saying, I’m coming down with a cold Hal, I don’t feel well. You are coming back next year aren’t you, not turning pro on me…There was a bit of excitement in the dugout.. The manager had announced that it was official, that there would be baseball, the first time in the next Olympics two years away. One of the seniors on the team pointed out that the first US Olympic team trained right over there in 1898...The freshman was batting .354 after that double, I guess he could hit college pitching.. His friend John looked at him and said…That team is going to need a hitter.. You’ll probably be just starting your senior year.. Laughing, maybe next year you should take a course in Japanese..

The bus ride back to the city was endless, the young man had a window seat with his eyes closed his head resting on the window. He was getting weaker and weaker…and knew he was running a fever. It was late when he arrived home…exerting effort just to drive safely, practically falling out of the driver’s seat and right into bed. Remy would be expecting a call, but he was just too sick.. His mother checked on him next morning when he couldn’t get up and make it to class. His bed was soaking wet, running a high fever. He asked her to call Remy, that she was not to come over, whatever bug he had, he didn’t want her to get it. Remy had graduated from secretarial school and landed a good job in the insurance district, helped by his father’s influence who had been in that field all his life. As a young boy…the other kids would ask what does your father do.. the young lad would reply.. He insures the dinosaurs you see in the museum… Wow.. knowing of course that would be very impressive to a childish mind…Well what does insuring dinosaurs mean… It means that if someone steals them he has to pay them money…The other kids would then ask.. who steals dinosaurs?…The lad would reply.. I don’t know…subject ended.. His father a specialist in property and casualty risks of a special nature.

The young man laid in bed…he just couldn’t move , his head whirling around nauseous, not able to hold down even soup with bread broken up in it.. Compounding his illness he had a terrible feeling about Remy, that she needed him, but he was unable to respond. Over the weekend he was able to get up and turned on the ballgame. The night before just well enough to call her and tell her that he loved her.. and that next week they would drive out to Long Island to see his aunt and uncle…and tell his uncle about his prospects of going to the Olympics.. She laughed and said…when and if…just do what you always did when you were small. .just show up and say Gimmie a game…and hit…you always told me any team welcomed a good hitter..

The young man restlessly watched the Saturday afternoon game. Something wasn’t right, he was very uneasy, probably a reaction to this flu bug, again he felt powerless. The phone rang…It was Mr. Coussard…Remy is with her mother…My Coussard, I don’t understand, Remy is with her mother?….Remy is dead.. she was driving, there was an accident and she is dead.

All the emotion spent, every thing said and done, the young man stood alone staring at the statue of his spiritual mentor, at the player’s alma mater, remembering Lou’s picture, in his uniform, during his college days. The orange covered book now in his bookshelves. He remembered his tearful departure, his simple speech to a sell out crowd of over 70,000 well wishes at Yankee stadium.. “I’ve been given a bad break, but I have a lot to live for“. There would be no Olympics or career in the big ballpark with the best.. He was now crippled just like Lou. He never would suit up again.

The young man thought about the time he and Remy were in the fifth grade.. The Monsignor wanted to see her, that there was a special lady, a Mrs. Morrison, who would be there…Remy was afraid, the only time he had ever seen her not smiling or laughing; although, all the kids were afraid of the Monsignor. To the young mind this would be a very serious affair. They both showed up, the elderly lady, a beautiful smile on her face seeing the young girl. The Monsignor, a stern look on his face said to the boy.. Who are you? The boy answered and said , looking him right in the eye, Remy was afraid to come alone.. The Monsignor smiled and said he knew his brother…one of his former and best alter boys. The Monsignor asked him why he didn’t become an alter boy.. The boy was dead honest, he wanted to play baseball. The Monsignor laughed and introduced Mrs. Morrison to Remy.. During the war, Mrs. Morrison's son was a pilot who was shot down over France. She carried a letter , it was a letter from the local Padre who was a friend of her son, that her son often visited the church where the Padre presided similarly to the Monsignor. She carried a letter that the Padre wrote to her after he was shot down…Mrs. Morrison said that this letter was her most valued treasure.. She asked Remy if she would read it…It was written in halting English mixed with French…The Padre, her father’s cousin, the reason why they lived where they did in America through the aid of Mrs. Morrison.

The young man didn’t have the faith, the strength of Mrs Morrison. His heart was ripped out by despair and self pity. It went straight to Dorothy’s Tin man…He went into a world of silence perhaps elevated by the prayers of many for him…He found a new home in the library…rarely ever speaking to anyone…rarely ever even seen…He would take his lunch from home.. eating at a table alone, never fraternizing, emerging from his studies, particularly philosophy as a straight A student and scholar.. Without a heart the only working faculty, his mind. He wouldn’t have to feel. He lived in a world of ideas, but really believing in nothing, he was the tin man, a robot.

Because of this scholastic excellence he was awarded a scholarship to study in France. Just before completing his studies however, he was running late for a philosophy class, Ethics.. Under his scholastic robe.. a robe required by the students attending all philosophy and theology courses he was carrying a book…He needed to finish reading the last two pages…James Bond Casino Royale.. The professor seeing something amiss with this promising scholar…inquired as to what he was doing.. The young man tried to be casual and make light that he had two pages left of a James Bond book.. The professor asked him to excuse himself from class that day. The young man though embarrassed, really didn’t think much of the situation. When test time rolled around, the student submitted as expected a brilliant paper…but received an F as final grade…How could this be he thought…I gave him an A paper, my scholarship…The professor wouldn’t relent…and simply told the young man…that he just couldn’t read his writing…that there was more to ethics than ideas…The mark in his case would stand…He would not even graduate with his class two weeks hence.

The young man recognizing war clouds on the horizon, figured philosophers in his age group would be drafted immediately. He would join the reserves, a six month active program, complete the two credits…and if he was lucky go next year as an alternate. He wasn’t much of a soldier, he just followed orders and did exactly what was intended. Because of a leg injury, he received his military discharge and diploma which he sarcastically requested to be mailed to him third class. He didn’t care, coincidentally the same week.

Perhaps it was the ennui of Paris.. He thrived at the residencies of the Cite Universite, learning new things and new ideas from students all over the world and a new found freedom from his family.. He now was not accountable on a daily basis.. The suits his mother packed remained in a steamer trunk. Replaced by jeans and a t-shirt and a pair of boots that he bought off an English student who needed a few quid.

Unfortunately he made only a few French friends, their animosity toward the American presence in the Far East extended to a personal basis. He found himself gravitating to his English friends…They were happy, lively, and musical. With Remy gone, and the introverted soul he had become, he had learned to play the guitar fairly well, filling the lonely hours when he would come home from school and the University library.

It was a time when singers of American soulful folksingers emerged. He never considered himself any good, but apparently it was quite fashionable to be seen with an American student and folksinger.. He found himself looking for Remy in the eyes, and sometimes bodies, in the native land of his Remy.. This made him even lonelier and he began to drink…particularly French ordinary wine…The wine made him irresponsible belligerent and carefree.. It seemed to be preferable to the matrix of pain and discipline and perhaps narrow-mindedness that he felt.

His friends had urged him to transfer his field of study from the working class community, to fun loving, at times wonderful intellectual and energetic Paris, but he was never one to be flexible and stayed with the original program. From the very beginning he hated where he was at.. He hated the quarters he was given.. a room at the YMCA French equivalency…This is not the quarters he thought of someone of his stature…he reasoned they had put him with people one step above common criminals, communists who hated Americans…He found himself soon thrown out… He was drunk often. The maid insisted that she make up the room each morning, He insisted on sleeping, working off his hangover from the night before.

One of his friends was of British peerage who loved to pull strings.. He too had recently been told to move out of his quarters because of a “too intimate” relationship with the host’s daughter. So they wound up sharing a very comfortable apartment in the old city over a French boulangerie.

He started to lose control.. He hated the bureaucrats who administered the program… it all boiled over when leaving some club, drunk , he got attacked by five thugs. He wound up in the hospital, with a few stitches.. but it could have been much worse.. In his hatred and fury.. He broke a car aerial off and viciously attacked them, inflicting quite a bit of unexpected damage…He would have left France then and there, but how could he explain it to his mother and father. His mother, father and aunt were so proud of him, that they were coming over to visit. He couldn’t let them see him like this…He had taken off 20 lbs thin and gaunt…dirty jeans and boots.. shaggy hair.. The program he was participating in had a foreign service exchange in Oxford so he planned to get a haircut…put on one of the suits…head them off in Paris and tell them that his school program required that he participate in philosophical discussions in England. He enjoyed seeing his family for three days and taking them to see the sites…He thought it quite funny, that they somehow expected the people to speak English and were lost without his assistance.. His roommate whom he jokingly referred to as Sir Nicholas, in deference to his peerage had equated their differences to the simplistic philosophical concept that Sir Nicholas played cricket and the young man baseball. They would always wind up laughing, getting drunk in a spirit of good cheer. Nicholas again pulled strings.. Getting him fabulous quarters at his college, through the captain of the cricket team…in the promise that as an old baseballer, from the colonies, he would turn out for cricket. He loved it over there.. it seemed that he never stopped laughing, and somehow would fondly think of Remy without pain. When he wasn’t in philosophical discussions as to “how many angels could fit on the head of a pin” at Black friars…He could give a fairly sober rendition of the entire poem Gunga Din in a feigned British accent…made so easy in Kipling’s use of the language.

For the few ladies that would hang around for this pub debauchery, most would excuse themselves for the ladies room upon the 4th verse of ee cummings beautifully written erotic poem “May I Feel”….The guys reveling for another pint in the clever usage of the Queen’s language by a Yank no less, on the erotic and graceful intimacy of a man and woman engaged in buggery.

Over a few pints, it was determined that the next day they would be playing cricket and he was expected to suit up as a batter.. The young man went along with all this…tongue in cheek; but, seriously looking forward to it.. He asked whether like baseball there would be batting practice.. having not ever held a cricket bat…He laughed when it was explained that his job was to score runs…and protect the wicket…Philosophically the same as baseball he said over his 5th pint.. In baseball we protect the plate.. hit the ball and score runs.. The next morning, amidst a terrible hangover no less violent then his other teammates were experiencing…he was dressed, like the others in blinding white trousers, shirt, sweater and shoes…some had hats…Kidding around he said where’s my hat. I need something for my pounding head.. Tarquin the captain told him hats must be earned.. They are only worn by British gentlemen.. The young man in spite of his hangover couldn’t stop laughing, even class distinction in sport. He was introduced to the cricket bat…although flat with a rounded area ..it was a piece of lumber, all to familiar of the thousand and thousands of times he held it in his hand…somehow the pounding in his head stopped…the hangover dissipated. The ball surprisingly similar size and hardness to a baseball but red..

Before he quite understood what was going on…they had him bat in hand in front of the wicket on the pitch…The ball thrown in not by a pitcher but referenced as a bowler…His old instincts took over and it didn’t seem difficult to at least hit the ball and protect the wicket while at bat…When he hit the ball after a few turns.. he was told to run.. he would yell, run where…and laugh.. This other guy ran at his direction.. they would yell where the other guy is coming from…Soon he got the hang of it…The bowler was a bit frustrated that this Yank was hitting the ball consistently.. even getting better and better…Good naturedly he thought, I ’m going to get my pitch and take this guy downtown.. Enough practice Yank we are going to put you in . The game seemed endless they were playing three hours…the young man just sat there with his teammates waiting his turn at bat…They broke for lunch…then broke for tea.. and still he hadn’t batted.. Finally it was his turn.. He grasped the rudiments just by watching…He had no problem hitting, running protecting the wicket and scoring runs…He seemed to be up there forever, not being able to get him out.. the reason why cricket takes so long… Finally a pitch came in on a fly reminding him of a low hanging curve…He leveled it sending the ball far over the boundary scoring six runs…Never had they seen a ball hit with such authority.. The consensus “Good God“…Did he hit a Googley a Flipper or a Chinaman…terms used to describe various pitches…The young man laughed so hard he could hardly stand up…He was told that he was awarded six runs on that hit…He said in baseball where all the players wore hats…he would just gracefully tip his hat to the crowd…A saddened fleeting image of Joe D crossed his mind tipping his cap rounding third after hitting a home run…Laughing the whole team threw hats at him and he earned his cricket hat to show Sir Nicholas when he returned and how he hit a Googley for six over the boundary..

Returning to France to become accountable for his absence, he soon found it impossible to stay there…The young man concocted some tale about doing economic research on the have and have not Arab countries…and the submission of a paper upon his return…Before the bureaucracy could catch up with him one way or another he was gone…He loved to hitch hike.. The anticipation on the side of the road eased his pain. He was rudderless engaged in a rudderless activity.. He traveled far and wide, never seemed to get into trouble, the people were good to him. One time waiting, thumb out, a little American flag tied to his back pack, in a now war torn area in the middle east, an old bus pulled over. He heard the man driving the bus of young children, explain here is an American student, he has no money, yet he comes to visit our humble land. The children innocent and wide eyed looked at him with love and admiration which never can be forgotten by the young man.

The paper never written, remaining in his heart upon news, that he was no longer considered apart of the program…penniless, and not having the money to return home, one of the main reasons he stuck with the program, he decided to turn himself in to the American embassy explain his circumstances, and they would send him home. His Aunt interceded and sent him a ticket to return of the SS France…the young man returning in disgrace.

His mother and father never commented.. They told him they were selling the house and moving to Florida and he would be welcome to join them…His brother highly successful, an engineer who was involved in cutting edge technology in developing, unheard of, small computers, and doing a lot of sailboat racing…. Maybe he could use a good cricket player , a gentleman with hat.

He called his brother to see if he had a place where he could live, he was applying to the law school in Cambridge for a scholarship…His brother told him he could live on the boat…He said what about in wintertime…you can stay on the boat in the yard.. just get a heater..I don’t know…figure something out .What difference does it make.. you were sleeping on the desserts of Africa..

The young man was shocked that his application was turned down…They said his essay was brilliant…but glibly, if only his essay was written in French…They were amused and impressed by his efforts at Oxford but the committee unanimously concurred that he did not demonstrate or show any motivation while in France for which his grant was intentioned.. and they felt that he was not sufficiently motivated for a scholarship…and that if he applied to regular channels, as a tuition student , this would demonstrate sufficient motivation for acceptance.

The young man was relieved that he was turned down, he didn’t know what to do, deep down he only wanted Remy and she was gone . He felt hopeless. He called his brother and told him he was turned down that they wanted $10,000 for tuition…His brother exasperated, told him did you ever think about getting a job ?…You never even had a job.. The only thing you ever did was play baseball and go to school, the young man weakly protesting that he worked at a store down town and as a corporate host a the Worlds Fair…You worked at a glorified cigar stand, and spent all your time banging, out of work models looking pretty and all American at the Fair.. That’s no job.. Go down to Wall Street, that’s where the money is, and learn something about business, then go the law school if you still want to and earn the money.. easy enough. Maybe as a corporate attorney you will become useful…Hell I pay a fortune to these guys…Come up and sail with me…I need crew, and I’ll find you some business out of the yacht club.

He wasn’t angry at his brother talking to him that way…he always did,,, and he was right, the young man was excited and landed a good job where they would train him for six months, and get him all the needed credentials, as they said for a license to steal. ie make money in the exclusive men’s club.

The family had moved years ago to the suburbs, and he took the commuter train down to mid town and then the subway to Wall street.. He seemed very optimistic and enthusiastic, and was joined by a kindred spirit that he looked forward to riding with each morning.. One of his brother-in law’s sisters lost her husband and baby, on the baby’s christening day in a car crash, she the only survivor, staying with her other sister and family till she could get her life back together.…There seems to be a quiet recognition of shared pain that’s eased when others experience a sudden and tragic mutual loss. It was like, just wanting to hold hands and be quiet and meditate in a busy and dynamic world.

The home was sold, the young man’s parents would be moving to a well deserved retirement on the Florida beaches.

The company the young man worked for the second three months had 30 rooms reserved in a residence hotel off Park Avenue where their trainees from all over the world would be staying. The roomie of the young man was from their Mid East Branch, considered the financial capital for all the oil money in the Arab Communities. The young man made friends easily, with most who appreciated an innocent quiet honesty. He would tell his friend enthusiastically how he loved his people and how well he was treated…He knew exactly where his office was…and they would even communicate in French.. and would even speak the few words and sentences that he knew in Arabic…Having billions of dollars meant nothing to the young man, regarding their friendship…The young man looked after his friend , recognizing he was having difficulties with his studies, necessary to pass the three exams, and enthusiastically embraced the challenge to see he successfully pass the exams the first time around…He knew saving face was very important to him…When he passed the first exam, one very important to his Arabic friend.. He was told to go to a very fashionable tailor in New York, there would be a heartfelt present for him…The young man walked in, only dreaming that he could afford anything there…He picked out a nice tie… regimental yellow striped tie that he felt would look great with his dark gray wool suit.. When he went to check it out…with the instructions under his friends name…The store manager was called over…and explained that his friend was widely known, a very wealthy man…and you were to have anything you wanted…Yeah I have this tie…The store manager looking a bit awkward at his shoes, groping for words of explanation, said Mr. Abdullah would think nothing of the fact that you took everything we have here in the store…taking only this tie might be construed as an insult to your friendship…might I make a suggestion…5 custom made suits with accessories might be appropriate.. The bill was over $30,000 meaning absolutely nothing to his roommate, the young man now one of the dressed elite on the street.. After successfully passing their other two exams…The young man’s friend asked him to come to work with him and promised he would be exceedingly successful and wealthy. Before returning to their respective home offices, one Sunday afternoon they availed themselves of the company’s box to a doubleheader at Shea stadium to watch the Mets. The young man had not seen a ballgame in years, not since Remy had died…In the spirit of celebration, they got rip roaring drunk. After every half inning another beer , during the second game the young man’s billionaire friend was buying beer for everyone in earshot…garnering more applause than the home team it seemed.

They might have taken a cab over, but coming back with 18 innings of beer, the young man’s roommate was thoroughly Americanized on the Subway from Shea with all the other fans…If they sold beer on the subway.. The young man’s roommate would have bought it all and gave it away.. A memorable afternoon for blowing off after test steam and anxiety.

Within the week they would be leaving the hotel, The young man would be specializing in the bond area with interest rates as they were, quite high, he felt he could do quite well. He rented an apartment in a nice area on the East side…His friend insisted again that he work with him.. The young man explained that his situation was only temporary, that when he could earn enough money he might go up to Cambridge to the law school and study corporate law, his brother living in the Boston area.. His friend’s eyes lit up…Money…you don‘t need money….What do you need $200,000 ..$300,000...consider it a future retainer fee. The young man laughed, knowing his friend was quite serious…The young man decided to get quite serious with his friend…Waage..do you remember that baseball game we went to… in America it’s our national sport…in your country Soccer…did you play soccer when you were young…Waage the athlete said but of course…Did you ever think about playing for your country…and maybe standing on the field, preparing to play in the World Cup finals…Yes we all think about that when we played…I got very close to that.. That’s’s all that I ever wanted to do…and then he explained what had happened to his Remy…His friend got quiet and looked away.. I understand…I need time to think Waage… With the few good clients that I nutured, I’ll be just fine…His friend stayed on the street a bit longer than anticipated.. He came down to the office where he was working…to congratulate his friend, who in that day, one day, made one million dollars in the commodity markets. It was extraordinary how nonchalant he was over his achievement, and once again urged the young man to work with him.. The young man again declined his generous offer. The last he had ever heard or communicated with his friend.

The young man started to do well, then he found himself drinking at lunch, not too unusual…Then the after work fraternization…again not unusual…He needed a few bracers in the morning.. to alleviate the shakes…He found himself leaving in the late morning to get a couple of drinks…the rationale to meet a couple of Bond analysists down below at the bar. The young man’s business didn’t suffer at first…but his drinking was getting more and more out of control…He would commute to Boston to sail on weekends with his brother..arriving off the shuttle completely smashed.. One airline suggested that he was no longer welcome due to his drunken behavior, the young man rationalizing there were two other airlines.. He was warned by another airline…and feared he would be blackballed by the other.. He tried to control his drinking but couldn’t…. He decided he’d take Friday’s off, and take the train to Boston.. He spent the 5 hours in the bar car. Pretty soon he was in no condition to fly back Sunday night, and would have to leave late Monday morning, arriving home Monday evening.. Working only 3 days a week, several of his clients felt neglected…He decided to transfer to the Boston office…maybe that would solve his problem.. He felt terribly lonely, and life had no sense or purpose.. He lived for the weekend when he could get out sailing.. Drunk or sober he seemed to be a good competitive sailor and enjoyed himself for this brief respite. The drinking in the winter , when there was no sailing, got so bad that he couldn’t even work anymore…and drank around the clock.. He literally had to be picked up and taken off the streets more than once before he froze to death….How he happened to stay alive or not killing someone else driving in this state is a miracle in itself…The young man was having a constant dream.. while in a drunken stupor, a head light getting closer and closer in a head on crash, waking up in a cold sweat. While hosting, along with a lady friend, what appeared as a dinner party, turned into an all night drinking marathon. Waking up with nothing left to take away the hangover, he was headed to a local bar on the waterfront to get a bloody Mary or two for his hangover. The bar wasn’t open yet. He ran into a friend who had briefly attended the dinner party but left early…He was going to an AA meeting and suggested he might want to go.. At least it was warm and he could get a cup of coffee.. The young man went to this meeting and never touched another drop or any other mind altering substance again.

He just sat there with his head down and listened.. He didn’t want to talk nor did he want anyone else talking to him.. He just kept his head down and felt a sense of hope. His pain was being relieved at least for an hour and a half. He hated it when the meetings would end…the pain would come back…Sometimes he was doubled up, wanting to drink so bad but he held on…He would often go to the local library put on headphones and listen to classical music until the next meeting, that would ease the pain. This was the only thing he could think about doing, the obsession to drink, at the local popular bar so strong… He met several kindred spirits, just seeing them, and talking to them made him happy They would go out after for coffee, and more and more he was feeling less hopeless. He was getting his heart back and the old athlete was coming back. One of his old firms knowing his progress even offered him his job back, but he decided to visit his parents in Florida.. He made many new friends there and his parents were proud of the way their boy looked and acted. He tried, for his family's sake, to make a comeback in business but really didn’t have his heart in it.. He would start out as a ball of fire and would soon tire, efforts not making much sense to him.

One of his sailing buddies often talked about his days as a professional seaman, sailing all over the world.. He wished that he could have had that opportunity.. One day that opportunity presented itself and he took advantage of it.. As Carl Jung would say, the alcoholic is a person looking for God in a bottle, The young man found God in a broom and a paint brush, often the little humble things.. He felt part of a team, and whatever he did he wouldn’t let them down. He started to get his heart back. Whenever he was underway, he would spend hours and hours just looking at the sea and feeling somehow apart of it all. Some of his shipmates could hardly read or write, but were far better seaman than he was…He respected them for their ability, and was considered one of them, regardless of his previous education and experience.. Because of his ability to take exams he rose in rank and responsibility, and sailed all over the world on one ship after another. He never felt like drinking.. He was happy just taking in the sights and smells of the various places he visited and when time permitted would sometimes meet and invite a local lady to a fine restaurant to have a good time.. He was always excited at the proposition of coming home and sharing his experience with all his friends that he met at the meetings he regularly attended.

He loved competitive sailing and the variable mechanics of what made a sailboat sail fast. After many years of formal study in this area and four very difficult exams in the design and construction particularly in sailboats, he was considered a competent professional and maintained a design office while not going to sea, which he did for six months a year.

The sailor living nearby his now ageing parents, looked after their needs as best as he could, and saw that they had a gentle passing from this life to the next. Shortly after, He was proud to volunteer, when the nation, broke out the ready reserve ships needing trained available sailors in the Persian Gulf war.. spending six months in foreign waters delivering ammunition. He was very close to his shipmates at this time, understandable , while considered in a possible harms way situation.

Several more years went by, the sailor appeared reasonably content. Not getting any younger, his blood pressure was running to high to pass the physicals. He bought a good sized sailboat and decided to sail around the world. He loved to pull into port, spend time with new found friends, attend meetings. Never once was he tempted to go back drinking. The sailor went far and wide on his boat many years. One day he woke up and there was Remy, she had the same look on her face when they first met in the third grade. He said, I don’t think I’m dreaming, so I must have died and no doubt have made it into heaven because where else would my angel be…She gave him the same answer that she gave him many earth years before when he asked her to go to the candy store with him.. Yup….Remy do I look an old man to you…No.. I see you as the same age that you see me…This is heaven.. we see through the spirit…whatever age we want…You can have anything you want… Smiling, can we go to the candy store or a scary movie…Yes…He laughed.. Laughing, exceedingly happy, Remy I don’t have any money with me…You don’t need money here she said… silly.. not even for candy…we can even go to Jacks if you like…and Jack will put it on the tab…no silly…Jack doesn’t need money.. Why?.. if everyone can have whatever they want…you don’t need money…Remy looked at him with such overwhelming love reading into his heart…now looking as she did before she died as a beautiful young lady…Yeah slugger you can play base ball here too…I’ll take you down to the field…The new arrival was overwhelmed.. On first was Lou Gehrig..Joe D in the outfield…his brother was playing third base.., his friend Sean second base Carlos shortstop. His uncle Tom pitching….Hey kid do you think you can hit major league pitching his uncle said.. Remy seeing that he was overwhelmed, things happening too fast interrupted the plane…You see my love, anything good you can imagine you can have…you lived a life that allowed your heart to be open to all of this.. I’m so proud of you. God gave you one chance ready to call you home in complete utter hopelessness and despair, and you took advantage of it…helping yourself and thousands more.. Just as a good example. If God took me earlier as you say, I would have been here sooner?.. True but you would not experience what you have now.. you would have to go to another place and learn what you quickly and effectively learned on earth. What about people who are really bad are they here too…Yup…but they are in a special place to cleanse their spirits…so that eventually they begin to experience love and compassion. Sometimes they go back to earth.. These are the souls who on earth experience terrible suffering.. they choose this as a way of redemption.. they lose that awareness once they take an earthly existence.. When they come back they are advanced in spiritual awareness. We only see, feel and manifest love through our spirits.. Here we are only capable of expressing good. That’s why when you return to the baseball diamond.. that which your heart always harbored will always be there waiting for you.

Remy knowing her soul mate all to well sighed at the inevitable.. Why did I leave you?.. Her young man saying that they would have had such a wonderful life on earth together if only she didn’t die. Remy shook her head.. When I woke up, in shock, shaking, I was in the arms, staring at the eyes of a beautiful lady, that I didn’t consciously know, but knew in my spirit that this was my mother…and immediately felt safe, warm and protected. I asked her why did I die so young.. My love needed me, and we were going to be so happy together.. We had planned a wonderful future, and a happy family…My intended mate had such wonderful prospects and loved what he was doing.. and dying , all that joy and happiness could never be.

My mother lovingly looked at me and said…I asked God to take you home…This is what would have happened. Your young man didn’t get sick…after the double header, you met, for a late hamburger and decided that week end to go out to his Aunt and Uncle’s in Long Island. He told his uncle all about his prospect for the Olympics, you made passionate love on the beach, and pledged undying love for each other. You loved your new job and worked hard to save money for the future, The young man played baseball on the Olympic team.. he was unquestionably the star, although that year the team only played one game which they won.. You and his family in attendance were so happy and proud especially when the national anthem was played for the victorious team…He went on finishing his studies that year, and signed a contract with the Yankees to play ball. They gave him a $5,000.00 signing bonus which was the down payment for a beautiful house on the beach in Long Island.. You had so much love for each other, the young ball player became Rookie of the year…You had a little boy…Timmy.. who idolized his Dad..

One day Remy, you left to do an errand…The young ballplayer was on the phone talking to some company about baseball cards, Timmy wandered off, unattended, only long enough, he fell and drowned in the pool. You and your young man could never look at each other again.. You knew he was careless ever since he was a little boy. His mother tried to break him of that habit. You became addicted to sedatives…His batting average slipping, he was sent to the minor leagues. He couldn’t hit anymore…You were in the hospital.. committed for mental incompetitency…with nowhere to turn, he took a gun and committed suicide…I saw all that, her mother said, and didn’t want to put you or his family, through this trial. While I was not with you physically, I interceded with God, not wanting to put you through experiencing all that pain, nor his family who were so good and loving to you all those years while you were growing up…. The young man was beginning to understand the nature of life and God’s love, and the reason for faith.

Tell me Remy, if only I wasn’t so careless, is there another scenario as to how life might have unfolded. Yes.. With Mickey retiring, you, inherited the most prestigious position in baseball centerfield for the Yankees…The city looked to you and you delivered…You were idolized…We had a little girl Jilly…You spoiled her rotten ..She learned very young how to manipulate you…During the World Series, you were picked to win in 4 games. You suffered an injury in the first game…without you in there the team was struggling it was the 7th game.. You were behind two runs…the bases were loaded…There were two outs, and you were asked, if you thought you could hit.. Grinning, you felt you were waiting for this moment all your life..The first pitch..you took for a strike over the plate…sizing the pitcher for his stuff and his nerves.. You dug in…The next pitch.. high and outside, the next low and away… You stepped out of the batters box,, the crowd all on their feet as you looked around, and tapped the turf off your spikes.. You saw me and my red suit in the right field stands.. something told me to go out there…You told me later that seeing me out there was like the first time I took you to see me hit in the batting cages.. You waved to me…Now waiting on your favorite count 2 and one.. knowing he had to come in with it over the strike zone…The crack of the bat was heard and seen around the world.. High and deep off the lights of the upper façade.. Sportswriters called it the greatest home run ever.. especially made doubly dramatic with you waving, .interpreted as telling the pitcher where you were going to drill the next pitch.. When you rounded second base heading for third…you caught Joe D’s eye, he had tears, instantly you thought if only I could tip my hat as gracefully as Joe.. The town went wild and you became a baseball legend… Years later, Timmy was found next to a dumpster in LA.. dead after many treatment centers.. You loved him so much…as he grew older he was incapable of any identity.. always living in the Legend’s shadow...he failed at everything.. Jilly spoiled rotten, now, as a beautiful young woman who had everything, was a veritable fashion plate running from man to man, looking for happiness, never learning that it came from within. On alcohol and drugs, the death of Timmy hit her hard and she thankfully went into treatment, and later apparently was doing well in AA/NA..I came down with breast cancer, and couldn’t look after you.. You loved me so much. You found the situation impossible to deal with….You needed help but it wasn’t there.. After all you were the Legend. They found you dead of a heart attack, at 47 accelerated by medication.. The funeral befitting the Legend was one of which three living presidents attended.. The Cardinal said the mass, and one of our friends, sang the most beautiful rendition of the Ave Maria ever heard... as they said even the birds cried it was so beautiful..

And you know what... You wound up exactly where you are... but now…waiting shortly for me.. to go to Jack's candy store...Remy ..but you were waiting many years for me. Becoming a bit glib with mock annoyance, looking at her nails, oh about five minutes… Five minutes, the young man retorted in mock distain... Time dimension is much different in eternity on this plane.. Earth years in eternity is irrelevant.

The young man smiling said , so you really didn’t miss me.. Remy with a loving smile said , I never left you.. Whenever you thought of me.. I was there to protect you…That’s how it works.. When you didn’t think of me which wasn’t too often I wasn’t there.. remember it’s the life and laws of the spirit we are considering…I set you up in Ethics class, foreseeing the Viet Nam war you would have got killed. I protected you in your travels.

Remember that hit you had at Oxford that cricket hit…You were so happy there I called Lou over to see that.. You mean you actually know Lou Gehrig.. Sure everyone knows everybody.. We were all happy to see you laughing, that we guided that silly bat and helped you hammer the ball wherever..

I hope you weren’t around when I was reciting the ee cummings poem.. she blushed.. then said of course not.. you were drunk and not thinking of me..

Remy you know I missed you so much I carried the pain of our separation so deeply into my being.. I know. At the lowest point of our separation, separation from self and God, when you couldn’t stop drinking , I interceded with God.. Your friend was waiting to take you to a meeting, my doing, to restore your faith in God, yourself, and faith in others. You do have free will. You were given that gift and did wonderful things with it.. I’m so proud of you.. Helping other people is the most important and really the most prestigious thing you can do on that plane. And you did well

But Remy why is there so much pain on earth.. I can see and understand that the life I led was less painful than the scenarios you described as our life together.. She replied that the pain is greatest for those who have little regard for spiritual values, morality and denial of God.. They simply cannot accept, or forgive, live life in resentment, because they don’t understand God’s will made worse by the out of tune thoughts and the choices that they made.…There is no basis for acceptance, there is no belief, therefore no faith.. They are the lost souls, when adversity strikes, as it always will on the earth plane, many turn to violence or suicide, alcohol and drugs. You my love had a spiritual illness. You had wonderful tools in AA especially the 11th step that you so often said that you tried to live by…That’s the road to spiritual growth.. The entire earth experience is to live a life based upon faith.. That adversity is necessary for spiritual growth and a corridor back into heaven

Remy turned and said do you remember when I was in the 5th grade and we had to go to the Monsignor’s residence.. Of course I remember…Do you remember Mrs. Morrison and how strong her faith was…She said her most valuable treasure was that wonderful letter that she received from the French Padre about her son. Her son was always with her, because her faith in God was so strong.. And the Monsignor who you were afraid of saw to it that his parishioners faith during that war that took my mother would remain strong. Moral strength will always prevail because it leads to noble thoughts and action and sometimes even sacrificing oneself for the benefit of others.

There were two beautiful spirits lovingly standing next to Remy…Who are these two towheads....Remy replied this is Timmy and Jilly…Laughing… Remy said our two intended spirits in our life on the scenarios I just gave. They will be going to earth soon, you might say to learn in the school of hard knocks...Hopefully their faith will be strong.

The young man with overwhelming love in his heart knelt and said Jilly... where do pets go.. Jilly looking like the child they never had on earth pointed.. over there.. people who want to see their pets go over there and they appear…but they can’t take them away.. they must see them only over there..

He turned to Timmy.. son where do bad souls go.. he pointed over there until they become good souls…Timmy and Jilly disappeared just as quickly as they appeared..

Remy with a subtle grin, quickly recounting and reminding him of his misadventures in England reminded him of the immortal, eternal and profound words written over the arches of Wimbledon Stadium…“If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat these two impostors the same“..

When one understands that message, in its full content, i.e the eternal irrelevancy of prideful little victories , or the avoidance of "if only" thoughts of defeat that generate unnecessary pain and despair, for those who would learn, who would seek out continuously faith, and the understanding of God’s will, acceptance is made easier and one does not need to live in a world of "if only".. pain disappointment and resentment needlessly magnified..

Hell is to be separated from that which you love the most…You unfortunately needlessly made things difficult for yourself when I left you briefly in eternity. If only your faith was stronger.. You had a wonderful education, you could have gluttonized yourself with millions.. Remy laughing.. buying all the candy Jack could possibly order through your friend Waage.. That’s another scenario we won’t go into.. Thank God he allowed you to recover, that was provided for your recovery. You were given a noble profession.. To help others while helping yourself.

Remy take me to a scary movie Now!…yes.. Right now my love?..

Godspeed
Goodsailing

Penned 8/08/07

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