A week for watery eyes...

I suppose I can tie this into Justin, but moreso its about me. Today is the tenth anniversary of the death of the Cubs legendary broadcaster Harry Caray. Justin and I spent the last hour or so watching Harry's last game, which also happened to be Ryne Sandberg's last game, an 11-3 Cubs victory over the Phillies. I was telling Justin how great Harry was and finding YouTube clips for him to watch. I still get teary-eyed watching and listening to old Harry clips, which always remind me of those "simpler times", or maybe just of being a kid, which is certainly much better than being an adult. Cars are nice, but Little League is better. The nice this is that in time I get the opportunity to be for Justin what my Dad was for me. I get to throw him hundreds of grounders in the backyard and buy him his first bicycle. I get to buy him the Blackhawks tickets for his birthday. I think I'll defer to Grandpa when teaching him free throws, but maybe down the line I'll build a rink in the backyard and teach him the beauty of the glove save.

Last night we stayed over at my parents house in Crystal Lake and let Justin hang out with Grandma and Grandpa. Tina and I got some much needed free-time. We spent a large part of the night going through Grandpa Lynch's (mom's dad) Word War II scrapbook. It was nice to go back and see all the pictures, but in the end it made me terribly sad that he didn't live a few more months to meet his Great-Grandson. I went to bed last night thinking about his funeral Mass and how I held it together the whole way through, then right when Monsignor Dan turned to leave and the choir started into "On Eagle's Wings" I lost it. I mean just really lost it. I buried my face into Tina's belly and cried uncontrollably because I finally grasped what was going on. Or maybe I understood the whole time and had blocked it out and the dam just burst. It really is one of those cruel things to lose a grandfather months before gaining a son, and even though some people consoled us with the "losing one, gaining another" it just doesn't work that way.

In one final thing, I have been meaning to write something about what happened at my alma mater, Northern Illinois University. Being a teacher, the schools shootings have always been something that we not only see on TV and read about in newspapers, but something we study from all different angles in classrooms. Then something like this happens where there is really no motive whatsoever, and it happens in a place that I am familiar with. I remember getting the first warning email right before I shut down my computer in Barrington and driving home with a very bizarre feeling. I took two classes in Cole Hall when I was at NIU, one in the auditorium the incident happened in. Tina and I sat on Thursday watching the coverage and I kept on pointing out all the landmarks from the helicopter camera view. How many hours I sat there, or walked over the bridge to the Union, or toward Zulauf from the parking deck.

I really am sad about the deaths. I sat and soaked up all the information, waiting for names and motives, hoping that the number would stay at two... then four... then five. I spent many moments fighting back tears when I scroll through the well-wishes and prayers from other colleges on Facebook. Hearing the Huskie Fight Song means so much more now than points scored.

Then I see Justin and he smiles and squeaks or grabs my face and tries to bite my nose and I tear up for reasons completely opposite of everything I just wrote.

So many tears... just one of those weeks I suppose.