Sunday, September 11, 2011

Mick McKellar Update--Day +202

I hardly noticed as I passed day 200 since my transplant. After my recent bout with my recalcitrant gall bladder, my numbers have rebounded slowly to where they were before the attack. We are praying for further improvement. I will, of course, have more information after we visit with the doctors at Mayo Clinic on September 29th.

Turn on the heat...oops!

Wednesday morning was very chilly and I (reluctantly) gave the old thermostat a twist and turned on the heat. About a half hour later, I turned the heat off again. However, the blower on the furnace continued to run and run and run. Finally, because it was still running on Friday morning, we called for service. Jokingly, I told Marian I was going to grab my rubber mallet and "adjust" the furnace. When the repair person arrived, he opened the front panel and rapped the switch with his screwdriver. The blower stopped. Unfortunately, it would not start again...even after a good cleaning. So...we had the switch replaced. Ouch!

I suppose I should not complain too much, as we had the furnace installed in 1985 or 1986 and it was not required servicing (except cleaning) since. Still, the repair cost was a blow -- especially after replacing our television less than a week earlier. (The old set, only 15 years old, died a quick and unexpected death last week.)


Today's services and radio/television coverage has focused on the events of 9/11/2001. As with most of my friends, I remembered watching the disaster unfold on television. I was working for Michigan Technological University then (before they terminated my position in 2004), in the Information Technology department. Later that night, I was moved to write two poems. One addresses the spirits of the lost, the other the depth of insecurity I felt as a result of the attacks.

To honor the memory of the lost and commemorate the day, here are my poems from September 11, 2001.

God bless and good evening,


Warm Rain - Broken Dreams

We hear you walking on our massive grave.
We feel the warm rain falling from your eyes.
We hear the steady beat of hearts so brave -
A counterpoint, to hundred million cries
Of horror, disbelief, and anger dark,
Rising from the depth where vengeance lies.
A prayer of sorrow sung to music stark,
A scream of terror rising to the skies,
Our broken bodies sing, of spirits fled
Away, among the clouds where eagle flies.
And as our names are numbered with the dead,
And as we fly where courage never dies,
The warm and loving rain of hope still streams,
Upon the broken soil of shattered dreams.

Mick McKellar
September 2001

Death of Sleep

It seems to me an age ago I slept.
I closed my eyes, and snuggled warm and free
Of worry, or of eyes that often wept
For heroes, now entombed in dark debris.
At times, I feel I live a world away
From twisted metal, powdered stone, and pain.
But, then the ghastly images take sway -
Review the awful memories again.
The vast and placid lands that are my home,
Once offered all the safety I could need;
But now, I know the enemy can come
To steal away that peace with lightning speed!
And as we ponder war in our great pain,
Sometimes, I think I'll never sleep again.

Mick McKellar
September 2001

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