BIBLIOTHERAPY AND LOSS by Jeff Tanner, Guest Blogger

[I had another blog post ready to go, but recent events have pushed that aside.]

When I was young, I was the kid who checked out a stack of books from the library as big as I could carry. I read everything – from Encyclopedia Brown to classics like Twain and Dickens, then Agatha Christie to That Was Then, This is Now, Watership Down, and short stories like “Success” and “The Lottery.” I learned so much from books.

But not everything.

Yesterday (as I write this), Lieutenant Colonel Brandon Shah, US Army, was shot dead while teaching a class at Old Dominion University. He was in his second tour as commander of Old Dominion University’s ROTC Monarch Battalion, which also serves Virginia Wesleyan and Tidewater Community College.

Lt. Col. Shah and I overlapped for a brief period. I didn’t know him well because I retired soon after he was posted to ODU, but I knew he was the leader the battalion needed after COVID. An ODU ROTC alum himself, he was gung ho. Enrollment in the ROTC battalion shot up 50% in the first year alone. He reinstated the annual stadium rappel, where civilians could rappel off the top of the football stadium. And so much more.

And now he’s gone.

To put our relationship in context, I was his academic dean so in essence, he reported to me. And to the Army, of course. The reality, though, is that I served the ROTC, a role of which I was very proud. Before, and sadly after, they were so often afterthoughts. To me, they were as important as any other unit in my college. Besides, what other unit on campus graduated 100% of their students in four years, provided free faculty, and recruited students with high GPAs and test scores, not to mention defending our freedom?

Just before I got the news of the attack, I read a brief article in Reader’s Digest promoting bibliotherapy, or the reading of books to help boost mental health. The anonymous author says that reading about how characters handled similar predicaments can improve your mental health, something I have found true throughout my life. There are even book blogs, like Book Therapy, where you can input something you’re facing or feeling to get suggested readings.

I’m not ready for that, not yet.

Like the time I was in the room when the doctor told my mother there was nothing more they could do for her cancer. She didn’t cry, and she didn’t want crying around her. One time, she sent her best friend home and told her not to come back unless she wouldn’t cry.

So I didn’t cry. But like I told a friend, if a bus was coming at me, I wouldn’t get out of the way.

Shortly after my mother died, which was soon after several other losses including my father-in-law, I read When a Monster Calls by Patrick Ness, based on a concept developed by Siobhan Dowd while she was dying of cancer. It’s about a son whose mother is also dying of cancer. I read it on a plane – big mistake. I boohooed like a baby. For once, I was in a window seat (I’m usually on the aisle), so I buried my head toward the window, trying not to embarrass everyone around me.

But the book helped. The story helped me clarify my feelings, and once identified, I could slay that monster.

I think about Mom often. Seeing the candytuft bloom and smelling the abelia blossoms. Riding a ski lift with my children and now my grandchildren. On her birthday. Biting into a piece of fudge. Repeating her words to one of those grandchildren.

I can only imagine what Lt. Col. Shah’s family is going through. How the cadets are doing. How my friends who work in that program are coping. I hope they find those little ways to remember their friend and leader, how he cared for them, and his love for them.

And when they reach the right point, may they find a book that can provide support, or guidance, or whatever it is they need. Because the book is out there, ready for them.

I’m sure a book is out there for me to help with mourning the loss of my friend.

Just not yet.

 I'd like to hear from readers about books that they found to be more than just an entertaining story. Titles like Tuesdays with Morrie, Fahrenheit 451, Midnight Library, The Night Circus, and more.

 

 

 

 

 

MIRACLE OF MIRACLES By Jeff Tanner, Guest Blogger

Thunkin Theodore - photo finish

Miracle of miracles, I was scheduled to teach a two-day workshop in San Antonio when I learned my horse, Thunkin Theodore, was running in the 4^th race at Retama Park in Selma, Texas, just outside San Antonio. What a great opportunity! I invited the entire workshop to come out for the race – and a photo in the winner’s circle if we won.

We decided to name him for our oldest son, Ted, and honor Ted’s namesake, my baseball-playing uncle. Hence the name “Thumping Theodore,” also Ted Williams’ nickname. My uncle wasn’t the caliber of Ted Williams, only rising to A ball in the minors. But the Jockey Club couldn’t read my writing on the application so Theo’s official name was Thunkin Theodore.

When he was born, we didn’t know what kind of horse we had. Was he hard-working or lazy? Smart or dumb? Our hearts soared with hope when he raced other foals and yearlings in the pasture, always running through to the end even when he wasn’t first. The road from a race around the fence line to the winner’s circle at the track, though, is long and arduous.

We still weren’t sure about him after his first two races. We first tried him on turf—his sister won twice on the grass. But our big strapping bay tiptoed all the way around the track. That’s not how you win. So this time, we were trying him on the dirt. And this time, the competition was steeper than any he’d faced.

Still, despite the fluttering in my stomach, I’d only promised the workshop’s participants a night’s entertainment, not a victory. The odds-makers agreed, with Theo not among the favorites.

About eight of the participants took me up on my offer, clustering around me, the trainer, and the jockey in the paddock before the race. Tommy Morgan, my trainer, was a laconic West Texan, not prone to talking. The jockey, however, enjoyed chatting up the young blonde in our group.

When the horses broke from the gate, Theo was right there, in fourth a little off the pace, just as Tommy instructed. That way, there’d be juice in the tank at the end.

The horses turned for home with Theo in second. At the 8^th pole, a furlong before the end of the race, he was in first, with a horse coming up on his left and another to his right. Each of the other horses surged forward, both on the inside--between Theo and the rail. Theo responded, running even harder.

He was determined.

You can’t train that into a horse. It’s part of who they are. That’s what separates the winners from trail ponies and yard art.

Theo was so determined that he sprained a ligament just after he crossed the finish line, though we didn’t know it at the time. Our little group posed in the winner’s circle with a triumphant Theo and his smiling jockey. Even Tommy had a small grin, apparently entertained as he watched the jockey talk more with the blonde.

As Tommy said, “It helps when the jockey has a little extra motivation.”

Later, I took the group back to the stables. Theo was enjoying an after-race snack of fresh grass alongside the fence. Another horse was being led by.

Theo saw him, raised up, and trumpeted loudly. “I won! I am the King!”

The other horse lowered his head and slunk past.

Theo’s ligament healed up nicely and he came back to race--and win--again. Over his career, Theo ran in twelve races, posting two wins and two second places. When his racing days were over, he became a jumper, continuing to compete, continuing to give it his all. But that first win – that was special.

Miracle of miracles.