Posted in friendship, Life, love, Musings, People, random

One Year, Three Months, Five Days

One year, three months, five days. That’s how long it’s been since you left this earthly plane, on to whatever comes next. Which means that one year, three months and six days ago, you were still doing whatever it was you were doing- talking, smiling, popping up here and there as you were wont to do. No idea that the minutes of your life were winding down, down, down. Oblivious. I think about this sometimes, and it scares me a little bit. It’s a hard truth to swallow, the way we live our lives so blissfully unaware that this might be it- this might be our last day, our last hour.

Anyway, God, I fucking miss you this morning. Grief is a strange thing, isn’t it? Weeks pass, and the pain recedes, and then I wake up one morning, like I did today, and it just hurts, oh so very much. It still seems impossible to me that you are gone.

There is no way for me to describe or quantify or make sense of what you meant to me, how my life was altered because of you, or how it changed when you died. But I know that my life WAS altered, and your death stole something real from me. Because of you, I learned that love can evolve in all sorts of different ways- when you stop trying to fit a relationship into a box, stop trying to label and categorize it, and just let it be what it is, something wonderful can happen. The connection between us spanned decades, and changed many times, ultimately mellowing and becoming something rich, that I cherished. Knowing you were out there, somewhere, knowing that you would be there if I needed you…it mattered so much to me.

Your surprise visits were often the highlight of my week. Just drinking coffee with you out on my front porch, or playing board games with Cam. Getting to hear you laugh and seeing you be silly and playful with my kids lifted my heart. I just enjoyed your company. It had become as simple and easy as that.

I was not blind to your faults. I knew you well enough to worry about what the future held for you, to worry about where your life would ultimately end up. We even discussed it a time or two, with me lamenting what would happen to you when you got old, joking about which girl would end up taking care of you. “Oh my God,” I groaned, “It’s going to be me, isn’t it?” And we laughed, because it seemed far away and preposterous. I suppose it wound up being a useless worry, didn’t it? But for the record, I would have gladly taken on the job. Not that you ever would have wanted to be in that position, of course, but I would have done it. In a heartbeat.

The point is, I guess, that I loved you. I love you still. I used to feel angry sometimes, resentful that I so completely loved someone who could never love me back in the same way. It wasn’t as if I had a choice- we love who we love, and that’s all. But now I’m grateful for all of it, I really am. Because of you, I know I am capable of loving someone unconditionally, exactly as they are, with no expectation and no need for them to do anything to earn it. I realized that long before you died. I know I made it clear to you. I’m so glad I did, and so glad we were friends.

I just really, really miss you today.

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Posted in family, friendship, inner peace, Life, Mental Health, Musings, People, relationships

Yesterday

connection

 

God, yesterday was gorgeous. Not just the weather- although that was gorgeous, too, but…it was the content of the day that left me, at the end of it, feeling loved and valuable and as if I truly have places and people to whom I belong, where I am wanted.

I didn’t know that I was feeling like that wasn’t true. I didn’t know what that emptiness was or why it was there until it started to fill up again, and then I got it. I’ve been lonely, and I didn’t even know that’s what it was. I thought loneliness felt a different way, I guess.

I know that I spend too much time alone. I thought that I preferred to be alone, and it’s true- I do value my down time. But, as with all things in my life, I tend to overdo anything that feels good…and too much of anything that feels good will eventually morph into something that doesn’t feel so good anymore. Balance- I have never been very talented at that. I could use a little bit more moderation in most things.

I attended a celebration of life for my friend Che who passed away a few months ago. He was only 46- just a few years older than me- and he had a heart attack while surfing. I was nervous, as I usually am before any type of gathering, but I pulled myself together and I got in the car and went. As I drove over the hill to Carmel, the sun was shining, and the world was so breathtaking, and the tears started coming…yesterday would have been Che’s 47th birthday. He was too young. What else is there to say? That is just too young.

I got to meet his mama, and give her a big hug. He was her only child, and I don’t know how…I don’t have any idea how one survives something like this. I didn’t know anyone there at first, but then a few old friends of mine showed up, and God, it was so good to see these people. One in particular that I hadn’t seen in…gosh, probably almost 20 years! We were over the moon to see each other after so much time. There was more laughter than tears, lots of love and warmth in that place. I’m so glad I went.

I had to leave a little early to head over to a baby shower- my daughter’s best friend since 5th grade is due in November, and I couldn’t miss out on celebrating with her. We had so much fun! I adore Kristina, although her mother and I despaired over our two wild girls many, many times throughout their teenage years. We laughed about how often we plotted to keep them apart, all of it always amounting to nothing. Kristina has been a steadfast and faithful friend to my daughter, and it’s so wonderful to get to watch her life progress. Oh my goodness, we laughed so much yesterday.

After that, I got a surprise phone call from a friend who NEVER calls me, and we talked for almost an hour. She is trying to cope with the terminal illness of another friend of ours who has very little time left…he has made her the medical decision maker, and she is doing the best she can. I offered to help any way that I could, and we talked…oh, she is one of the good ones, we get to talk about the deep stuff, and I love it so much.

Finally, just to cap off my day, I loaded up the car with Cam and Lucy the lab, and we headed to the beach. We made it just in time for a beautiful sunset, and I…what can I tell you? My heart was so full.

In one short day, I celebrated the too-short life of a friend I’ve known for over half of my life. I celebrated the coming birth of a brand new life. I reconnected with friends I haven’t seen in years, had some deep conversations, reminisced about a past that might not have been as awful as I’ve let myself believe. I witnessed the full spectrum of life, didn’t I? And at the end of it all was a stunning sunset with more people (and pets) that I love.

I dumped the sand out of my shoes last night, and fell into bed exhausted, but, for the first time in so long…I was content.

I want more days like that. Of course I do. Maybe without having to lose anyone else, though. That would be even better.

Posted in Addiction, alcoholism, anxiety, family, Life, recovery, twelve step

Things I Forgot to Remember

Death has been an unrelenting presence in my life over the past year, which is very, very unusual for me. Beginning with the loss of my beloved friend Joe in August of last year, then his dear friend Che, just a few weeks ago- Che, who spent countless hours on the phone with me after Joe’s death, listening to all of the stories I have to tell about Joe, that I suddenly needed to re-tell to someone who knew him… and sharing his own with me. Then, in the late hours of July 5th, or perhaps the very early hours of July 6th- we don’t know for sure yet, but oddly enough, every member of our family found themselves awake at 3:30 in the morning on July 6th- my darling uncle, Louis Earl Fulton, passed away. His life was not an easy one. One day, I will tell his story properly, but I want to do it right, and I want to have all of the facts straight first, though I will tell you this- due to an accident with a drunk driver when he was just starting out into adulthood, his lot in life was hard. He suffered, for the bulk of his years on earth, with a busted up body and what I would guess as being trouble from a traumatic head injury. Over the past several years, his health seriously deteriorated, and he had many falls, broken bones, and other injuries. He suffered from seizures, and I think he even had a stroke recently, but honestly, there was so much going on that I would have to ask my mom to be sure. The fact is, he wasn’t doing well. So you would think that his death would be less of a surprise, and maybe in some ways it wasn’t shocking, but…when someone just dies at home, and they haven’t been in the hospital or particularly sicker than usual, it really is a shock.

This blog is not going to be about him, because like I said, I would rather honor him by writing his story correctly, and I can’t do that without getting some help from my mom-she was alive when his accident happened, and I was not yet. I will tell you this- his given name was Louis Earl, but I haven’t heard anyone call him that since my grandmother was alive. His nickname (one of them) was Fizzle, because he was born on the 5th of July (get it? He fizzled out! My grandfather had a strange sense of humor) and, coincidentally, he died, near as we can tell, on the exact same day, many years later. There will never be anyone like him- there will never be anyone like any of the people I have lost this past year- and nothing I know brings a person into sharper focus than their death. And nothing slaps you out of your own miserable funk like the loss of a life that belonged to someone precious to you.

For the past month, or maybe even longer than that, I have been struggling like crazy with myself…upset about things like: hating my job because it is boring, hating myself (low-key) because I am not perfect, wishing I had better friendships, wondering why I am still single, wishing I could connect in a more meaningful way with my youngest daughter, and…this is the one I didn’t even want to write about or admit out loud to anyone who could talk some sense into me…wanting to quit being in recovery. I wanted to quit. I wanted to start drinking again, and I was really, really close to throwing the towel in. Closer than anyone but me knows. I felt like I was missing out on something. That my life wasn’t fun enough because I couldn’t go out and have a drink. That maybe it would be easier for me to deal with men if I could just relax a little bit, like everyone else does.

My uncle died on the day that my daughter was going out of town with her father for the first time in over a year- so I was already incredibly anxious without the addition of a death in the family. I took the rest of Friday off, and I cried and cried and cried. I cried so much that by the time I went to bed, my head was pounding. I woke up on Saturday morning with eyes that looked like they had been bitten by mosquitoes, or injected with saline. But I had made plans with a girlfriend earlier in the week to go hiking and hit a morning meeting, and she is notoriously hard to pin down, so there was no way I was cancelling. I pulled myself together, worried that I would be too somber to be any fun, but I went anyway. I needn’t have worried. We had a nice hike, and plenty to discuss, and it was just what I needed. We almost didn’t go into the meeting afterwards, but we did, and again, it was perfect. I came home afterwards, ate a massive amount of food, and fell asleep the way you can only when you are grieving and exhausted- face down on the mattress for four solid hours. When I woke up (which took a good hour of just sitting, staring into space) I knew instinctively that being still would be a bad idea, so I grabbed my dog and went for a long walk on the beach. That night, I went to another meeting.

Over the course of my 48 hour weekend, I managed to hit four meetings, hang out with two good friends (one of them twice), go to the beach two different times, and take two solid naps. I did something I had never done before in the course of my recovery- I doubled down on what was good for me, and sidestepped an almost inevitable relapse. I was reminded that both life and recovery require my active participation in order to work the way that I need them to. I can’t just sit here and cry about what isn’t working- or, I can, but it isn’t going to do me any good at all.

I’m sorry if this is sort of all over the place- I don’t feel like I am explaining myself well at all, but there is so much to what I am feeling, and it’s all jumbled up. The bottom line is, my uncle’s death helped me to remember what I had forgotten- that life is so precious, that while I am here, I need to rejoice in the gifts that I have been given, and they are many- my health, my beautiful children, my job which provides so well for me, and my recovery which is the only reason I have all of the other things. I will not dishonor myself or my wonderful life by giving up on that. I have all of the ingredients, but it is up to me to make something worthwhile out of them. Today, I will choose to do just that.

Posted in friendship, Life, love, Musings, People, relationships

Most of the Time…

miss you

 

I am fine, most of the time.

And then, some days, like today, I miss you. I miss you being in the world, and I miss knowing you will be by, eventually, to check in on me. To check in with me. I miss the possibility of you. I miss that so much that it feels like the wind has been knocked out of me, and I want to double up and protect myself from the hurt, the physical pain of your absence.

I feel guilty for missing you so much. I have lost grandparents and friends, and I miss them all, of course I do. But this longing has legs, and it keeps creeping back up on me. You were…you were YOU. There is no one else that I looked at the way I looked at you, and I can’t help that. I’ve never known what to do with that information, not when you were alive, and even less now that you are gone. My love for you was almost embarrassing while you were here, and it is inescapable now that you’ve died. I keep bumping up against the truth of it, the way my heart won’t allow me to deny it, not to myself, not now. You may be somewhere else, but this weird relationship lives on. Not that it feels unusual for me to be in it alone- I spent a lot of time this way. But you always showed back up, always. Not this time.

What can I say? That you never had any business messing with me? I was so young, and you should have known better? Yeah, it’s true, but…I’m so glad you did. Should I say that I am sorry that I loved you, and I feel so bad for the hurt my loving you caused? I am. I’m sorry for the hurt I caused, but I’m not sorry that I loved you. I will never be sorry for that. I have so many regrets about my life, but that has never been one of them. I have loved others after you, and I will probably love others still…but I know that I will never love anyone the way I did you. You only get one love like that.  And besides, I will never be a nineteen year old girl again, able to love with reckless abandon, able to invest so much time in her devotion. I wouldn’t want to.

All these memories I have…you were the only one who knew, besides me. The way we would laugh about the crazy, stupid things we did. I never thought when I was with you, I was never afraid. I just knew you’d keep me safe, and you did. Now I remember alone, and it’s all tinged with sadness. What fun are memories you can’t share with the person you made them with? It’s just me, crying like a dummy in her kitchen, running to change the song that popped up on shuffle because it hurts too much right now to hear it.

I’m sorry it’s over. I know your life was not what you imagined it would be, and I know it wasn’t how you wanted it, and I know you wanted to change. I’m sorry you didn’t get what you were after. I hope wherever you are, you are happy and peaceful, and with your mom and dad, your sister. I hope you hear me when I talk to you, and that you know that I pray for you every single day. I hope you don’t get annoyed when I am weepy, but it wouldn’t surprise me.

And I’m so glad I chased after you, the last time you visited, and demanded one more hug. I don’t know why I did, but I was just so happy to have seen you. It was a good hug, and the expression on your faced stayed with me- amused and maybe a little baffled, like you wondered why I still liked you so much, after all these years. The answer is easy…because you were you.

You were you, and tonight I really miss you.

Posted in Addiction, friendship, Life, living, love, People, random, recovery, twelve step

First Times

Nimbus

I think you get to a point in life, a certain age, when you think most of your “firsts” are behind you. At 42, with the life I have lived so far, I certainly felt like that was true. And then something happens, out of the blue, that knocks you right the fuck off your feet, and you realize how wrong you were. How wrong I was, I mean. Yeah.

I’ve started this before, and had to abandon it, because it turned into something I didn’t want it to be. You see, I lost someone I cared about the other day, and it was sudden, and awful, and I was not…because you cannot ever be…ready. I was GUTTED. I couldn’t get my shit together. I have never in my life fallen on the floor because I literally could not stand up beneath the weight of what I had just learned, but I did that, I did it when I heard about this death on Monday morning. I fell right on the floor. The tears did not waste a moment in coming, and the sounds that I made for the next two days were feral and weird and would have been embarrassing if I gave a fuck. Which, by the way, I did not.

I missed two days of work, but I have been checked out all week. I can’t seem to get my thoughts to move too far past this event. “Joe is dead.” my head keeps reminding me, as if I could forget. “Psst- Joe died.”

And here’s the thing: I don’t really cry. It’s been a concern of mine for a while, like- is something wrong with me? Is something in there broken, that I never cry? This has been a real worry I’ve had, one that I have discussed with friends and even with my therapist. I’ve thought about getting acupuncture, or that kind of massage that unblocks your fucked up energy, whatever it’s called. I honestly thought I had problems (Oh wait, I do. But that’s not what I am talking about, thanks). What I had was just a bunch of little shit not important enough to cry over. Because I have cried this week. A lot.

I don’t really want to write about Joe. I just don’t. I will say this much- anyone who knows me well, knows that I loved him. I’ve let a lot of friendships fall to the wayside as my life has changed, but I held onto his. I am having a tough time imagining my life without his visits for coffee, or playing cards with my six year old and I. I liked talking to him so much. He made me feel like I should be proud of my life, as if he were proud of the life I have made for myself. I can’t even put it into words without making it sound so paltry, and it wasn’t, so I’m going to stop. The point is, I will miss him.

Back to first times- so, this is the first time that I have ever tried to go through something like this without putting a drug or a drink in my body to change the way I felt. I have to say, it really sucks. I mean, Jesus, the FEELINGS I have had to FEEL this week. Oh, Lord. It’s like the difference between turning on your kitchen sink, and smashing open a fire hydrant. I realize that if I want to hold onto my clean date, intoxication is not an option for me, but man, a stiff drink would have been really welcome at a few points these past few days.

There is a reading in Just For Today that talks about loss in recovery. I always skip over that one, because it seems so morbid and jinxy to me. I hate that reading. It just came up not too many days ago, and I skipped over it again- such a downer. I think I should probably go read it, now that I am feeling less volatile. What I really feel like is this: I’m glad I got to grieve this death clean. My friend deserved all those tears, and that grief, for the loss of his life. That probably sounds so weird, but I know what I mean. I’m not trying to put down the way anyone else copes with grief, not even. I’m just saying, for me, I’m happy to get to be fully present for it. If it had to be this way, I want to show up all the way.

It’s Friday. I have to go into the office today, and be around people for the first time all week, and I think it will be okay. I think everything is going to be okay. I am just going to keep doing this because that is what we all have to do, right? Life really does go on. The world stands still for a beat…and then it just goes on. Rest in Peace, Joe. I love you.

 

 

Posted in advice, aging, escape, family, Life, love, People, random, Uncategorized

No Promises

uncertainty

“There are no guarantees in life” – who hasn’t heard that phrase, many times, or even said it yourself? It’s pretty much the go-to saying for situations where something tragic or shitty has happened, and there is no other explanation but that. I mean, I’m sure there are others- probably super religious people bring God into it (I have been guilty of this a time or two, not because I am super religious, but because I am a big, faithful believer in God’s perfect plan for us all, no matter how awful things may seem), which probably isn’t very comforting for anyone besides the person saying it. When life deals us, or maybe worse, someone we love, a crippling blow-there is often a desperate feeling of not knowing what to say, or what to do, or how to help, if help is possible. That’s the thing, though- we feel this way because sometimes, there really is nothing. Nothing you can say, do, help, that will be of any use at all. That’s a hard one for us humans.

There is something to that phrase, though- “There are no guarantees in life”. I know most of us don’t dwell on it, but it’s true. Life holds much promise, but makes no promises to anyone. None at all. Sure, there are all kinds of inferred promises we live under the impression of, but they aren’t real. They make us feel safer without actually being of any use at all- sort of like the “Oh Shit!” handle on the passenger side of your car. We make a lot of assumptions from the very start about our lives, and everyone around us encourages this, and does it themselves. We assume we will grow up. We assume we will be teenagers, move out someday, get married and have kids, perhaps. We assume that we will grow old, and that someday, far, far, down the road, we will die. For lots of us, that’s the way it goes. For others, it is not.

By the time I was twenty-two, three kids I personally knew, had died. Being young at that time, those lives lost made an impression on me, but not the way they would have now, if that makes sense. At the age I am now, these deaths would be kids my daughter knows, and it would devastate me.  Even as I write a blog about there being no promises in life, I want to say “Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children!” Knowing as I do that parents outlive their babies every day, it still seems like a rip off of the worst kind. It seems like the most unjust thing, ever. But it’s a chance we take, knowing, God forbid, things happen. We take what life gives us and hope for the best.

It’s sort of a miracle that we can even function in the face of all of this uncertainty, don’ t you think? That we aren’t terrified to go to sleep, let the people we love out of our sight, bother having children at all, knowing what we know…I mean, doesn’t it make you think we must be the most optimistic species out there, that we just go on about our business, cheerful, hopeful, unafraid- when any second could be lights out? Obviously, we don’t go around thinking that way (I don’t- I sure hope you don’t either!) or we’d go nuts, but the fact that we can just tuck it away, in the back of our minds, and not let it bother us much…that is amazing! I have certainly had moments, and even short phases in my life, where I was struck to the core by existential dread. I think we all go through it, here and there. It is sure as hell no fun in that bleak head space, when you aren’t sure what you are, can’t vouch for what you’re actually made of, and all your faith in what happens after we die has disappeared, leaving you frozen with fear of the unknown. “I want out!” I remember thinking to myself, in the grips of one of these little bouts. “Out, where?” I recall thinking immediately after, “It’s too late- the minute you are born, you are trapped on this ride, and the only thing worse than being trapped on is being let off.” Naturally, this thought did nothing for my panic, and I was forced to spend the rest of the night (isn’t it always late at night when this particular fear strikes?) practicing deep breathing into my pillow. With the light of day, the fear diminished, silly looking when I wasn’t so alone.

You may be wondering by now what the hell got into me, to make me write this. I’m sure it’s not one of my more hilarious reads. Well, it’s like this- as some of you guys know, I am a medical coder at a hospital. I won’t bore you with the full description of my job, but I do NOT do actual patient care. I work in the Health Information Management department, which you probably know as the medical records department. I spend all day, every day, reading charts for emergency room patients, then pulling from those charts the diagnoses so that the people in the billing department know what happened and how much to charge.  99% of the time, the charts I see are for people who come in, get some help, then go home. Anything more serious, and the patients are admitted, which means someone else codes their charts. So most of the time, it’s simple, average stuff.

But sometimes people die. When it’s old people, it’s sad, and I don’t feel great about it, but at least, usually, it was quick, and they had a long life. When it’s younger people, though, that is hard on me. Many times I have cried over a chart I was coding- not all of them deaths, either. There are terrible things that happen besides death-leukemia in a seven year old, metastatic cancer in a patient who thought they’d beat their disease. Burns on little babies…you name it. But the kids in their twenties who don’t make it, that kills me. The people my age who just drop dead- that scares the crap out of me. It’s not too uncommon either. Since I’ve worked in this field, I’ve had to see a lot of things I could have avoided, otherwise. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not, to be so aware of our frailty.

Then yesterday, on Facebook, I see that my friends boyfriend has passed away. Like, out of the clear blue sky, gone. She is someone I have known a long time, but not well enough to know anything other than that he died, and that he was our age, and that I can do nothing but offer my condolences. Pray. Another dose of reality, like a palm to the face, urging me to snap out of it! This is it, man, THIS moment, right now. This is really all you’ve got, because the next one isn’t promised. Do whatever you can to make this one shine. There are no guarantees in life, you know.

Posted in advice, beauty, family, Goals, inner peace, kids, Life, love, People

What Can We Do?

change

The pain, for me at least, has not really gotten better. Judging from the conversations I have had out in the world, and the things I see on Facebook, the things I am seeing here on WordPress,  it is not getting better for anyone. If anything, the shock has worn off and it hurts even worse.  The pictures of all of those beautiful babies smiling, just another arrow through our collective heart. The whole world is walking around, wounded and heart sick. What can we do? There is nothing that can be done…I keep hearing myself say these words, that awful, helpless feeling welling up in me. We cannot go back in time, we cannot give these children and their teachers their lives back, we cannot even truly ease the pain of the people left behind, longing and mourning for them.

Still, the desperate best in us has come to the forefront again, the way it always does when a tragedy of this magnitude unleashes itself upon us. There are petitions to sign, tributes made, candle light vigils held across the world. Our compassionate, beautiful sides, too tender, we think, to reveal all the time, are the faces of most of us right now. Yet I wake up in the morning afraid and tired, still feeling like my hands are tied, that none of this really HELPS at all. I know this is not really true, on a certain level, and that any kindness and compassion we pour forth now is a gift that the world desperately needs- the truth is, this world has become a place too dark, too individualized, too alienated from it’s own humanity. If that weren’t true, it wouldn’t take a tragedy so horrific to bring us back to earth again, finally able, for the briefest moments, to remember the gift of right now, right here, what we can see, smell, touch, taste, hold close.

There is beauty everywhere, too. We forget so easily. How many times have you been face to face with a beautiful sunset, purple and pink and orange and yellow, and barely registered its existence, so worried about traffic or hell bent on getting back to your empty house to get the dishes done before dinner can be started? How many times have you run out to grab something from your car, and the full moon shone down, but you were too tired to let it take your breath away? I live mere blocks from the beach, and sometimes days pass before I can even be coaxed into looking up, taking it in. Last night, I sat on the couch, absorbed in a book, and I looked up to find my two year old staring at me solemnly with her enormous green eyes, just looking and looking. My heart lurched in my chest because I could see that her eyes were telling me the story of her longing to be near me while I sat there, a thousand miles away. I picked her up and held her in my arms, kissed her cheeks and buried my face in her golden brown curls, and thought about all of the parents in Newtown who would give their own lives, without a backward glance, to have the chance I had nearly passed up. We are a peculiar animal, humans. Great with big concepts, while failing miserably to see what is right in front of us.

This morning it occurred to me that perhaps there is something I can do. There is something all of us can do. We start at home. We take full responsibility for our lives and how we conduct them, agreeing that the example we provide is as important as the advice that we give. For me, this means being present, not being afraid of my teenager when she acts up because I am afraid of all of the discord. It means putting my foot down, not accepting unacceptable behavior. It means following through with predetermined consequences, no matter how much better things seem, or how much work it is for me.

I can make the world better by being a better mother and raising better children. I can make the world better by taking better care of myself, trying not to die of lung cancer or emphysema due to my inability to reign in my own addictive behavior. Killing myself is not going to help my kids at all. This sounds stupid, but if you really think about it, it’s a great example of what I mean- thinking of the ripple effect, the things we do that are not really just to ourselves, but effect everyone around us. It is high time we take responsibility for ourselves and for each other.

The first step is ourselves. The next is our families. Then we need to learn to widen the net, to put down our phones, shut off our TV’s and laptops, and begin to know the people around us. This means our neighbors, our children’s friends, their friends parent’s, the people at church, at the grocery store, at work, at the gym. We need to keep our eyes open and see what is happening in the world around us- so that maybe, when one of us is very, very ill, next time, we can see it. Next time, maybe someone will see what another could not.  I think it could be the difference between life and death. These little changes, the difference between existing and living.

Please, let me know what your thoughts on any of this are. I would really love to know what your mind has been whispering to you about what has happened and who we are or have become, as people.

Thanks.