This week hasn't been an easy one for me. I started to feel sick on Saturday night. By Sunday I was in the middle of a horrible summer cold. My head and chest were congested and breathing was difficult. I felt like crap the next day too and stayed home from work. Tuesday, I got to work only to turn around and come home. Again, today was the same. I'm coughing and hacking and feeling like shit.
But yesterday a tornado tore through Oklahoma and ripped out the homes and hearts of the people there. And next week my sweet husband has to travel thousands of miles alone to bury his mother who passed away last week. By comparison, my cold is nothing and I feel very small complaining about it.
Life has a funny way of putting things into perspective, doesn't it?
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Time enough to say good bye...
It's hard to know how to feel when someone passes away. Surely, when it is a loved one, there is grief. Memories tinged with sorrow. But when it's someone that should have been a loved one but never got the chance, there are feelings of regret for never having known that person well.
My mother-in-law passed away last night.
My introduction to my mother-in-law actually came years before I ever met my husband. I had recently graduated from UW-Parkside and had just gotten my first real acting gig doing Shakespeare three times per day at the Ren Faire. I was planning to move to Chicago at the end of the year and, for some reason, I decided to go take some additional classes in Early Childhood Ed. just in case my newly acquired liberal arts education failed me. I had a great teacher! She had an enthusiasm for the subject matter that was infectious and it was apparent that she loved teaching little kids. She also was a wealth of information and used some very deep material in her class. One of the books she used was all about play and how children use play as a means of communication and learning. It was a fascinating book! I still have it on my shelf now.
Flash forward to 2005, I am a part of a music website and starting to write lyrics and collaborate with other musicians there. My then husband introduces me to the music of this incredibly talented young man from Sweden and we begin working together with two other musician buddies - Brady and Joel - and we create a web based band called Wilhemina Murray's Revenge. As we're working, Alex and I also create this strong and amazing friendship. We talk by phone and on computer about many things and one of the first things he tells me is about his family. He tells me his mother - Gunilla Lindqvist - was a teacher, a lecturer, a researcher and writer who wrote these books about childhood development, in particular, the use of play as a means of communication and learning. I was floored! This was the same book that I had read and used before in my class! What a freaking coincidence that I would now be friends with her son! So neatly strange!
Later, as my first marriage fell apart and divorce was inevitable, I relied on Alex to process all my feelings and hurt and pain and shame and regret and all those other horrible things one feels during those dark times. We grew closer and closer and one day realized that despite our age difference, we were in love. Alex first came here to the US for a few days. I eagerly and nervously awaited his arrival. I was a basket case! But we knew in the first few moments that we were doing the right thing. He came back to the US a couple of weeks later and stayed longer. I went there and met his family which was no small feat because there are a lot of them! I also got to meet his mother.
Gunilla, unfortunately and sadly, had developed a very early, very rare form of frontal lobe dementia which started in her 50s. She was no longer able to live at home because Jan, my father-in-law, was unable to take care of her. She often wandered away from the house not knowing how to get back and Jan's eyesight made it impossible to go out and find her. She was now living in an assisted living home in Karlstad and that's where I met her. She looked at me suspiciously as Alexander introduced me. It was clear she had no idea who I was or why I was there. Yet she smiled sweetly and I got the feeling that in another place and time we might have become close.
Over the years, her condition grew worse and she was bedridden and had to have nutrition by tube. We visited her last time we were in Sweden and she smiled just as sweetly at all of us. I was so impressed with the care she was receiving in the home. She looked healthy and happy. She beamed at Alex and I'm convinced she recognized him even though she hadn't seen him in over a year. Lat week, she became ill and her poor body couldn't fight it. She passed away peacefully with her other children there.
I know how close Alex and his mother were and I know he's very sad today. But as he told me, he is very stoic and that's the truth. I'm also very sad today. I wish I would have had time to get to know Gunilla. Not the Gunilla we visited, lying in her bed and smiling, but the feisty Gun
illa that I have heard about from both Alex and Jan. I would have been honored to speak with someone so brilliant, so passionate, who made terribly hard decisions based on love and a need to be herself. I think we would have gotten along well. I would have liked to have told her that her life's work, her book, had a profound effect on a young teacher and how other teacher's were using it to teach new teachers as well. I think she would have liked that. I miss that I didn't have the chance to know her.
My mother-in-law passed away last night.
My introduction to my mother-in-law actually came years before I ever met my husband. I had recently graduated from UW-Parkside and had just gotten my first real acting gig doing Shakespeare three times per day at the Ren Faire. I was planning to move to Chicago at the end of the year and, for some reason, I decided to go take some additional classes in Early Childhood Ed. just in case my newly acquired liberal arts education failed me. I had a great teacher! She had an enthusiasm for the subject matter that was infectious and it was apparent that she loved teaching little kids. She also was a wealth of information and used some very deep material in her class. One of the books she used was all about play and how children use play as a means of communication and learning. It was a fascinating book! I still have it on my shelf now.
Flash forward to 2005, I am a part of a music website and starting to write lyrics and collaborate with other musicians there. My then husband introduces me to the music of this incredibly talented young man from Sweden and we begin working together with two other musician buddies - Brady and Joel - and we create a web based band called Wilhemina Murray's Revenge. As we're working, Alex and I also create this strong and amazing friendship. We talk by phone and on computer about many things and one of the first things he tells me is about his family. He tells me his mother - Gunilla Lindqvist - was a teacher, a lecturer, a researcher and writer who wrote these books about childhood development, in particular, the use of play as a means of communication and learning. I was floored! This was the same book that I had read and used before in my class! What a freaking coincidence that I would now be friends with her son! So neatly strange!
Later, as my first marriage fell apart and divorce was inevitable, I relied on Alex to process all my feelings and hurt and pain and shame and regret and all those other horrible things one feels during those dark times. We grew closer and closer and one day realized that despite our age difference, we were in love. Alex first came here to the US for a few days. I eagerly and nervously awaited his arrival. I was a basket case! But we knew in the first few moments that we were doing the right thing. He came back to the US a couple of weeks later and stayed longer. I went there and met his family which was no small feat because there are a lot of them! I also got to meet his mother.
Gunilla, unfortunately and sadly, had developed a very early, very rare form of frontal lobe dementia which started in her 50s. She was no longer able to live at home because Jan, my father-in-law, was unable to take care of her. She often wandered away from the house not knowing how to get back and Jan's eyesight made it impossible to go out and find her. She was now living in an assisted living home in Karlstad and that's where I met her. She looked at me suspiciously as Alexander introduced me. It was clear she had no idea who I was or why I was there. Yet she smiled sweetly and I got the feeling that in another place and time we might have become close.
Over the years, her condition grew worse and she was bedridden and had to have nutrition by tube. We visited her last time we were in Sweden and she smiled just as sweetly at all of us. I was so impressed with the care she was receiving in the home. She looked healthy and happy. She beamed at Alex and I'm convinced she recognized him even though she hadn't seen him in over a year. Lat week, she became ill and her poor body couldn't fight it. She passed away peacefully with her other children there.
I know how close Alex and his mother were and I know he's very sad today. But as he told me, he is very stoic and that's the truth. I'm also very sad today. I wish I would have had time to get to know Gunilla. Not the Gunilla we visited, lying in her bed and smiling, but the feisty Gun
illa that I have heard about from both Alex and Jan. I would have been honored to speak with someone so brilliant, so passionate, who made terribly hard decisions based on love and a need to be herself. I think we would have gotten along well. I would have liked to have told her that her life's work, her book, had a profound effect on a young teacher and how other teacher's were using it to teach new teachers as well. I think she would have liked that. I miss that I didn't have the chance to know her.
 |
| Our first encounter - Alex, Gunilla and Jan. |
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
The truly sad thing about Whitney...
As someone who works with a lot of people who have drug and alcohol issues, either in some state of recovery or in the precomtemplative stages of change, I get a dull ache inside whenever someone famous dies in the way that Whitney Houston died. The lethal combination of prescription pills and alcohol is a sure fired way to kill yourself, even when you don't want to kill yourself. But the tragedy that is Whitney Houston's death is the same tragedy played out in Michael Jackson's death or Amy Winehouse's death. We didn't really need an autopsy to tell us how they died.
Again, as someone who works with people with drug and alcohol issues, I know one thing to be true. I will not let one single day go by when I don't say something, anything, to these folks about their drug and alcohol abuse. And therein lies the real tragedy of Whitney, Michael, Amy and countless other superstars who have met this same tragic end. When you are famous, no one tells you no. When you are famous, even if your family begs you to stop there are numerous others out there who will assist you in your demise because it makes them feel special and famous by default. Every single one of these stars had the money and resources to get into a good rehab and pay someone to be at their side 24/7 if they wanted to. That someone would have to be strong and say NO and keep saying no until that star bought in to their own recovery and sobriety. I work with people who do kick their habits and get sober with no resources and no family to lean on. They do it on their own. So someone like Whitney surely could have done it too.
Whitney was a great talent and a very troubled human being. I feel for her daughter and the rest of her family. I hope that her death will not merely be a celebration of her talent but a tragic lesson to those out there who are slowly killing themselves and I hope they will find someone with the balls to tell them NO!
Again, as someone who works with people with drug and alcohol issues, I know one thing to be true. I will not let one single day go by when I don't say something, anything, to these folks about their drug and alcohol abuse. And therein lies the real tragedy of Whitney, Michael, Amy and countless other superstars who have met this same tragic end. When you are famous, no one tells you no. When you are famous, even if your family begs you to stop there are numerous others out there who will assist you in your demise because it makes them feel special and famous by default. Every single one of these stars had the money and resources to get into a good rehab and pay someone to be at their side 24/7 if they wanted to. That someone would have to be strong and say NO and keep saying no until that star bought in to their own recovery and sobriety. I work with people who do kick their habits and get sober with no resources and no family to lean on. They do it on their own. So someone like Whitney surely could have done it too.
Whitney was a great talent and a very troubled human being. I feel for her daughter and the rest of her family. I hope that her death will not merely be a celebration of her talent but a tragic lesson to those out there who are slowly killing themselves and I hope they will find someone with the balls to tell them NO!
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Rest in Peace...Imemine
Yesterday, I got some news that made me very sad. Someone I have worked with making music passed away suddenly. I have written songs and recorded them with a number of talented musicians from all over the world. I have never met any of them face to face except for Alexander.
The man who passed away went by the artist name Imemine. His real name was Roger. I don't even know his last name. What I knew of Roger was this - he loved his family, worked hard to make a living and that included traveling for work which constantly took him away from that family he loved. He was a grand musician who, because of his work, didn't get nearly enough time to make music. He was funny and enjoyed a good laugh. He was opinionated and didn't shy away from hot topics. He sometimes blew up and would get angry and let people know it. Even though I never met him I considered him a friend, of sorts.
There are many people "in my life" whom I've never really met. My Internet life is full of people that I have come to know and, yes, care about. I wonder how that's even possible. How is it possible to feel grief over someone I've never laid eyes on other than a blurry digital photo on a website. For some of the people I'm "met" on the Internet, I have at least heard their voices either through their music or from chatting. For others, I only know them from their status updates, their tweets and the occasional email. Yet, in some small way, they are my friends. Not the kind I'd feel comfortable with stopping by their house or anything. But I do feel their sadness when they are sad, their joy when they are joyful. And when I heard that Roger died yesterday, I did cry.
Once Roger was flying into Milwaukee and had a short layover for his work. He emailed me that morning and asked me to drive up there to have a beer with him. It was a weekday and I was at work so I couldn't go. I wish I had. I really wish I had. I know Roger was somebody I would have really liked in real life, not just Internet life.
Cheers, brother. Have a beer on me. And thank you for all of the wonderful music, my friend.
The man who passed away went by the artist name Imemine. His real name was Roger. I don't even know his last name. What I knew of Roger was this - he loved his family, worked hard to make a living and that included traveling for work which constantly took him away from that family he loved. He was a grand musician who, because of his work, didn't get nearly enough time to make music. He was funny and enjoyed a good laugh. He was opinionated and didn't shy away from hot topics. He sometimes blew up and would get angry and let people know it. Even though I never met him I considered him a friend, of sorts.
There are many people "in my life" whom I've never really met. My Internet life is full of people that I have come to know and, yes, care about. I wonder how that's even possible. How is it possible to feel grief over someone I've never laid eyes on other than a blurry digital photo on a website. For some of the people I'm "met" on the Internet, I have at least heard their voices either through their music or from chatting. For others, I only know them from their status updates, their tweets and the occasional email. Yet, in some small way, they are my friends. Not the kind I'd feel comfortable with stopping by their house or anything. But I do feel their sadness when they are sad, their joy when they are joyful. And when I heard that Roger died yesterday, I did cry.
Once Roger was flying into Milwaukee and had a short layover for his work. He emailed me that morning and asked me to drive up there to have a beer with him. It was a weekday and I was at work so I couldn't go. I wish I had. I really wish I had. I know Roger was somebody I would have really liked in real life, not just Internet life.
Cheers, brother. Have a beer on me. And thank you for all of the wonderful music, my friend.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Meanderings on Memorial Day Weekend...
I would say I'm not big on sentiment but those who know me would say I was lying. I guess I'm not big on sentiment in the usual way. For instance, this weekend is Memorial Day weekend. Now I know the real meaning of this holiday is to remember all of those who have fought and given their lives for our freedom. But, it's also a time to remember those in our own families that have gone ahead.
I was out to St. George Cemetery yesterday. Strangely enough, not to pay my respects to my father who is buried there. I just don't believe he is still there. I mean, yes, his body is there under the ground but my Dad is not. He's all around me, in my thoughts, in who I am. I don't get those people who believe that last resting place is the place to go and "visit" their deceased loved ones. Anyway, I digress...
What fascinates me most about St. George Cemetery, or any cemetery for that matter, is the grave stones. I wonder who were these people, how did they live, who loved them, who did they love, what did they do, and, finally, how did they die? The dates on the stones make me think of these things. I'll see one man, born in 1881 and died 1971. He lived a long life and I wonder what life he had? And right next to him, a girl, born in 1882 and died 1884. Just two years old. Makes me wonder how she died. I get lost in trying to create the stories of the people buried there. Anyway, I took some pictures while I was there. So here they are...
Happy Memorial Day Everyone!
I was out to St. George Cemetery yesterday. Strangely enough, not to pay my respects to my father who is buried there. I just don't believe he is still there. I mean, yes, his body is there under the ground but my Dad is not. He's all around me, in my thoughts, in who I am. I don't get those people who believe that last resting place is the place to go and "visit" their deceased loved ones. Anyway, I digress...
What fascinates me most about St. George Cemetery, or any cemetery for that matter, is the grave stones. I wonder who were these people, how did they live, who loved them, who did they love, what did they do, and, finally, how did they die? The dates on the stones make me think of these things. I'll see one man, born in 1881 and died 1971. He lived a long life and I wonder what life he had? And right next to him, a girl, born in 1882 and died 1884. Just two years old. Makes me wonder how she died. I get lost in trying to create the stories of the people buried there. Anyway, I took some pictures while I was there. So here they are...
Happy Memorial Day Everyone!
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
A life less lived...
I've been trying to figure out how to write what I've wanted to write all day now. I had intended to get to this blog earlier but my thoughts weren't coming. You see, I want to write about someone I know that passed away yesterday. Where to begin...
About 15 years ago, I started a new job as a case mananger for developmentally disabled adults. I had never done that type of work before and didn't know then that case management would become my passion. I was green and I was eager and I was scared. I had been hired by the agency I currently work for, in a position for a program they were just starting out with. I was the only case mananger there. My client list came from the previous agency who had the program. I was given some files, some names and some sketchy training and I was off.
One of the first things I did was call everyone on my case list and made appointments to meet them all. The very first person I met was a woman named Kathi. Reading her case file was like reading a novel full of abuse, neglect, financial issues, personal issues, struggles and triumphs. One thing was certain. Kathi did not not nor did she think she needed a case manager. She made that abundandtly clear the first time we met. She was unwashed, disheveled and angry and she stayed that way for months. Nothing I could say seemed to change it and it didn't help that I had to become her payee as well since she was not able to take care of her own money. Now I was the enemy.
My first year with Kathi was hellish at best. We had many, many arguments which almost always ended with her calling me some choice names and walking out. But she always came back.
Over that year, we found a way to work together and, eventually, she began to trust me. When she got into some terrible crisis, she came to me and we worked it out. She got very ill psychiatrically and she trusted me to work with her docs to get her as stable as we could again. The she got arrested. There was nothing I could do to stop her from going to jail and serving time. It was not right. She was very ill and jail serves no purpose in treating mental illness. When she was released, she was very paranoid and changed forever. It took a long time to get her to live independently again and to see her toothless smile again.
I moved on to a superviosry role but I would see Kathi when she came to the office. She always had a smile for me. Always said I looked like I lost weight! (Which I didn't but which endeared her to me all the more!) She would be nervous and scared to come in but would smile through her fears and lightened everyone's day.
She had a hard time with the silly things we take for granted like bathing ourselves, making friends, or just being out in public. She often had a strong smell from not bathing or brushing her teeth regularly. Sometimes she wouldn't make it to the bathroom and she would wet herself. Yet, everyone who ever met her was better off because of it. She was kind, thoughtful, caring, and interested in our lives in a way that we seldom see in eachother. Kathi had a hard, hard life. One that, if you never met her, you might think was not worth living. I think she would disagree with you.
And the fact that she would disagree with you shows what a remarkable spirit she was. Kathi was found dead in her apartment on Tuesday, natural causes.
She touched my life and I can only hope that I touched hers in some small way.
Rest in peace, Kathi.
About 15 years ago, I started a new job as a case mananger for developmentally disabled adults. I had never done that type of work before and didn't know then that case management would become my passion. I was green and I was eager and I was scared. I had been hired by the agency I currently work for, in a position for a program they were just starting out with. I was the only case mananger there. My client list came from the previous agency who had the program. I was given some files, some names and some sketchy training and I was off.
One of the first things I did was call everyone on my case list and made appointments to meet them all. The very first person I met was a woman named Kathi. Reading her case file was like reading a novel full of abuse, neglect, financial issues, personal issues, struggles and triumphs. One thing was certain. Kathi did not not nor did she think she needed a case manager. She made that abundandtly clear the first time we met. She was unwashed, disheveled and angry and she stayed that way for months. Nothing I could say seemed to change it and it didn't help that I had to become her payee as well since she was not able to take care of her own money. Now I was the enemy.
My first year with Kathi was hellish at best. We had many, many arguments which almost always ended with her calling me some choice names and walking out. But she always came back.
Over that year, we found a way to work together and, eventually, she began to trust me. When she got into some terrible crisis, she came to me and we worked it out. She got very ill psychiatrically and she trusted me to work with her docs to get her as stable as we could again. The she got arrested. There was nothing I could do to stop her from going to jail and serving time. It was not right. She was very ill and jail serves no purpose in treating mental illness. When she was released, she was very paranoid and changed forever. It took a long time to get her to live independently again and to see her toothless smile again.
I moved on to a superviosry role but I would see Kathi when she came to the office. She always had a smile for me. Always said I looked like I lost weight! (Which I didn't but which endeared her to me all the more!) She would be nervous and scared to come in but would smile through her fears and lightened everyone's day.
She had a hard time with the silly things we take for granted like bathing ourselves, making friends, or just being out in public. She often had a strong smell from not bathing or brushing her teeth regularly. Sometimes she wouldn't make it to the bathroom and she would wet herself. Yet, everyone who ever met her was better off because of it. She was kind, thoughtful, caring, and interested in our lives in a way that we seldom see in eachother. Kathi had a hard, hard life. One that, if you never met her, you might think was not worth living. I think she would disagree with you.
And the fact that she would disagree with you shows what a remarkable spirit she was. Kathi was found dead in her apartment on Tuesday, natural causes.
She touched my life and I can only hope that I touched hers in some small way.
Rest in peace, Kathi.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
First you're up and then you're down...
My sister's brother in law passed away today. This is the same sister who has cancer. He also had cancer. He was told on Monday that there was nothing more they could do. He went home, went to bed, stopped eating, fell asleep and today he died.
All this illness and death is getting to me. I'm not a religious person. I believe that when it's your time, it's your time and that's pretty much it. It has no rhyme or rhythm. It just is. But all of this is coming at me all at once and it is overwhelming.
There is no good way to say good bye. No amount of time is long enough. I guess we look at the good a person does while they're alive and that's what counts. But at the end, even that doesn't seem to count for much. Death sucks. People mourn and try to remember but over time those memories fade and life goes on.
How do you judge a man's life and what constitutes a good death? Is there such a thing? And, when you think about it, does it even matter?
All this illness and death is getting to me. I'm not a religious person. I believe that when it's your time, it's your time and that's pretty much it. It has no rhyme or rhythm. It just is. But all of this is coming at me all at once and it is overwhelming.
There is no good way to say good bye. No amount of time is long enough. I guess we look at the good a person does while they're alive and that's what counts. But at the end, even that doesn't seem to count for much. Death sucks. People mourn and try to remember but over time those memories fade and life goes on.
How do you judge a man's life and what constitutes a good death? Is there such a thing? And, when you think about it, does it even matter?
Monday, February 4, 2008
In the blink of an eye...
I started today tired and cold and feeling inhuman so I called in to work thinking that a day of playing hooky would be just the thing. I had no plans but instead wanted to spend the day being as lazy as I possibly could. It was raining outside...cold, freezing rain...so the thought of going anywhere was abhorrent. Then the phone rang.
My brother-in-law Ron has always had a sort of on again, off again relationship with the rest of the family. Not for anything the family has actually done but something in his own mind makes him think we don't like him. That's not true. But throughout the years he has made himself scarce, keeping away from family gatherings and staying home with himself. This past holiday was the first time in a long time he opted to come to my sister's for Christmas Day.
He's older but healthy even though he had suffered a near fatal injury in Viet Nam which occassionally flairs up and causes him problems. Yesterday, he was working around the house carrying some things to the basement. Suddenly, on his way back up, he lost his ability to breathe. He couldn't take a breathe and his skin quickly turned ghost white. He made it back to the kitchen and my sister rushed him to the emergency room. He has a huge blood clot in his lung and was just moment's away of having it move to his heart and causing his death.
I went the hospital today to see him lying there in his bed in the critical care unit looking like some futuristic insect attached to any manner of monitors and IV tubing. He spoke quietly through shallow breaths and he was amazed that my sister and I had come to see him at all. Our visit quickly tired him. Talking took too much out of him. He will wait until the end of the week when the docs will know more if the medication they are constantly injecting into his stomach has done it's magic and dissolved the clot. If not, they will move to more aggressive drugs - those that will certainly dissolve it but will also cause him to bleed.
As we left, I kissed his forehead and told him I loved him.
This is one of those events that always drives home the temporary nature of our lives. One minute we are working around the house, the next something inside comes perilously close to stopping us forever. I think about all those lost holidays with him. Those times, when in his mind, we did not want him there, he stayed away. And I think of all those things he still wants to do. I think of my own life. My worries and the things I stress about and wonder if I am also guilty at times of letting this moment, this breath, go by without taking that time to live more, love more and enjoy.
One way or another, my brother-in-law will be fine, though altered, for the rest of his life. I hope he knows that there was sincerity in that kiss and in those words - I love you.
My brother-in-law Ron has always had a sort of on again, off again relationship with the rest of the family. Not for anything the family has actually done but something in his own mind makes him think we don't like him. That's not true. But throughout the years he has made himself scarce, keeping away from family gatherings and staying home with himself. This past holiday was the first time in a long time he opted to come to my sister's for Christmas Day.
He's older but healthy even though he had suffered a near fatal injury in Viet Nam which occassionally flairs up and causes him problems. Yesterday, he was working around the house carrying some things to the basement. Suddenly, on his way back up, he lost his ability to breathe. He couldn't take a breathe and his skin quickly turned ghost white. He made it back to the kitchen and my sister rushed him to the emergency room. He has a huge blood clot in his lung and was just moment's away of having it move to his heart and causing his death.
I went the hospital today to see him lying there in his bed in the critical care unit looking like some futuristic insect attached to any manner of monitors and IV tubing. He spoke quietly through shallow breaths and he was amazed that my sister and I had come to see him at all. Our visit quickly tired him. Talking took too much out of him. He will wait until the end of the week when the docs will know more if the medication they are constantly injecting into his stomach has done it's magic and dissolved the clot. If not, they will move to more aggressive drugs - those that will certainly dissolve it but will also cause him to bleed.
As we left, I kissed his forehead and told him I loved him.
This is one of those events that always drives home the temporary nature of our lives. One minute we are working around the house, the next something inside comes perilously close to stopping us forever. I think about all those lost holidays with him. Those times, when in his mind, we did not want him there, he stayed away. And I think of all those things he still wants to do. I think of my own life. My worries and the things I stress about and wonder if I am also guilty at times of letting this moment, this breath, go by without taking that time to live more, love more and enjoy.
One way or another, my brother-in-law will be fine, though altered, for the rest of his life. I hope he knows that there was sincerity in that kiss and in those words - I love you.
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