A dear friend shared this with me this morning, and I'm posting it, for all of those mourning, sitting shiva, or observing yartzeit... it helped me get through my first day without him, and I'm sure I'll lean on it another time or two...it was exactly what I needed to hear, and I thank him for that...

"You can shed tears that he is gone,
or you can smile because he has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that he'll come back,
or you can open your eyes and see all he's left.
Your heart can be empty because you can't see him,
or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember him only that he is gone,
or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind,
be empty and turn your back.
Or you can do what he'd want: smile,
open your eyes, love and go on."

so, I don't know, my first blog under this topic seemed pretty successful, so, having experienced related events, here in '08, I've decided to compose an addendum.

I don't know that I placed my happiness in another's hands this time. Honestly, I think I may guard a bit too much, maybe haven't let myself go enough. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with protecting one's feeling of self worth and one's ability to be personally happy, but sometimes slipping triggers a essential interaction. I feel rather numb at this point, whirled in confusion, but numb. I fear for another, this time.

I fear for a man who may be willing, but more than likely not able (as is healthy and nature), to change everything important to himself for another. As humans, we certainly go though some odd courting rituals—most of which include the most ridiculous and blind of actions. Thankfully, this lust phase doesn't normally last too long. We return to our normal functional selves, and hopefully, we're accepted by our partners before further steps are taken toward commitment. Once in a blue moon, however, a person may seem to experience an extended amount of lust time. This is truly an unfortunate situation. It's not that a person doesn't feel love, or isn't genuine—but I imagine they are unable to be true to themselves during this period of love. That is a terrible thing: To be in love and not be one's self—to feel happy, but not really be happy... am I planting the proper imagery here?

There's nothing wrong with lust, it's important in testing and proving limits, not to mention the chemical euphoria is entirely too healthy and enjoyable to deny, but it must end, at some point. I'm not saying it's supposed to get routine and boring—Heaven forbid! But lust is a bit of a subconscious act—isn't it? And no one should have to waltz though life as anyone but themselves—no one should have to play a character 24/7 in order to be "happy." The unconscious weight in itself is enough to destroy the person, and the people around them. Not to mention the feelings of "missing out" and being "cheated" that the brain must manifest in response to that sort of game.

So why is it that we fore go our own vital emotional needs, for that of another? Especially when neither party is really gaining anything? Imagine playing a character, knowing that character is loved, and questioning whether or not the actor behind that character is really loved... devastating... imagine being the audience, unaware the actor wasn't type-casted, realizing in the end that the character and actor must be drawn asunder...whether they like it or not... knowing the actor couldn't help it... knowing the audience can't forget the plot... what can be done? The audience expected the actor to be as amazing as the character played, and the actor trusted the audience to love them for who they actually were, beyond their portrayal... is either at fault? The actor couldn't help but place their happiness in the audience's hands, how is it expected the audience should react? Certainly, they couldn't be held at fault for enjoying the mask more than the man, regardless of the actors personality...

I understand we all hit our bumps, our washouts, and our obstacles along this path we call life, but just how often do we have to be reminded our road isn't paved--isn't maintained to any higher standard then PennDOT adheres to?

I'm speaking, of course, on all that I have been through in the last 12 short months... again, this is not me complaining, this is me venting. I'm not boo hooing over all of this, I just need release. If someone out there reads this, and it helps them, than I've received even more benefit from these words...

Losing my newly regained comfort in my health, losing my married dream, saying goodbye to my school, my city, my job... okay, things change...they don't go as planned, they don't even suggest a warning at times... all of these things probably add up, digging the first few inches of the ditch I seem to find myself in right now. And I'm not depressed-- but I know I'm overwhelmed. I need to take a deep breath and a long exhale:

His eyes aren't even bonnie brown anymore. Does anyone else notice that? Does anyone see that sickening milky grey of Grandfather's eyes--yes--my father-figure, my rock. And it's not cataracts--he's taken care of those in the past-- it's the ugly cancer. Some sicko out there is probably fascinated by it, well, I'll tell you-- as someone who has a great respect and interest in the things that ail us as humans-- cancer is ugly, plain and simple. I understand that the man was handed a filterless cigarette in 1928 as a 7 year old impressionable boy. I thought G-d would look kindly on this man, the product of that misinformed boy. But no. He's not stopping that cancer from slowly sucking the life out of him. And my Poppy's been such an amazing person since that poor misguided action.

The man worked in a time of depression, fought in a time of world war, earned an education because he understood its importance, outside of the coal region he grew up in... he married, just before the war, and came home to find his wife had found another man... he didn't let defeat or ugliness cloud his heart, even at a time when divorce was scorned-- when he was scorned because she had done what she had done, when he was overseas. He courted and wed my beautiful grandmother, regardless of ill mannered word because of 'his past' and her 'weakness.' He worked for the Pentagon, cracking codes, he helped multiple hospitals rise in the Philadelphia region as their master accountants. They named the heart wing after him at Mercer after he became to bradycardic to make it without a pacemaker... and he didn't let that slow him down either. He and my grandmother raised two children, clinging to each other when they lost a third. They didn't let that cloud them, all made them stronger.

They didn't stop there. They worked well beyond retirement. They chose to be a big part of their grandchildrens' lives, instilling strong values and support. Involvement even extended to great-grandchildren (they never got a break). They taught us knowledge was key, honesty and integrity the only choice, respect and love are boundless, yes, we can make a difference, and should (to name a few). Through it all my grandfather treated my grandmother like a princess. He always indulged her, always took care of her, never let her tire. A man of strength we just don't see anymore. Not that this was required of him. Partnership is all that can be expected, but we rarely even see that anymore.

And here we are. my driving force is sputtering, regardless of his efforts. These two people, never a day over 'middle age' in my mind, in their actions, until this past October, when cancer his the accelerator, sending him on a crash course with my grandmother as a passenger. I don't know what I expected. That awful drowning noise is not something you can become desensitized against... especially when you have a clear image of what if must look like, when you know the feeling of 'water in your chest' and the constriction of your airway. The poor man, he exists with little relief. They've drained some 7? liters out of him. He yo-yo's from being to nauseated to eat, to too weak to feed himself. This sharpshooting Marine fears the appearance of an obstacle between himself and the closest place to sit. Yet, his respect and courtesy keep him from saving his breath over compliments and thank yous.

I cling to his smiles, his painful laughter, his approving gaze. I wonder over his knowledge and experiences, share mine--somehow this man (who spent fearful hours in a PT boat) never rode a kayak...I fear the gurgling noises, yawns that draw 3-4 breaths from him, the panting that drains the color from his face, the questions: "Amanda, be honest, how much can my body take, how long can it go on like this?" I don't know where he finds the strength to compliment the cancer, even, "at least it's doing a good job..."  It's too much at times. I enjoy being with them, being able to do the physical things for them and around their place that just shouldn't take up their precious time anymore. I don't like to see what this all has taken from them. I don't like to see their independence stolen...

I feel like I'm living on borrowed time with them, and with that I understand, better than ever before: don't forget or avoid that question or conversation. Know the important people in your lives, and know them well. Cling to every moment you have with them, regardless of what it entails. Everyone has to leace us, one day, but no one can prepare you for how. All you have are memories in the end, etchings of the joys you experienced. Know them, continue them to the very end. Don't waste your time with the upsets and cruelty that consumes others...they're senseless, a waste of energy, especially when one can be enjoying someone... and, be there, for whatever, whereever, however, be there.

Oh, Adam Levine.

You know, I never did the whole teenage celebrity crush thing, but I am sorry, I get the most shity-ass grin across my face when I hear Maroon 5's music, or happen to catch a glimpse of a pic/ video/ interview... ahhh! What is wrong with me? Is this considered digression? Does this happen to you? It can't possibly be unhealthy, I mean, look at the man...

Lord, what are we to do when children have children? I know You don’t make mistakes, and I can’t even say that those young parents make the decision to have children, regardless of their thought on the matter--that would suggest that they’ve reached an adequate level of maturity. Why?  I don’t know that I’ve observed those children having come into this earth with a stronger will or better conscience then their parents, so how can they be expected to thrive?

What are we to do, as loving beings? On one hand Lord, we are to be forgiving and accepting, strong and caring. How far must we forgive; how far must we accept? How far can we go without compromising ourselves and the values you have instilled in us? After all, if we are ever to know the extent of our covenant with You we can’t be expected to lower ourselves into the bowels of society. So what to do? Seek strength for that child, and pray that they do not repeat their parent’s transgressions; pray that the circumstances of their conception do not influence another impressionable youth, equally immature--also filled with thoughts of personal inadequacy?

Having children, making a nation, proud and accomplished, of oneself used to be the measure of a man. I fear that people have lost sight of the pillars of parenthood: a strong foundation, future forethought, love. Not just any love, but love that knows no selfishness--love that puts all personal wants aside, provides, sacrifices. A child is not a piece of ones life, it is ones life. So many parents appear selfish, having children for themselves, having children to somehow prove their worth, and not for the future child and what that new being can and will be able to make of themselves. Where has this idea come from? How can a person feel accomplished or worthy having brought a child into the world whom they have not decently provided for?

And what about those parents who are admirable and praiseworthy? Those who are selfless providers, those who have sat back to plan their child’s life choices and abilities? Those who have thought about how their children can benefit from their parents, those who recognize that children need more after love, and have set themselves up to provide those needs? Is there no great praise left for them? Has society forgotten what it means to be one of those worthy, altruistic providers?

Lord, I do pray for guidance. I do pray for the strength of those children who have not been thoughtfully provided for. I pray for the enlightenment of their parents, that they might better themselves for their child’s good and for the good of those impressionable souls around them. I pray for an angel in their presence, that they and thier children might be delivered.