Often, our gift to this world–the thing we are here to do–is the thing we tend to fear or dislike the most. Scary how that works. I wanted to be a writer. Here I am… writing a blog, not a book.
What did you want to be when you grew up? I used to ask pretty much everyone I knew. For Suzanne, it was a criminologist or a forensic scientist (long before becoming fashionable, or used as source material for TV shows, movies and true crime dramas).
Twenty five. Twenty-five years. Next week. We only made it twenty-three years, two weeks and one day. Suzanne died on August 19, 2018. Our 23rd anniversary was August 4, 2018. This was a photo we took at dinner that night: Will I ever reach a 25th anniversary? Is it one of those things that I […]
For eleven weeks, before restrictions were lifted and we were still supposed to be sheltered in place here in Southern California, I held a daily 30-minute live broadcast on Facebook. Each day, I chose a topic that meant something to me—and that I thought might resonate with others. These daily broadcasts were meant to thoughtfully engage and help connect people in the time of CoVID.
Two years ago, today, my wife wrote this. I just can’t write anything more…
Since I’m finally feeling vaguely human for the first time in almost a month, I thought I would take the opportunity to say a huge “thank you” to all family, friends, friends of friends and people who barely know me, who have rallied to support us over the last few difficult weeks. Everything happened so quickly and aggressively that I had to accept that chemo, narcotics and goodness knows how many different antibiotics, anti-nausea and anti-anxiety drugs were a necessity to try to gain some control over what seemed like a runaway train.
At the behest of my new partner, I have started to read fiction again. The second of her recommendations is a book called “A Gentleman in Moscow.”
I am currently reading and enjoying it. Set in post revolutionary Russia, with lots of flashbacks to an earlier, more gilded age, the book is the story of a singular man—a count—who is placed under house arrest.
In the year after our twin daughters were born, we got a golden retriever puppy we named Charlie. Everyone always says they have, “the best dog ever,” but Charlie truly was. When the girls were young, they could pull on his ears, his tail, his fur, just about any part of him and he would never so much as complain, growl or groan.
What is my purpose? Why am I here? How do I help others? What can I do to make this world a better place?
These questions have been rattling around in my head more than ever over the last two years. I started to ask them when I was a child; but they became louder and resonated more inside my head in the weeks and months before Suzanne died in 2018.
They say the 15-inch journey from the head to the heart is possibly the most difficult we can ever take. Many of us never even bother to take it, simply because we allow our egos to drive us and to rule us (“one ego to rule us all…”). But we don’t have to.
Thing is, the heart is actually the embodiment of our feelings and emotions. The head is our consciousness and thought. If we can “stop” thinking and just “be” for a while, then we can listen to our intuition and to our feelings and sit with them
I don’t remember the exact words I uttered, but I do remember choosing to kiss away her tears and hold her tightly. In that moment, nothing mattered more to me than to comfort her as best I could. And I did that many times throughout the years—far too many to remember.
One of the first big milestones of life without Suzanne has come to pass. Our youngest daughter has finished college and has basically graduated (she has fulfilled all of her requirements, but because of CoVID-19 the ceremony will now not take place until December). She arrives back at my home from England today after finishing last month.
Over many months, and for much more than a year, I have struggled to find true “inner peace”. What does that truly mean to me? It means finding a respite from thought, from fear, from the dull nagging ache of grief which—although it started all consuming—still holds a firm place in my heart, alongside my love for Suzanne.
Why would I seek this world of inner peace? So for a moment I can forget about the grief.
I want you to know a few things. After Suzanne dies, you will feel like there is little potential of anything ever making your life any better. Did you know that you will be scared, hurting, very much alone (even surrounded by friends and family), completely lost, and heartbroken? Please know that although you could potentially just curl up in a ball and die from that heartbreak, you won’t.
Potential is an interesting word. It means, “having or showing the capacity to become or develop into something in the future.” When Suzanne dies, you will feel like there really is no future to develop into.
When that time comes, all you will want to ask yourself is, “What’s the point?” I mean, there won’t be a single thing that truly appeals to you as having any real potential for your future.
