Us Old Dogs Have To Stick Together

My dog and best girl friend is sick. Asti, my whippet, shepherd mix is in the hospital tonight after being diagnosed with vestibular neuritis. I found her this morning sick as a dog. She was unable to walk, vomiting profusely and her eyes were rattling in her head like nothing I have ever witnessed in animals or as a nurse in humans. Her head twitched uncontrollably as she looked my direction trying desperately to focus on my face. I had thought when I first saw her symptoms that she might be having a stroke. I was a geriatric nurse for over 20 years, so my experience with anyone of age was limited to humans. I was out of my league and knew I needed help.
Michael was at work, the kids weren't up and I was shaking like a leaf. I knew the first thing I had to do was to try and calm myself. I closed my eyes and took a single deep breath. My girl was depending on me to do the right thing by her and I was not about to let her down. I got dressed, woke the kids, while calling Mike. I looked up the number for the twenty four hour animal hospital, telling them all I had seen and that I was bringing her in. I carried Asti to the car, whispering to her to hang on until I get her help. Driving, the tears ran down my face. My greatest fear was that I was going to have to let my best friend go. I had thought about this situation for a while now. My girl is 14 years old, 98 in human years. We had been so fortunate that she had always been such a healthy animal requiring only vaccinations and being spade. She is the pack leader in the house and had been since the day she was brought to us. The other dogs, Schnitzel and BoBo paced, circling around us while we were in the apartment. They sensed something was terribly wrong. They are both in love with Asti, vying for her constant attention.
Asti is not a hugger. She loves being petted, wallowing in affection, but is intolerant of being held. I knew instantly that when I picked her up she was really sick because she rested her head against my shoulder, seemingly grateful for the help.
I got Asti for the kids after my divorce. I had bought a house and the kids really wanted a puppy to love,protect and play with. Their world had been turned upside down. I had pulled them from the only house they had ever known. I had moved them out, away from their father without their consent. They were trying to adjust the best they could and I agreed that a puppy might be just the thing to help us all.
I contacted a number from the newspaper for a dog that had been rescued. We agreed to meet at my new house. Asti was quiet, shaky and nervous. She settled in by curling up on a pillow I had gotten for her and she didn't really move much for several weeks. She slept more than any other four month old puppy I had ever seen. The kids would go up to her, petting her, talking to her and still she didn't move. I took her outside to potty, fed her special treats as she continued her narcolepsy.
The kids pouted, "She doesn't do anything. You got us a broken dog, Mom. Why doesn't she move?" Perplexed I watched our new family member, pleading her after the kids were in bed to try and be more fun. "C'mon girl, just try and play tomorrow. The kids love you. Can't you at least try and walk around a little bit?" Asti's tail would wag, as she looked at me with her big brown doe eyes. Soon enough, Asti was running circles around the kids in our backyard, herding them in, keeping a watchful eye on my brood. She became the Nanny, like from Peter Pan. No one dared enter our house or yard without her approval. Her total devotion to her kids kept strangers at bay. I never worried about the kids playing in the yard as long as Asti was near them. She was my better half.
When Danny died the house felt dark, dank, depressing. Asti felt the heaviness, guarding us all the more. She stayed near the kids and me, lying at our feet, at the ready in case we needed her. So often we did need her to remind us to keep living, breathing, smiling, even when it seemed so much easier not to. She was my only friend on the nights when I felt like I wouldn't survive the grief, fear and anxiety. Asti kept me going when I felt like giving up.
It is my turn to be there for my girl, like she has been there for me a thousand times before. I will be at her side until this is resolved. As my tears flow for my girl, I feel so lucky to have a dog like her. She has been exceptional in loyalty and love. I can't imagine my life without her, but I will guard her life, her dignity and her legacy, knowing if it is her time, I will pull from the strength she has shown me for 14 long years. Today when I went in to look at her, as she laid in her hospital kennel, I whispered it would be alright. I watched her, careful not to upset her, as she needs dark, quiet and rest in order to have a fighting chance to heal. She can't focus on anything right now for any length of time, but she looked at me until it was too painful for her to continue. She wagged her tail and then laid her head down to rest, spent from the strain. I willed my strength to her. My heart pushed hard against my chest, radiating the love I feel for my loyal friend. I call every few hours to check on my girl. There is very slow progress, but I need to be cautiously optimistic.
I know what real love is. That is the greatest lesson my girlfriend had taught me, back when it would have been so easy to give up on love. That is truly her legacy, the ability to teach this old dog a new trick.

Red Letter Day

Yesterday was the kind of day where all I wanted to do was find the people who were making my life so hard, when it didn't need to be, tie them to a chair, playing Christopher Cross songs at high volume until they cracked. Yesterday was an all day affair of idiocy. Simple solutions were right there in front of every one and for the life of them, they couldn't see them. It was the kind of day where I became more and more frustrated by the banking system, leasing system and dissolutioned that anyone in charge has a brain in their head. One of our kids is being "attacked" by all this as well.
It was a ridiculous day where I felt my temper get the best of me. I began seeing red. That used to be a metaphor for me, but now that I am aging and the blood vessels are popping in my head, I believe it to be more of a symptom. I was angry. I am usually pretty good at stepping back and looking at the bigger picture, but yesterday, I began to lose sight of anything but the amount of unnecessary garbage that had been heaped upon my head.
I am not a fan of this summer. Somewhere there is a giant "dislike" button and I am going to find it and click it telling all who know me that this summer has been a giant disappointment.
It didn't have to be this hard. There is no real reason for all of the stuff we have had to sift through to happen. In the great scheme of things this will fade away into one of the many crevices in my brain never to be acknowledged again. I do know that it will all go. But, for now I am having to restrain my want, not need, to go kick some verbal butt.
Our apartment complex is giving us a hard time about moving out. They are turning it into a hostage crisis. Our mortgage company is giving us a hard time over paperwork they "need" or have or want or, heck I don't even know anymore. What I do know is the processor has bobbled this account several times and sounds like a 15 year old girl when she talks. I like, need, like,..." You get the idea. If she has a degree from some college, she should sue, because she obviously hasn't learned a thing.
Between bad neighbors at Apartmentistan, wild dogs, relentless paperwork,kids who need help, cramped quarters, heat stroke, and a constant battle against bugs I am pretty sure are from the dark ages, Mike and I have had quite enough, thank you very much. There is much more, but if I continue to list it I may have to be secured in a padded room.
I feel slightly uncivilized. I am surrounded by an insurmountable heap of indecency, ignorance and arrogance. When that stuff comes from my young adult kids, I forgive them because they are figuring out their coping skills and still learning.But when it comes from people who are in business, I find it hard to understand what the hardship is, in being a professional.

What to do, what to do. Well, at my age if I get mad and go off on somebody I could possibly cause bodily harm, to myself not to them. If I keep it all in I could give myself a coronary, burst a blood vessel or worse, such as take it out on inanimate objects that we own. I like our stuff and we have worked hard for it, so that won't do.
What I am currently doing is praying all day everyday. Some cynics will think this does nothing. For me what it does is give me an occupation so I feel like I am doing something. I also think it gives God a chance to come up with a better solution than I ever could, obviously. I handle what I can, and pray about the rest. My verbally abusing people won't help and will ultimately be as a satisfying as a sneeze.
I have watched karma at work. I have actually seen it take place, reducing others to a sniveling puddle of drool. Since I have witnessed such things, I know I have the patience to wait this out. I also know I am accountable for what I say and do, and that karma knows where I live too.
I am allowed to feel the burden. I am allowed to feel angry and hurt and overwhelmed. I am allowed to wish people to grow up. I am allowed to do this, so I shall. What I need to do at this point is to breathe, check my temper at the door, be civil, and stand up for us without leaving us open to a plateful of crap to be dished out by karma at a later date.
Yesterday was a red letter day in that I only saw red for about 4 hours. I will say, that in the midst of chaos I was able to look at my kids, my husband, my pets and feel real gratitude that nobody is hurt or sick or worse. Yesterday was bad, but not as bad as certain days I have lived through before. I woke up today just happy that yesterday is merely a memory and a story that I have the ability to tell.

I'm Feeling a Little "Wicked"

There is a comedienne I happen to like who is coming to town. Michael graciously offered to get tickets to see her for me, even though she is not his particular cup of tea. We'll call her Snarky McSarcastington. Snarky's tickets were for two days and two shows. Here is where I almost swallowed my tongue; for two tickets for an early show it would cost us $175.00, not including parking and gas money!
"Are you kidding me?" I gasped.
"No, that is with tax and stuff, but those are the cheapest seats"' Michael said disheartened. I could tell Michael was almost half afraid I would still want to go.
"I am not going to pay that much money for anybody, I don't car who they are" I responded indignant. "We spent that much going to see a Broadway show downtown with dinner afterward. This is outrageous!" I continued on my rant about how arrogant it seemed to charge that much for a one person show without so much as an orchestra backing them up.
I had been a fan of Snarky's and thought we had some things in common. We are both attractive gay men with boobs. We both have Irish catholic families. Snarky had always seemed more fan based than fame based, but I see now, I stand corrected. No good gay man worth his salt would extort that kind of money from his supporters. Every good gay I know can stretch a dollar, paying for their impeccable taste, until George begs for mercy. This seemed to me to be heresy.
I passed on the tickets, even though Michael and I haven't been out on the town in ages. The Broadway show we had last seen was "Wicked". I loved it, savoring every note, every moment until the last curtain call was over, lingering in the lobby reveling in the epilogue that continued to play as we left the theater. I love the theater. I suppose it is partially because I had thought as a child one day I would be in a theater performing somewhere. I had been a singer for most of my life and participated in many musical productions. I played musical instruments, mostly the trumpet all the way into college. Performing was as much a part of my upbringing as being raised in a small town. To this day, listening to the orchestra makes me cry.
Although I am missing out on the chance to see Snarky in person, I believe I am a better gay man for it. I have my principles, mind you. I would much rather take all that money and go to another Broadway production and dinner making a night of it, than have to search through the couch cushions, scraping together parking money the night of Snarky's show.
As any good gay man can tell you, it's not about what you spend, but whether or not you look and feel fabulous when you are spending it.

Get Control of That Darn Thing! By Ron Graham

What’s the hardest thing in the world to do? Why, it’s keeping your temper in check.

That’s what it is for me, anyway. I’ve always had a bit of a short fuse. And in telling you this I BEG you:

• Please don’t assume I’m proud of it. I’m not.

• Please don’t think I’m looking for an excuse for previous rants. The fact is, nearly every time I have one, guilt sets in almost immediately. Even when I’m “right.”

• Please don’t think I think being “right” matters. It almost never does.

But I think maybe every one of us has this gene or gland or organ or “short fuse” or something inside of us that allows us to measure our rightness. For now, I will just call it the Darn Thing. On every issue, the Darn Thing lets us decide that, when one of our opinions or attitudes is challenged, is it worth having a go at the challenger over?

And the Darn Thing gives us, like, maybe two seconds to make that choice. Tell me, what’s your success rate at decisions you make in two seconds? Mine sucks.
A bad success rate at these kinds of decisions ensures that you (meaning me, of course) are at times embroiled in arguments. And that you (meaning me again) are occasionally at risk of losing friends and opportunities – no matter how badly you (meaning me one more time) value being loved. I DO value being loved. Or maybe understood. Or maybe respected. Or something else that gives a guy warm fuzzies.

I’m generally a personable type. I like to meet people, and I like to talk to them, and I like to listen to them. I learn a lot of stuff that way, you know, from listening. But I’ve been told I have a bit of a Dark Side, or a bit of a Short Fuse, or a bit of Being Too Serious. Whatever it is, it’s my Darn Thing. Somebody says something that tweaks me just the right way, and rather than seeking understanding like a civilized human being, I’ll come back with some kind of (what I think is a) snappy rejoinder that tweaks THEM just the right way. And the argument starts. And it just goes on.

This might also happen when I need for people to do something for me that puts them to some inconvenience. For instance, the downstairs tenants were parked in the garage one time – and I pay for the garage, such as it is, as part of my rent. So I told them this and they said: “Well, WTF! That was someone else’s space before you moved in; now it’s our turn.” And the Darn Thing lit up. We didn’t speak again, those tenants and me, until they broke their lease and moved.
I’m going to tell you what I must do to gain control over my Darn Thing. Sure, this is in the hope that you can gain control over yours as well. But telling you this will also provide me a kind of outlet – it will make my newly-acquired self-knowledge real.

The Darn Thing is something that lights up, i.e. by means of a spark. I have treated it up to this point as a fuse, like on a stick of dynamite, because that’s how it has worked for me most times up to now. It’s a thing with a wick. But there’s something else that has a wick: a candle. Either way, the wick is combustible; and at the end of the burn something happens. We’ve got a choice in how to handle the spark that lights our Darn Thing. We can either see our Darn Thing as something that takes a spark and leads to an explosion – a large, quick release of energy – or we can see it as something that takes a spark and leads to a small, steady flame. We’ve (meaning ME again, for pity’s sake) got a choice between heat and light. It’s our choice.
The release of heat can lead to lost or damaged friendships, or lost or damaged perspectives people have toward you.
The release of light can lead to enhanced understanding, for you and everyone exposed to it.
I know which of the two I’d rather have. I also know I don’t always get it.
So how do we consciously choose to have our Darn Thing give off more light than heat? Here’s the hard part, because it requires commitments from me – and will from you too. Tell ya what I’m gonna do:

1. I want to give off light every day. So I’m going to put some light inside me every day. I will read something or listen to something that enlightens me.

2. Then I’m not going to turn around and just spit what’s working on me back to the rest of the world. What they need is not exactly what I need. Instead, I’m going to consider the NEEDS of anyone I can get close enough to, for long enough. And I’m going to do what I can to meet a need, every day. That thought is going out the door with me.

3. Then I’m not going to GO out the door until I have a plan. I’m not going to be anywhere during the day where I’m not sure exactly what to do next. Even when it’s time for a break, I’ll take a break because it’s time, not because I have no idea what to do next. If I don’t know what to do, I’ll forget something, and that will make me stress.

4. Then I’m going to be careful to avoid stress situations, where I actually have the power to do so. That way I can concentrate more on the light I have to give off, and not allow my Darn Thing to go hot.

5. Then at the end of the day I’m going to take stock for a few minutes, and think about what I could improve on tomorrow. We can always improve, right?

Yeah, that’s all in the plan now. And I wrote it down to help it all to become real.
I wanna control my Darn Thing, and for you to control yours. So you wish me luck, hey? And I’ll do same for you.

For the Last Time, I Promise

OK, I know everybody is sick of it, but I have one more thing to say about "The Decision" and then I will retire it.
I watched all the commentators yesterday slam Dan Gilbert for the open letter to the fans. I think he said what we, as Cleveland fans felt. He spoke from the heart to his fans, not anyone else. He did clarify who he was talking to. I was so happy that finally, someone with the power to do so, spoke out and acknowledged the fans from Cleveland. I felt somehow vindicated, reading words that were already swirling in my head. I also loved what he said about getting the ring first. While ESPN commentators spoke of Cleveland as being hopeless, with no sign of better things ahead (which I have to tell you really pissed me off), I was elated that Dan Gilbert innately understood that this is the exact kind of trauma that gets us fired up and moving forward. Cleveland fans are not ones to sit back and wallow. We are survivors, who are already looking at the Browns season with visions of Super Bowls dancing in our heads. On a side note, a young quarter back from Texas is now on the roster and I for one could not be happier.
I admit it wasn't a good business move. But Ohio is called the Heartland, not the Businessland. And as far as getting other free agents to sign? Well, if they want love. loyalty, money, appreciation, merchandise and a fan base that will stand behind them 1000% then they should have no problem sporting one our jerseys.

Proud Cleveland Sports Fan and Here Is Why

I am a Cleveland sports fan. I lived in Cleveland for 18 years. I grew up in a small town one hour from Cleveland surrounded by Cleveland news and sports, so I am a lifer. So what,you ask? Well, kids, take a seat and let me explain to you why being a Cleveland fan has been so very important to all of us, who haven't seen a championship any of us can remember. The last championship Cleveland won was back in 1964.
Cleveland has been repeatedly beaten up in my lifetime for a varied amount of things. We have been called "The Mistake on the Lake", Loserville and all kinds of sundry names, some not appropriate to put in print. Being a Clevelander means you have real guts. It means when you say you are going to do something, people really expect you do it. It is the Heartland. Some folks from other regions have no concept of why being from Cleveland is so important or how we got the name "Heartland", until they go and spend time with people from Cleveland. We are stoic, sturdy people who lead with their heart and not their wallet or ego. Most folks where I come from are not rich, or insanely famous. There is no celebrity culture. The news people walk around town like everybody else and are expected to behave kindly to their fellow Clevelanders. I worked downtown when I was in my twenties. Everyday I would spot someone who I had seen a million times on TV growing up. They would wave and say "hi" as if I were their neighbor from across the street. One such person introduced himself to me and said how happy he was to meet me, because he had heard such great things about my teaching at the health museum. I stood stunned and humbled that this broadcaster even knew I was in the room. That is just one part of what being in Cleveland meant. Everybody counts in the Heartland.
I have followed sports in Cleveland since I was little. I will never say I am a die hard fan who watches every game. Sports to me is a social outing and a reason to throw parties on game days and Sundays. I went to Indians games, where in the old stadium, we drug in cold pizza from a box, sat 3 miles away from the field, smoking cigars and drinking beer. I went to Browns games that were so cold we took sleeping bags to hide under, keeping the high winds from the lake shore from freezing us to death. I went to Cavaliers games, when only half the seats were filled, the concession stands stood mostly empty and the only thing holding it all together was the fans who refused to believe that all hope was gone. I watched hockey games go from WHA, to NHL, to a farm league when we had a goalie who could not for the life of him skate backwards. As heartbreaking as it was to see hockey be reduced to an after thought in my hometown, I kept going, being the Clevelander that I am, hoping we would soon have a better team.
That is what being from Cleveland really means. We never give up or give in. When Art Modell took our beloved Browns team to another city, we fought back and got to keep our name. Nobody else has done that. When New York bullied us to get the Rock hall of Fame , we gathered and rallied and petitioned until we proved once and for all, Cleveland is the home of Rock-N-Roll.
When jobs left, corrupt politicians tried to ruin our city, and hard times fell directly on our heads, we have time and time again taken our city back. When the river burned, we cleaned it up. Most people just don't understand the resilience of the heartland. They just can't wrap their brains around how a city who has suffered so much could continue to hang on, but we get it. It has never been about fame, money or even winning. It has always been for the love of the town and the game. It has always been about neighbors, beating hearts and hope.
My Cleveland is the city of Hope. It was never a plum or what ever else ridiculous marketing strategy the shakers and movers wanted to make it. It has always been about folks helping each other, rooting for the home team regardless of ranking or status, proudly showing that not only have we not given up, we have the audacity to believe we can win.
If you don't anything else about Cleveland, know this:
We will never give up, on our teams, our city or the hope we have clung to for as many years as I have been alive and then some.
Cleveland fans are the best, most loyal fans you will ever see in your lifetime.
Clevelanders are not politically correct, because as the honest people they are, they feel no need to BS anybody for any reason. If you want the truth, go the heartland and ask the hard questions. Trust me, you will always find someone who will gladly tell you the truth, regardless of how distasteful it may be.
Cleveland has a simple mind set that if it doesn't happen this year, we always have next year and are willing to wait until we see our championship come. We will get it the old fashioned way, we will earn it.
We make no apologies for our temper, because of our patience we feel we have the right to show you exactly what we think if we feel we have been wronged. We are forever loyal to those who are loyal to us. Ask about a guy named Michael Stanley or the quarter back Bernie Kosar.
I know there are those critics who say we are ridiculous for our strong reaction to Lebron's announcement. The truth is most of us knew he was going, but the way he rubbed our noses in it is what caused the problem. We respect our sports stars and in return we expect them to respect us. That was not the case last night in the ego fest heard around the world. The good news for Cleveland is this is the exact thing that does not defeat us, but rather spurs us on to work even harder to get the ring we got left for.
That's the thing about being from Cleveland, you just can't keep a good city down.

Living In the Looking Glass

I keep saying, out loud, to no one in particular, in absolute disbelief that this is the weirdest summer on record for me. Since I recognize that I am prone to hyperbole, I scrutinize what I say regularly. It's the good news, bad news concept. The good news is I am a story teller and able to pick up on minute details; the bad news is then, I embellish the truth in order to maintain people's interest. I don't think I lie, but I definitely expound on a story in order to get the feeling across. Bottom line, I really do think this is one weird summer.
We sold our house as planned. Check. We, then, moved to an apartment for temporary housing. Check. Next, we found a house we both love, please don't underestimate the difficulty in this, and are buying it. Check. In theory, on paper all things are falling into place for us. Check. Buckle up, because here is where it all starts to get weird.
The first night in the apartment, the ceiling literally fell in on us. Living here isn't bad, per say, but it is a completely different eco-system. More to the point, we have different bugs, birds, sounds and everything looks a bit beat up. Butterflies with broken wings fly around me. The strangest looking beetles, like something discovered in an archeological dig, crawl around our patio. The birds are dirty and their feathers are always ruffled, as if they just got back from a 3,000 mile cross country flight. It's surreal, looking at these creatures that are somewhat unrecognizable to me. I have seen some of them before, but they are the weathered versions of the pictures in my head. I have seen the oddest looking creatures since we moved and we only live about 3 miles from our old house.
Our previous neighbors here at the apartment, had some difficulty with the folks who run the place and began rebelling. More on that on a later date. My car suddenly had a brake leak where I almost lost my brakes completely. I am not accusing anyone, it is however, part of the weird, I keep referring to. I will also point out that we received an unexpected check that nearly covered all my cars expenses which was an incredible divine intervention.
In a single week, we find out something incredible that makes us want to dance, and then we find out something terrible that causes us to weep. We hear things are going as planned, only to receive a call that some paper work glitch that has nothing to do with anything, that we can tell, has now mucked up the works.
Tragedies have fallen on those we know and love, just as find out information that someone else has had their dreams come true. My family's friends are effected this summer also. Miraculous and tragic is what seems to be this year's theme. None of it completely shocking, though, I will admit. Most things have history behind them, so when things strike, I see where they have come from. There is some logic to all this messiness. However the timing to all of it is striking. Usually it takes years for things to pan out one way or the other, but this year things are happening at such a high volume and speed, I feel a little like we are the drive through lane of emotional highs and lows. We don't have time to process one thing when another thing comes zooming up demanding our immediate attention.
I had to stop watching TV almost entirely, except innocuous stuff, like stand up comedy and sitcoms. Hurricanes, tar balls, unemployment, greed, corruption, well, quite frankly, it pushes me right to the edge. Reality stars, as if that were even a real title, have lowered themselves to the position of fungus to extend their 15 minutes of a fame they shouldn't have had in the first place. Celebrities on probation, walking around with prescriptions of extremely high powered pain medications, normally reserved for our sickest terminally ill patients, while our court system turns a blind eye. A government that is so out of touch with reality and their constituents that they have literally sent me return messages that are incoherent, completely unrelated to the original questions I had about bills they already passed. The good news is everyone I have written has answered back. The bad news is none of their responses made any sense at all.
That has been what I have done on my "summer vacation", watch the good news come in, with the bad news rolling in right behind it. I have to admit that I have a shocked expression on my face lately all the time. I didn't get a brow lift, I really am that surprised most days. I have no enlightened response to all of this right now. Most days I can't wrap my brain around all the stuff I see and hear. When things get really weird and I feel my sense of security start to falter, I merely try and breathe deep a few times and remember that my family is OK. We are OK. Years ago, when the kids and I last went into an apartment, it was when I was separating from their father. That was another very strange time for us. We had lived there for a while and my children had bought me a silver ring. Well,they picked it out for me, at least. It is a ring with Alice In Wonderland characters. They had seen me fall down the rabbit hole, so to speak, and thought the ring was a nice reminder that the story ends well. I just recently ran across the ring, while cleaning out my closet, getting ready for the next move. All this moving is reminiscent of the world's worst chess game, so finding the ring is really quite apropos.
The one thing I know I have to do is, keep track of all the weird things that have happened in the last few weeks. Once I get my thoughts organized and some time has passed, they will make the best stories. Just a month ago I was telling Mike how boring I felt my life was becoming. Be very careful what you wish for...

Funeral for a Friend

I watched Michael, this morning, put on the suit he wears to funerals and weddings. It's a Tuesday, so this is not for a wedding, it is indeed for a funeral for a friend. He is going to work first, and then on out to a place where he and all of our friends from his department will lay to rest one of their own.
We have two families. Our first family is the blood relatives we keep, mostly back in Ohio. The second family are the people he works with. The company Michael is employed by has always provided our deep friendships and secondary family. When we lived back in Ohio it was the same as it is here. We hung out with his co-workers, celebrated big life accomplishments, attended weddings, and spent holiday parties together. Michael has worked for this company for over 26 years, more than half his life, so it only makes sense that we are our own "band of brothers". Much like a fraternal organization, we are a tight group who watches after each other.
Today, they go off and bury one of their own. Their co-worker and friend, a cherished member of the family died with the "brothers" while on an outing. Suddenly, devastatingly, he fell, had a heart attack and never recovered. Surrounded by his friends, he was taken care of until it was time to let him go. He was only 46.
My dearest friends are heartbroken these days. First it was because the company came up, flatly announced that the band was being broken up, into little fragmented pieces, by shipping whoever was left, to another city 1200 miles away from our current homes. With very little consideration to the personal destruction the move would cause in every family involved, the group was then left to wait for any details, which so far have not come. This has the potential to go on for two more years.
Last week, the sudden death of a much loved friend has left the group, who is normally happy, always ready to help and forever making each other laugh, bereft and feeling as though they have been forever altered.
I kissed Michael goodbye this morning, reminded how fortunate I am for every day he is in my life. I watched him walk out of our tiny apartment with slumped shoulders and new lines across his face. He almost never complains. He almost never feels sorry for himself. He faces things like this with the same grace he faces every other big life changing event. He is a quiet man. I realize that others think he is quiet in order to maintain balance, since I am most definitely not. The truth is, he has always been a quiet man. My heart beats for him now. I have prayed for our second family a thousand time since things became turbulent, continuing to pray for them every day, especially now.
I am selfish when it comes to our friends from his office. I adore them. I want us to be together until it is time for him to retire. And even then, I want to spend our golden years enjoying the friendships we have all cherished.
My heart goes out to my fiends today. May God bless them in unexpected ways and allow them to be happy again very soon.