Dear Hubbies,
I just found out that a longtime friend, someone I grew up with, died of choking of all things - on food in a restaurant. She slipped into a coma March 22 and died March 27 w/out waking up. She was 56 and leaves a 24 year old daughter.
"someone I grew up with": yes I'm that old, older even. And you will be too, if you're lucky or smart or both.
This after another difficult conversation with my own almost-30-year-old daughter. She's smart and beautiful, but is having a difficult time becoming a reasonable adult. I won't go into it here - at least not yet. Let me just say that I wish the cognitive behaviour therapy was working.
There is much to be grateful for and much to be torn up about.
Chew carefully, hubski.
In times of sorrow, I turn to poetry. I wish I could offer you more, but this is what I have.
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
-- Mary Elizabeth Frye