No matter where you go, there you are

Somebody nudged me the other day and asked when I was going to post to this blog again. And again today, someone wanted to know how I am doing. It’s been far too long since my last post and there’s a reason for this, one that I’m not particularly proud of. As a rule, when I post it is because there is something interesting and worth sharing. And I want it to be profound and engaging because frankly I get a lot out of your responses. And I don’t like posting some boring, day to day stuff because there probably won’t be any spectacular response. It never occurs to me that the people who love me just want to include me in their lives. This is pride, the foremost of the Seven Deadlies, and the one that underlies them all.

I have been home a month now and have settled in to what, for now, is the new normal. Maybe you want to know what that is, maybe not. But I’ll share this with you all.

One of the most significant developments for me is that I am finally being fitted for the devices that soon will allow me to produce sounds via a voice prosthesis. It won’t be speech, but it will be a necessary first step. I’ll be back to Michigan in January for the placement of the prosthesis and several intense weeks of speech therapy. As my therapist said, my success is up to me. It’s a long road ahead but he feels that I have the right attitude to pull it off. We shall see.

One side benefit of this is that I can now use a button called an HME (heat/moisture exchanger) that eliminates the need for nightly humidification. One less piece of medical equipment. We returned it the other day. The HME is also a filter that removes larger contaminates like cat hair (no shortage of that here), and the usual junk that floats around. Normally your nose does all of these things. But since mine is now merely decorative, it’s a necessary and welcome replacement.

It’s good to finally be back in familiar surroundings, but I am beginning to realize just how much I need to adjust to function in a world where speech is expected. So I carry around my Boogie Board to write on. And there is a voice to text app on my phone that helps a lot. But other people don’t quite know how to act around me. One guy started writing back at me, assuming that since I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t hear. An understandable but humorous response.

Another thing that is turning out to be harder than I thought is developing a simple sign language that Charlotte and I can use to communicate. It takes a lot of work and we’re usually short on time, or too tired to work on it. So it’s not moving along as I had naively hoped. Patience is the requirement here.

Participating in group discussions is proving to be very problematic as well. I got a taste of it when I was in Michigan during my recuperation, but now it is becoming a point of real frustration for me. We have a bi-weekly bible study that I used to actively contribute to, but it’s the same problem of being ten steps behind the conversation so that by the time I have typed what I want to say I am hopelessly off topic and I end up erasing all the typing I just did. We went to our Marriage Encounter sharing group last night and they started to wrap up the meeting before I had a chance to “say” anything. It’s no one’s fault. I just feel left out and minimized. It’s obvious that people don’t understand what I need from them. Our little Sunday AA meeting in Rochester gave me a chance to actively participate because they came to understand my limitations. From that a comfortable dynamic emerged. But I can’t expect that to happen in most groups, at least not at first.

I developed a pretty bad strep infection in my chin which the doctor is treating with an arsenal of antibiotics. There is still a lot of edema in my face, and it is always at risk for infection. I am getting regular massage by a physical therapist trained in lymphedema massage. But even with that, it will probably be a year before the swelling fully subsides.

Still, it’s good to be home and able to go in to work a couple of days a week. Everyone has become so accustomed to my working remotely that I usually have no reason to go in. As a result, I have become a house husband, something Charlotte is enjoying. Every day that I work from home, there is a list of chores for me to do in addition to doing my regular job. And I’m happy to do it. If I ever really retire, I suspect I will have a “honey do” list every day. I don’t mind because it means I have a wife whom I can care for.

So that’s where I am. My life is pretty ho-hum. And that’s just fine with me.

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Going Home

 “You can’t go back home to your family, back home to your childhood … back home to a young man’s dreams of glory and of fame … back home to places in the country, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time – back home to the escapes of Time and Memory.” – “You Can’t Go Home Again.” – Thomas Wolfe

I now have something which seemed like a distant horizon not so long ago. Charlotte and I have airline tickets to Phoenix where awaits my car to finish the journey, my home, my bed, six impossible cats who own my heart, and most of all my wife.

“Home” is a state of mind. It is the place where there is a reasonable expectation that things are as they should be, or at least attainable. I have been in Michigan for most of the summer and early fall, and I am surrounded by people who love me. Everything I need is at my disposal, I want for nothing. I know my way around familiar streets and I notice the unexpected presence of businesses and buildings that weren’t here when this was “home.” But it no longer is. And even if I were to move back here, I could not return to the “home” that I once knew. That state of mind has passed away, as it certainly should.

Home will be found again in our little house in Arizona filled with the things that make it more than a mere dwelling. And I do so long to be back there. And yet, I will not find the home I left. It will certainly become “home” again, but it will never be “. . .  the old forms and systems of things which once seemed everlasting but which are changing all the time.” These are the musings of one whose life has been more than half lived, for whom the inevitability of change has seeped into his very bones.

Is this a melancholy surrender to these feelings? It can be, but it certainly needn’t be. For with the perspective of time and an understanding of the transient nature of all that surrounds us, we can turn forward in anticipation of joys yet to unfold, of loves awaiting our arrival. For those like us whose faith is in God, we can affirm that “it was good, it is good, and good it shall ever be.”

Welcome home.

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What graveyard?

Tuesday, I set out to do something that I have not attempted before. One of the reasons that I chose to have my surgery here was that I would have the support of my AA family as I recovered from my surgery and went through radiation. But with the exception of a small meeting we started on Sunday for my benefit, I hadn’t been to any regular meetings since I got out of the hospital. If I wanted to be with all the people I love it was only logical that I should go to them. That meant going to regular meetings, even if I couldn’t participate by sharing.

So with that worthy goal in mind, Charlotte and I got in the car and began driving to the 11:00 meeting at Church of Christ. But before I even reached the end of the driveway, I found myself crying and so full of ambiguous feelings that I was paralyzed. Where the hell did that come from? I hadn’t cried since the surgery. Suffering such a tremendous loss of function left me only two alternatives: to give in to the hopelessness that loomed always at the periphery of my consciousness. Or to adopt the attitude that it was all part of God’s plan, that good was bound to come out of it, and that He held me in His loving hands. It was the latter I chose, and continue to choose today. What benefit is there to say you believe in a loving, all-powerful God if, when the harsh realities of life present their formidable challenges, you derive no strength or comfort for so believing?

Yet at that moment, sitting in a pool of swirling inexplicable emotion, I wondered if I had, in fact, just been whistling past the graveyard. Had I just been putting on the brave face to win recognition for my courage, something I needed so badly at the time? It seemed like everything I had been saying and believing became a hollow shell, collapsing under its own weight. What was the source of this tremendous grief that had so thoroughly seized me?

So, as I was taught, I prayed, I meditated, I sought God’s will for my life. I became willing to do whatever was required of me to accomplish His purposes. But mostly I cried, curled up on my bed, asking “why me.” The answer came in due course and, like most of the answers that God gives us, it wasn’t quite what I wanted. The fact is, the nature of my relationships with others had been irreversibly changed. I wanted to go and be with people in the same comfortable way I always had, but I never would again. I was grieving deeply the loss of the familiar, of the easy familiarity that characterized my relationships with people stretching back decades. I would need to learn an entirely new way of relating. It seemed daunting, and I was horribly frightened that it would not be enough.

Originally, I was going to end here, but I made it to the 10:15 meeting today and it was great seeing everyone. It’s different, that much I can say. And I don’t have a way of communicating spontaneously yet, although that may change in the future. In any case, it’s another hurdle behind me. I certainly felt the love you gave me. I won’t let fear ever rob me of that again.

So you will be seeing me. We will share our friendship in whatever way we can. And God will create something new and surprising and just as wonderful as what we had before.

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A God With Skin

With peals of thunder punctuated by blinding flashes of light a mother attempts to get her child into bed.”Mommy, I’m scared” he says not surprisingly.”Honey, nothing will happen to you. God is watching over us and nothing bad can happen when God is our protection. Now go to sleep and we’ll see you in the morning.” Mom gets into bed, but a couple of flashes later her son has jumped into bed with mom and dad. “Honey, I told you God was watching over you. Let me take you back to your room. You’ll be nice and safe there.” But, of course, it only takes a couple of flashes and back into their bed he jumps. The scene repeats itself a few more times,and finally mom says, “Honey, don’t you believe that God is watching over you?” “Yes,” he replies. “But right now I could really use somebody with a little more skin.”

 

This is an old joke but a favorite for one important reason. It’s easy to talk of God’s goodness and protection when things are not terribly frightening, or when they are happening to someone else. But what happens when things get real, when it’s no longer a matter of simply knowing that God cares for us? Sometime, God works in tangible and immediate ways. The rent is due and an unexpected check shows up. You need to hire a replacement for a person that just quit, and you run into someone with the right qualifications looking for a job. We have all experienced moments like that. They can be faith builders, but they aren’t a foundation for faith.

The central fact of Christianity is precisely the punch line of that joke. We need a God with skin. We need a God who took on human flesh so that as human beings, we have a God who knows our infirmities, who knows intimately our deepest fears. And our deepest, most secret fear is that God is an illusion, a story we tell ourselves to feel better. But the little boy in the story wasn’t buying it. He didn’t want a story: he needed real protection.

How, then, do I experience a God with skin? How do I experience the tangible reality of a God who is my protection? Jesus came in the flesh to conquer all sin and death. But that meant that he had to first die. And even though He rose from the tomb, it was still necessary for Him to leave us so that something more powerful could take the place of His earthly presence, limited, as it were, by time and space. What He gave us was more than His risen body. He gave us His Holy Spirit. And it was His intention,, and that of the Father, that those who are baptized into His death are likewise baptized into His life.

So take a moment and look at you hands. If you are a Christian, those are not your hands. They are the flesh that clothes the hands of God. This is not a metaphor. The highest expression of God’s incarnation is that he redeemed our own flesh that it might become His. But we do not experience it unless we use it. The Holy Spirit is power, and power is not dormant. It is only when those hands are animated by the Holy Spirit that the miraculous ensues. The irony, then, is that I am never so close to the protection of God as I am when my hands reach out to protect someone else. God made us for purpose. Not merely a purpose, but purpose itself. As Christians, that means that nothing ever happens outside of the purpose of God.

I am dealing with some very difficult struggles right now. It is Sunday afternoon and a group of friends who stopped by have gone home. It could be the saddest moment of my week. Nothing is easier than self-pity. I could go in my room, close my eyes, and let the tears flow. And there would be nothing inherently wrong in that. But it is less than God wants for me. So I grabbed my computer and did what I could to give the moment meaning. I wrote. And by writing about the reality of my life, perhaps someone else’s life will be touched, or they will touch someone else. After all, what is skin for if not for touching?

 

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Drinking From the Stream

If you have sat at AA tables with me anytime during the last thirty years, you have probably heard me use this analogy a hundred times. If so, suffer a fool to make it a hundred and one.

Before I came to faith in God, I was like a stone, hard and impenetrable. The grace of God was flowing around me everywhere, but my obdurate nature ensured that I would not drink from that stream. The fear of giving up the only security I knew, while subconscious, drove all my decision making. I was genuinely frightened by selfless people, people who had surrendered themselves to something higher. Yet that very vulnerability was also attractive and it began to slowly erode my protective shell.

As Bill W. puts it,

When we became alcoholics, crushed by a self-imposed crisis we could not postpone or evade, we had to fearlessly face the proposition that either God is everything or else He is nothing. ~ Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 53

Ultimately , in that moment of ego deflation, I called out to a God who was at once both inconceivable yet essential. And like many in that condition, I became aware of the genuine presence of God. It was an awareness not of the mind but of the heart, yet no less unshakable for it. The grace of God had penetrated that shell at last.

I lived in that reality for some time, but came to realize that faith in God alone was not sufficient. Those people whom I had seen abandoning themselves to God had something greater than I. The grace of God had filled me, but at that point I was more like a vessel than a channel. God had gotten in, but I kept Him for myself. But quietly, almost imperceptibly, the Steps of AA began to lead me toward a path of unselfishness, of giving myself without any thought of benefit in return. The phrase “you have to give it away to keep it” became less and less an aphorism and increasingly a guiding principle. Still, there was a fear that abandoning myself like that might mean the loss of something I was not willing to give up. This was where the jumping off point for me came, the actual taking of Step Seven.

The grace of God had eroded the other end of that vessel and made me into a channel of that grace, just as we learn in the Prayer of St. Francis. And here is the paradox. I was not merely a channel but a recipient in a way I had not previously anticipated. A vessel can only hold so much, but a channel can carry an inexhaustible stream. And whoever allows himself to become such a channel finds he is  filled from that unending source.

This challenge I face today is, in any normal sense, insurmountable. I am in need not merely of a measure of grace, but an overabundance of it to give me the power to live each day as it comes. I always knew on a conscious level that I was being of service to those around me. But never over the course of those thirty odd years did I imagine what treasure I was laying up for myself. The outpouring of love that I have experienced these last couple of months has overwhelmed me. And you all, in giving of yourselves as you have, are no doubt drinking of that same stream. That’s the real paradox. No matter how much you surrender, the blessings you receive in return far outweigh whatever sacrifice was required of you.

My sincere desire is to be part of that blessing. Nothing would defeat me more than if I thought this trial was for no purpose. I am convinced that the joy that I experience in this time of difficulty will, in some unseen and and unknown way, lighten the burdens and gladden that hearts of those who face their own challenges.

[The Lord] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong. – II Corinthians 12:9-10 New American Bible Revised Edition.

May the Peace of Christ dwell richly in you.

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Top of the Roller Coaster

I’ve been remiss in holding to my goal of blogging more often. I’ve tried a few times and the words just didn’t seem to come. But tomorrow night will be the last night I go to bed with my speech in this condition and Charlotte will be here and I won’t waste our time together blogging. I don’t know what condition I will be in this time next week, but it will be different.

While I was sharing at the meeting this morning, I came to the realization that the thing I really fear the most is knowing I might never be able to talk to an AA newcomer. It’s hard enough in Arizona even finding new people to sponsor. But if my speaking ability becomes more limited there will be even greater hurdles to overcome. The bright side of that is that, if I am open to the possibilities, God will find a way to use these new developments to reach people I might not have otherwise reached. I just can’t see how, at least at this time.

I have maintained for some time that my strongest natural talent lay in teaching. And when I became a teacher, I found that it was a talent like every other, present in potential but requiring a great deal of practice and humility to properly develop it. I may not be a great teacher, maybe not even a good one. But when I am teaching, I feel that I am in my natural element. Whether I am standing in front of a classroom, or at an AA podium, talking one-on-one or leading a small group, there is no experience to compare to it. When I see a flash of understanding cross someone’s face, I feel like I am doing what I was made to do.

So what do I do if I can’t talk? Obviously I can write, and I certainly plan to, more than ever before. There is on this blog alone years of postings, mostly about the Program but also about my faith and other philosophical areas. And for the most part, it seems no one has read it. Nor need they. I am, after all, just one person expressing his opinions which, while they might be  insightful at times, are mostly syntheses if things I’ve learned from other sources. So my writing eventually flowed to a trickle for one reason only. I want to be heard. That, ultimately, is the source of the joy I find in teaching.

Am I being self-centered? I won’t deny it. Recognition and positive responses make me feel very good about myself. But following one’s true vocation ought to be gratifying. There’s no sin in that if kept in proper proportion. And the apparent loss of one’s vocation can only have a couple of meanings. Perhaps it wasn’t true discernment, just a rationalization of what I wanted to do anyway. In which case, it’s actually a kind of guidance, showing me that I may have missed the mark somewhere. Or it could be a refinement, a deeper expression of what the true vocation is. What I have done up until now may have been a preparation for something more demanding but more fruitful. Or it might just be something that happened and doesn’t require a spiritual analysis. I have no answers.

So this is how I feel: almost to the top of the roller coaster. Frightened, eager and wanting it to be all over. I don’t think I could wait another week. For the most part, I am genuinely content, convinced that God would not have brought me this far to abandon me. But every morning, for a few moments after I wake up but before I really have my thoughts under control, I feel alone and weak and angry and genuinely frightened. Praise God that these feelings don’t last very long. But I do need to be reminded daily just how bad it could be if I were facing this with only my own power.

Once again I am doing something which used to be anathema to me: typing what comes into my head and publishing it without editing. But I can’t afford the luxury of that much time, and I may actually be a little more self-revealing if I don’t try to tidy it up as much. In any case, this is pretty much raw Steve. Let me know what you think.

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Disappointed, joyous and free

I don’t have problems. I have opportunities, and some of my opportunities are insurmountable – heard at a meeting.

It is a character trait of mine that my emotions run ahead of my reason. And the surest outcome of that tendency is to permit circumstances to toss me around. Let a storm cloud appear on the distant horizon, and I am already wet. Let a sliver of sunlight emerge, and the world is a perfect place. I strive to be temperate, I may even boast of it at times, but calm, rational acceptance of circumstances is hardly guaranteed.

Today received news that things actually are just as grim as we first thought. I had embraced the unexpectedly sunny prognosis, and have now made myself worse off than before in some ways. In addition to the fear I already faced, I now carry the additional burden of self-inflicted disappointment (not to mention some embarrassment over having celebrated a bit soon).

When I first had a confirmed cancer diagnosis, I resolved to glory in my infirmity. And God certainly seemed to be providing the grace to stare down this obstacle. But as is often the case, the price of grace can be dear. Thus the question becomes “is grace always sufficient for the trial?” Is the true measure of grace always to be found in the depth of the struggle? My theological self says “yes” emphatically, and my scared inner self says “shut up.”  They are not in conflict.

I will continue to proclaim that God is my fortress and my shield. As in the past, I will affirm that Jesus conquered death and that the grave no longer holds the victory. And I will do this with quivering lips because I am weak, as are we all. It is not bravado I wish to show to the world. Rather, it is the inexplicable peace that overcomes it. Don’t think for a moment that I am not frightened. To face something this dire and not be frightened is either insanity or stupidity. But beneath the fear is a joy that no one can take from me. And that joy is rooted in absolute truths: that I am loved and supported by the best people in the word, that the most spectacular woman in the world is my wife, and that God, in His boundless love, will never leave me desolate.

So be by my side as we navigate these “opportunities.” It’s going to be a hell of a ride.

 

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What would Thomas say?

Today I went for an MRI at Karmanos Cancer Center and a biopsy at Harper Hospital. Up to this point, we have had nothing but morbid outcomes given to us by all the doctors we have seen. Today, however, Dr. Lin at Wayne State found the tumor to be superficial and easily resected with a reasonable hope for a cure, possibly without radiation, and a return to the status quo.

Were all these doctors (including him) wrong in their initial assessments? Were they just being conservative in their prognoses? Or did something, in fact, happen to that tumor?

Phenomena like this are not uncommon in God’s plan. He reveals Himself in degrees, and often in such a way as to make faith an essential aspect of the experience. Most everyone is familiar with the phrase “doubting Thomas,”  but few non-Christians understand the spiritual significance of the story.

Thomas was not present when the risen Lord appeared to the Apostles, and when told of it, he chose to be skeptical, not an unreasonable attitude given the incredible claim made by the others. Jesus again appeared to them and this time Thomas was present. When the Lord invited Thomas to place his fingers in the nail holes and his hand in His side, Thomas did so and proclaimed “My Lord and my God.”

Jesus’ response is telling.

Have you come to believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed.

What do we make of this? Is blind faith better than faith based in observed phenomena, “signs and wonders?” I don’t think so. God honors our faith however it comes to us. But often it comes to us in the context of what we already believe. Faith in the redemptive work of Christ requires first a faith in the plan of God, a faith that is itself a grace that can only come from God. Paul spoke of this in 1 Corinthians 1:21-23

For since in the wisdom of God the world did not come to know God through wisdom, it was the will of God through the foolishness of the proclamation to save those who have faith. For Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles…

The Pharisees demanded signs from Jesus. He was proclaiming himself Messiah, either an utter blasphemy or the very fulfillment of the ultimate aspirations of the Jewish faith. He did not fit into their concept of how Messiah would appear so they sought to ensnare him by demanding something that only a true Messiah could produce. Jesus’ response was harsh and to the point:

Then some of the scribes and Pharisees said to him, “Teacher, we wish to see a sign from you.” He said to them in reply, “An evil and unfaithful generation seeks a sign, but no sign will be given it except the sign of Jonah the prophet.

Jesus would soon, in fact, show them the sign of Jonah, but even that would not satisfy them. He had been going throughout Galilee performing unmistakable miracles, and those who had eyes to see, saw them. The case can be made that, if God were to appear in His unveiled Glory, we would have no choice but to worship Him. But that was not the plan. We were given free will because only a free creature can love, and to fully reveal Himself would ironically make it impossible to love Him. So He reveals Himself to those who choose to see Him revealed in part.

What, then, is the point of all this? Simply put, what happened to me happened ambiguously, so that those with faith would see and those without faith might choose to see without compulsion. Even I won’t say that this was a verifiable miraculous healing. The evidence is imperfect, the outcome questionable. But I accept it as such by faith, as some of you might. And it may even be that this little “miracle” may make one of you less of a Thomas.

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Making it easier

To all my friends that had trouble commenting:

I had the blog set to require moderation of comments, but since I am so lazy it meant that your comments weren’t posting until I got around to it. I activated a plug-in that should prevent spam so if it works, there won;t be any restrictions. If I have problems with spam, I may have to tighten things up a little, but I’ll let you know before I do.

 

And thanks for all the response to my last post. More will follow. I have a biopsy tomorrow which will give us a better idea of what we’re dealing with. Pray for Charlotte. She’s having a tough time.

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I need some input

Normally when I post to this blog, I do so in the role of one offering ideas, explanations, insights and sometimes humor. I don’t get many comments so I don’t think of this as going the other way. But I am at a point where your responses can mean a great deal.

I am nearing the point where decisions will have to be made regarding my choice of treatment, decisions that have major consequences for how I live the rest of my life. In its simplest form, it reduces to this: do I want to take the least invasive approach which will allow me to continue living as I am now, but with the likelihood of a shorter life span, or do I want to take a course that will probably result in a cure but may deprive me of speech?

If you know me at all, and many of you certainly do, talking has always been what I do. I’m a teacher by nature and my greatest joys in life have been those few but precious times when what I say has made a difference in someone else’s life. It’s hard to imagine me still being me if I couldn’t do that. So what would be the point of living longer if that was the condition? What kind of life would it be to not be able to tell people that I love them? How could I deprive my wife of the words “I love you?”

But of course, I would have to be alive to do that. So choosing to keep my speech but possibly die sooner has a similar effect. Do I go for quality or quantity? How does that affect those who love me? Do they get a choice in this?

I have just about worn out the “?” key on my keyboard. So many questions and no real answers. I’m really grappling with a big one here. I’m going for a biopsy on Thursday that will define the parameters of this decision more clearly and, while I want to think that I will know what to do, I fear I won’t.

Prayer is central to this. I believe there is a “God way” through everything and in all honesty I’m really at peace knowing that I’ll get both the guidance and the Grace to live in a way most pleasing and useful to Him. That for me really illuminates the decision. Which choice makes me a more useful tool in His hands? I don’t believe that death is a tragedy. I do believe that a life without purpose is.

Before all else, I am a Christian. Jesus said that there is no greater love than when one lays down one’s life for a friend. But what does it mean to lay down your life? It certainly means dying in one sense. But it could also mean laying aside the life I now have for another one, one that I do not choose, but one that nonetheless fulfills my vocation. Do I lay down my life by shortening it or by sacrificing an aspect of it? Again, more questions than answers.

This has been an unusual post. I always take time to craft my work, write it, set it aside, return to it, refine it, produce the very best I can with the talent I have been given. But this has been more of a stream of thought, musing out loud and not really attending to the craft, because the craft may very well be in my willingness to expose my fear, my confusion; to be something I rarely am, unpolished.

I am not asking for answers, though I will certainly accept them. As for pity, I can produce enough of that for both of us if I give in to that impulse, so none is needed. I’m not saying that I don’t need anything. I just don’t know what I need. All I know is that whatever I need, it will come from you whom I love. I would appreciate comments just to know you have read this. Maybe you are as baffled as I am. That would be good to know. Maybe you have some insight. Also, good to know. Maybe you feel compelled to offer advice because you feel obligated. I won’t object.

I hope that this hasn’t been to much of a downer for anyone. These are the kinds of decisions each of us will likely have to make. So the real irony of all this is that you may be answering these questions as much for yourselves as for my benefit. So let’s be joyful, and let’s be grateful for the love we’ve shared.

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