And then a week like this happens. Two men die suddenly, shocking family and friends with that inconvenient truth; life is fragile. Two others went on hospice this week and are nearing the end of their time on earth.
What do I do with these sad truths? Today the feeling is especially acute, a sadness as I witness the dispair of families who will never have a chance to say a last “I love you”. In reaction I know I must make a concerted effort to say “I love you” when going to bed, waking, leaving the house and coming home. There are times when this feeling may be a bit strained, Parkinson’s has created some considerable challenges for both of us, but if my time is up I want the last memory of me to be of love.
This post is not meant to be morbid, but a bidding for truth. I prefer to live in the light, but even then I must school myself. This very moment a gust of frustration blew in, a Parkinson’s moment, fear as I watched Russ make a poor mobility choice and I had to catch him before he toppled. It is in those moments that the “I love you” is most important.