Grief

Last Tuesday I achieved the mixed blessing milestone by becoming seventy one. The pervious Friday my son two and a half months from the monentous life marker of fifty, died. A victim of the scourge that is brain cancer. It was the last round of a sixteen year fight. He didn't beat cancer, but he went the distance.

Grief is nostalgia without guardrails.

With nostalgia if one comes to close to the dangerous edge of memory road one can apply the brakes of the frontal lobes of memory,turn the wheels of consciousness and proceed along with lives drive.

Grief cuts your brake lines. Steals the steering wheel, so you can no longer control where your thoughts are going. If they,and they will, want to go down the dark unpaved, badly lit dirt roads with no stars or moon to illuminate the way and no guardrails to protect you from a crack up.

And you will crack up. You will go over the side. The emotional car you drive through life in will go over the cliff. The car will catch fire. You will be thrown back and forth. Your emotional seat belt will fail. When you crawl out of the wreckage you will be burned, scarred and missing some vital limbs. Pissed, mainly you will be pissed that you survived. Whatever controls universe, whoever runs this sick, twisted existence, you will hate with a passion you never knew you were capable of.

But, you can never give up. On life,on yourself, or even on that sweetly sick disease know as hope.

Your love one deserves a better memorial.