It’s true. I thought it would happen beginning a couple weeks ago, but I really haven’t been reliving the detailed events of a year ago. Sure. I’ve thought about certain things, but in general, I’m not.
However, one year ago on Saturday, May 7th (it’s a Sunday this year) reality became an unwelcome visitor. We’d been managing Pam’s pain for a couple weeks already, taking turns with a 24/7 rotation of turning her and keeping her comfortable. Hospice caregivers came only once each weekday in the mornings.
During a position change that Saturday, Mary, Pam’s sister-in-law and retired nurse, thought a hip bone might be out of place. So we called Hospice and talked with the nurse on call, who happened to be the lead nurse for Pam’s care. She came to the house within about an hour to examine Pam. It was not a bone issue. It was loss of weight/tissue/muscle. Good news – we hadn’t hurt Pam. Bad news – Pam’s condition was deteriorating.
As she was leaving, I took the nurse aside to mention quietly what Kara, Kelley, Mary, and probably others were noticing. There had been a marked change in Pam. The nurse agreed and told me she was going to start scheduling the case nurse for every day.
I was devastated by this news. Two weeks earlier the Hospice social worker told us that if/when this nursing schedule change is made, it meant that most likely Pam would not live longer than a week. She died five days later.
Equipped with this reality Pam’s brothers rescheduled their return flights home and I cancelled arrangements I’d just completed the day before to have Pam transferred to a care facility. Thus began the final watch.
This was a dreadful experience for us all. And yet there was such, I will use the term, ‘grace’ as we huddled in our small living room, taking turns visiting with Pam privately, and in groups. Family. Love. Sorrow. Pain. I realize now that I was in shock, barely functioning. Fortunately, others took over meals and transport as Kara, Kelley, Mary, and I as much as I could manage, took care of Pam.
Looking back, and in talking with some family members, I realize that we could not have done it much better. Pam had us all around her at the end. We took care of her and each other. Through it all, our bonds of family and friendship were deeply strengthened. Pam’s last loving gift to all of us!
May 12th is the first anniversary of Pam’s death. I hope you won’t mind if I take a week off. I have special activities planned for this coming week that I hope to write about afterward. But I think I need to take this time to concentrate on my grief process and contemplate how much I still love Pam and miss her painfully. My view has not changed one iota. Pam was an amazing individual, full of love and compassion. I was fortunate to have known her, loved her, and been loved by her. I know that those who knew her, especially her children, siblings, and in-laws, all feel the same.
You know, I really do want and hope that you, the readers of this blog, gain something positive from the reading. I write about what’s happening with me, but my hope is that you can somehow internalize the words as reflecting your sorrows, griefs, loves, successes, hopes, and dreams. This week’s post is no different, unless you can relate to its being more positive, well, than at least the last one. Two experiences highlight my week, and both are positive.
The spoiler (the poem) is at the end. The second experience took place on Thursday. I was at a local music store picking up some equipment when Thaddeus mentioned that they were holding an open mic session in the recital room that evening. Thaddeus, who hosts, said he’s been struggling with turnout. “Please come play.” It would just be, hopefully, two or three musicians. I quickly realized it was time to put up or shut up. I agreed to come back that evening.
And so it appeared to be – at first. Then people kept arriving. A total of seven musicians performed, of which I was the third; five singer song writers and two pianists. There were also nearly a dozen others in the audience.
My heart began pounding as Thaddeus started things off. Probably the most polished of all of us, he played four original songs. In fact, all five guitarists played original music. By the time Joe finished his five originals, I knew I was next up. Though I felt that I at least belonged there, my stress level was high.
I played five songs beginning with Anything to Please (not yet recorded), Chameleon, Heart of Logic, Tell Elizabeth I Love Her, and The Song I Never Wrote For You. All were received well and applauded. And though I made several mistakes, some obvious, I was clearly in an empathetic crowd. After all was done, several people came up to me with appreciation for my playing and my songwriting skills.
I did it! I played in public in front of people I don’t know. It has begun. I am fulfilling a commitment I made to Pam (posthumously) and to myself, to step out into a new life that includes sharing myself, and in a way Pam, with – the world?
As you might imagine, I was pretty stoked when I got home. A nice Spring evening. I opened a can of beer and walked around the pond. It was then that my emotions caught up with me and, of course, I began to cry (as I am while writing this). Pam was not with me to share the dream. That coupled with the realization that I was actually going on with a new, still unfamiliar and uncomfortable life. And Pam would approve. Such a melancholy gift. Yet I have to move forward with my heart still in the past, hoping for a future that honors her life – and mine.
Last Tuesday I began my day in contemplation, as usual, staring out the window at the birds flitting around the feeders, and suddenly this popped into my head. I had to write it down immediately in the journal I keep by my chair. I rather like it. I like its positivity. So here it is:
Flitting Birds Branches Rustling Sweetly Singing
Towering Trees Skyward Reaching Gently Swaying
Flowers Panning Pedals Unfolding To Heaven Praying
Yes, I’m still counting. Last week I was in the Atlanta area visiting my Mother, sisters, and brother-in-law. It was the fourth visit since Pam died in May of 2022. Each trip has been impactful and in some ways represents the progression of my grieving process.
My first visit last June was just a month after Pam’s passing. It had been 2-1/2 years since my previous visit, a combination of COVID isolation and Pam’s and my challenges here at home. I was a mess. I didn’t really want to go but it was time. It takes me two days to drive there. Not quite short enough to comfortably make it in one, yet a bit too short for two. Which leaves me time in a motel to contemplate – whatever, further exacerbating being alone for hours in the car.
Much of the time that first trip was spent crying and wanting to get back home. Sure. It was good seeing my family, but my raw emotions were almost too much to bear, and obvious to those around me. But I made it through. And somehow I knew that it was part of my process, getting out of the house, seeing family, being alone with my thoughts and sorrows.
Leaving home was not much easier in September. I was still attached to everything Pam, and Pam and me, in the house. I chose different routes to and from Atlanta that trip. Exploring. Hoping for new attractions and distractions along the way. Still a long time to think and feel, wonder and cry.
Still with raw emotion I visited, trying to express my feelings while attempting to engage and empathize with everything going on with those I love. They were great! I began to feel safe in my grief. I was allowed, and allowed myself to just be me, trying to at least see the top of the wide and deep hole, the void created by losing half of myself. But I still found myself longing for home. As if Pam was still there waiting for me, even though I couldn’t call her to tell here of my experiences, couldn’t listen to her voice as she told me what she’d learned of our grandchildren or of news in the neighborhood. We used to talk often and long when we were geographically separated.
Between September and the end of December the holidays were painful and sad. This was Pam’s favorite season. Decorations, cooking traditional holiday foods, buying and wrapping gifts and, of course, incredible hand-made greeting cards. She would be beaming! But not last year. I managed to bring up the mini Christmas tree with its tiny white lights to put on the window sill. But that was it. No cards, some gift-giving. Visits from our children. Lots of crying – lots!
I left for Atlanta after Christmas and was there with family for New Years Eve and my Mother’s birthday in early January. Once again leaving the house was difficult. While visiting, I sensed change in my emotional stability, not quite as tense, able to engage more “normally.” By then I was no longer counting the weeks since Pam died, just the months. Little changes, but still trying to climb out of the hole.
Last week’s trip had a significantly different feel. I was anxious to go. I even used the excuse of impending severe weather to leave a day early. I enjoyed the drive down and was comfortable with my stay in Clarksville TN, west of Nashville. A side note: this was just days after the shooting and in the midst of the Tennessee legislature debating ousting three Democratic representatives for demonstrating about gun control laws.
Staying with my sister, Mother and brother-in-law was completely relaxed. My other sister visited every day. I played my music several time to this enthusiastic and safe audience. We ate and drank and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Clearly my disposition is changing. I thought of Pam often and missed calling her to tell her about what we were doing. I missed her terribly, but only had one serious bout of uncontrolled sobbing. A clear improvement.
As I drove toward home I realized for the first time that Pam is no longer here (at home). She is with me in my heart. I am trying to go on with life knowing that she is always with me.
Made in the shadeShabby view – NOT
I sat at an outside table at T-Rav restaurant in Jackson MO (near Cape Girardeau). As I waited for my pizza I started writing. I don’t usually share “unfinished” lyrics or those without accompanying music, but I’m making an exception in this case. I wrote them in an app on my phone, from which they are copied here. I’ve named it I Just Might Make It On My Own. Clearly written to Pam in my heart.
I just might make it on my own I didn’t plan it so to be No doubt I didn’t want to Have to live without you
But here I am Venturing out Taking it all in Making it on my own
It was supposed to be us Stepping out together Basking in sunshine Splashing in the rain
But here I am Venturing out Taking it all in Making it on my own
You and me Wandering roads and byways To see the beauty of the world Meeting others who want to see
Now here I am Venturing out Taking it all in Making it on my own
Eleven months since Pam died. I believe she would be happy with my progress. But I almost feel guilty going on without her. I’ll just have to keep her with me. Here in my heart. I know I will, as I make it on my own.
I have plans for a different sort of trip next month on the one-year anniversary of Pam’s passing. But I’ll postpone writing of that until afterward. Meanwhile, I’ll keep trying to make it – though not completely – on my own.
Every week I think I want to write about something fun or funny. But by the time I get to developing a title and topic, I am conveying serious thoughts and feelings. I should not be surprised, and people remind me, I have had a lot of serious stuff happening in my life since I first published Wut Javia.
I am not a fan of most comedy – with exceptions: Charlie Chaplin, Big Bang Theory, and some Rom Coms. Just this week I was discussing Keeping the Faith with my brother-in-law. Love the movie. Even though I’m not a fan of Ben Stiller, I did like him in that movie. I am a fan of the work of Edward Norton. And I think I might have fallen in love with Jenna Elfman after watching the move. There are other enjoyable lighthearted films, of course. But I watch fewer and less often now without Pam to share them with.
It comes down to just not being a lighthearted person. Though I laugh and make jokes, and enjoy humorous banter, etc., I am a serious person by nature. As I’ve been told. What I realized while contemplating this post is that being serious does not equate with being unhappy. And, if I’m serious and project that seriousness in my demeanor, then I need to be aware that others may have the same or similar traits. Can’t judge a book by its cover, so they say.
On the other hand, no one is happy all of the time. My Mother has projected a happy-go-lucky disposition most of my life. Few times, mostly when grieving the passing of someone close, has she cried, pouted, lashed out in anger (I don’t think I’ve ever seen that), or expressed dislike for others. I think the reasons are two-fold. First, and foremost, she always wants others to be happy, feel better, and also to like her. Second, Mom doesn’t want others to concern themselves with her problems, be they physical or emotional. That would lessen the effect of the first – having others be happy.
I have not had this compunction. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, especially when they are negative, such as sadness, physical discomfort, frustration, anger. Consequently, I am viewed as serious, if not downright grumpy. At one point in my corporate career I was nicknamed Eeyore because whenever someone asked me how I was I would answer “okay” or “I’m alright”, with that down-in-the-mouth mannerism Eeyore expressed.
One thing I am confident of. Regardless of whether you have a lighthearted or heavier disposition, nearly everyone experiences the full range of emotions, has the same fears and frustrations, just maybe to different degrees. So I hope you won’t judge me too harshly for being lighthearted-NOT when you read these posts. I hope that I can do the same for you and everyone with whom I interact.
“By the way” (nod to JJ) …
Did you hear the one about the truck driver and his pet bear? Well, maybe another time when I am feeling more lighthearted 🙂
I ran across a graphic showing different ways of looking at the same object from alterative angles, changing perspective. More on that later.
It reminded me of some angles I have changed over the last several months. Last summer as I was coming out of the shower, I accidentally hit the wall hanging above the towel bar when I reached for the towel. After finishing up, I went back to reposition the artwork and realized I liked the different look. But how could I allow this change? Would it not cause angst, boldly altering how Pam and I had decorated our space together? After all, we so enjoyed shopping and accessorizing.
But the fact was I liked the new look. The inner conflict pressed upon me. Ultimately, I decided that it was okay to change some little things. Who knows? Maybe Pam would have liked the new look. I wish we could have decided together!
BeforeNow
On a whim, I changed the angle of the dining room table and chairs. Pam and I always stressed over how to position this set due to where the electrician placed the overhead light in the ceiling. Our sense of order was disturbed whether we situated it with the length or width toward the large dining room window. If we centered the table under the light, it impeded our egress through the space. Such problems, further exacerbated as it became more difficult for Pam to navigate, especially when she required the use of a walker.
But I am no longer encumbered by these issues. And after contemplating changes in angles and how they affect perspective, I decided to try an angled setting. Yes, I do have the table centered under the light fixture. Some sensibilities should not be altered unless necessary. I’m not sure how long this will last. It does affect how I view both the indoor and outdoor space.
But somehow the change signifies a sense of moving forward with my life; a life forced upon me, not of my choosing!
What are my new angles? How has my overall perspective changed? I’m still working that out. But my eyes are open to where they will lead. I can only hope that I can discern the truth in angles and perspectives. Go where these truths lead.
Which brings me to the impetus for considering angles and perspective and how different views affect decisions. What is true? What is truth? Does changing the angle that we view things, the perspective, change the truth?
It seems easier to think about the world as black and white (a metaphor I don’t like), yes or no, good or bad, the world is flat. Decisions are easy. Not only does this kind of view make living together on this earth more difficult, it’s not even close to the truth. Science has long proved that we live in at least three dimensions and, in reality, there may be more (time is often considered a dimension).
Changing angles does change our perspective. Learning different points of view increases our realization of truth. Unfortunately, “we” don’t necessarily like the truth we find. But that doesn’t change what is true. I wonder if we can ever get to the point where we are comfortable enough with what is true to live together peaceably and happily with the truth.
Continuing on a philosophical tangent, this week’s topic examines how I/we derive meaning from the things we say and do when everything has already been said, and nothing is really new.
Everything has been said before. Nothing I say is new. I write about what’s happening in my life. I express my grieving process, my hopes, dreams, and shortcomings. All in hopes that you, my faithful followers, will glean something meaningful from the reading. How I say, what I say, is meaningful only to me, unless someone else relates to the words anew.
Word play is fun. I enjoy finding different ways to express myself; alternative words to convey a message which has been stated by others in different ways. Whether with prose or in lyrics, words are treasures to be unearthed and revealed, mixing and matching in colorful ways, hoping to make you feel empathy, hoping you feel yourself. Nevertheless I write this message, knowing that it’s all been said before in many ways.
All music has been played before. I am further hampered by my limited knowledge of music theory. I recently learned that there are few musical theories throughout the world. The notes of our “Western” scale, along with other less familiar musical methods, all limit the number of combinations that sound good to our ears/minds. Timing and rhythms add complexity to a tune, helping us express our feelings and enhance our words.
What I play and how I play it is sensational only if it sparks familiar feelings in new ways. Can you think of a subject that hasn’t been covered by a musical artist? So many genres. Music has been part of the human experience since, well, since humans have experienced.
The first shirt I choseDefinitely describes meWishful thinking
Additional ways to express myself with words written by others. I’m thinking of wearing these to play gigs – whenever I work up enough courage to do so.
Just this week I finally heard the song I’ve been searching for since I used some of its chords to form one of my songs, Need to Love You, Instrumental, 12-String. That song is I Love You by The Steve Miller Band. I’m not a huge fan of Steve Miller, but this song, released in 1970 obviously stuck with me, though until now I didn’t remember the source. Another example of Everything’s been played, nothing new. And yet we continue to write words and music to convey our experiences, making them our own. Some, if not all, of us have the need to express ourselves, our inner conflicts, hopes, and dreams with others. Some kind of validation that we are not alone in our existence.
And now I want to write something more. But I’m not sure what. After all, it’s all been said before. How about that I feel humbled by that fact, but also comforted in knowing that I am a part of the human race, knowing I am not alone when I express myself. Maybe you will have similar feelings after reading this.
Speaking of it all being said and sung before: Listen. Read. Something like that.
Walking along the pathways this week on a fresh, sunny, late winter afternoon I was reminded again of our tiny place in the vast, potentially infinite universe. Blue sky, light breeze, warmth of the sun on my back. It must somehow matter.
Facebook provides so many information inputs. We don’t even have to ask for them. Some algorithms somewhere pay attention to the ads we click, the videos we watch, the people and sites we follow, and offer up text, pictures and video. Meta hopes we stay engaged so that their sponsors will continue to advertise with them.
One such information input for me is on the subject of the makeup of the universe. How far are other celestial bodies; a light minute, light hour, light day, light month, light year, or even thousands and thousands of light years away. Billions of galaxies, each with a trillion stars. As I have mentioned before, this makes me feel very small and insignificant. Our bodies exist for such a short time, measured only in minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years. So what does it matter that we exist at all?
It matters because we are sentient beings. If we weren’t aware it wouldn’t matter. It matters because we are aware of ourselves and each other. We care about our own lives and the lives of others. Maybe even our awareness is of little consequence in the vast scheme of the universe. But then again, maybe not.
We know from science that our energy lives on either in free form or as other matter. We are transformed into life, and again when our lives end. We impact our environment which impacts the blue marble we live on. Surely we must have an impact on other regions of the universe in infinite time and space.
It matters because we care for ourselves, our families, our neighbors, communities, species, and the rest of the world around us. It doesn’t really matter how much we affect the universe. It matters that we matter to ourselves and each other.
Here’s why It matters to me; because Pam smiled with so much compassion and love.
Smiling and Holding Hands – 2019
It matters because I love her deeply, more than I understood until I was threatened with her absence. Then she was gone. Recently I realized that as much as I love her, she loved me more. That persistent thought both hurts and comforts me. It helps me understand my place in the universe. Her love was pure. And even at that, she loved her daughters even more!
Kara and Kelley, I hope you don’t mind that I make public this declaration of your Mother’s love for you. Making you. Making It matter that you are part of the universe.
As Pam would say, “Don’t forget.” You matter! We matter!
After writing the longest post in Wut Javia’s history last week, this may be one of the shortest. I don’t have anything deep or sensational to write about. So I’ll write about that.
It’s been a “normal” week. Patterns of my existence, once emerged, now are familiar routines of daily life. Sleep, wake, eat; all so ordinary. Morning meditations remain; peering at Pam’s picture, having a word or two about her smile, my love for her, how much I miss her.
Last week I considered four grieving goals, the last of which was reconstructing a faith significantly altered by loss. I said my faith was in disarray before Pam’s illness and passing, and it was. I’ve begun reading the book of Psalms. I’m told it considers the entire human condition in relationship with an almighty God. Since I feel like I’m experiencing all of those conditions, I thought it a reasonable place to start. Another attempt at establishing life after Pam.
Exercise, guitar practice, binge watching series’ on Netflix and Prime, make up much of my free time, after shopping, cleaning, accounting, etc. Really, nothing to write home about. I’m trying to wrap my mind around this new normal, consider where grief and loss fit in. Still conflicting thoughts and emotions. New normal.
How strange to have nothing to write home about. The last 10 months, in fact the last four years, have been filled with abnormality, at least for me. I know I am one of a myriad of others who suffer, and I know we all have to embrace abnormality as part of normality. But for me, it is consoling to see myself as having nothing to write home about; nothing out of the ordinary to write about. I still look forward to writing and singing about better subjects. Better times; mine, and yours.
I wish for you a normal week in which there is nothing to write home about – unless, of course, it’s great news you just have to share!
Bits of paper next to places where I sit around the house. Not to mention e-notes pasted in various applications on my computer or online (I guess I just mentioned them. Why do we say such things?).
Here’s one I wrote completely backwards, from right to left with the letters facing backwards also. Here are the words:
How did we ever Get to where we ask ‘What am I, chopped liver?” On a cracker, or with a spoon Has a taste, can make you swoon So if you don’t like the words I say What am I, chopped liver?
There may be the makings of a song here. The context is a familial prodding joke that arose from an old question basically asking why am I being left out, or am I less important than your or someone else – someone who can be ignored. But my siblings and I use it now very tongue-in-cheek when we discuss things we are doing or sharing family memories, with fondness and love. These are the kind of interactions that strengthen attachments, deepen relationships.
Another note contains grieving goals from a book called All Our Losses All Our Griefs, Resources for Pastoral Care by Kenneth R. Mitchell and Herbert Anderson, given by a good friend to help me on my journey. This book provides a different perspective on grieving from the point of view of professionals who work with, and laypeople who want to compassionately respond to, those who grieve.
Grieving Goals: – Admitting the reality of the loss – Creating a charitable memory – Beginning to make new investments and attachments – Reconstructing a faith significantly altered by loss
After 9-1/2 months of my grieving journey, I look at these goals and am encouraged – though even that is hard to believe. It took about four months just to come to terms with the fact that Pam is gone. Though sometimes still cathartic to talk to her, it is otherwise and empty exercise, as she cannot, and will not respond – at least in any way that I recognize or understand. But it is difficult to achieve any other goals without first admitting the loss.
I’ve had no problem creating a charitable memory. I so adored Pam and saw in her so many loving and caring attributes that I wish I could emulate. I sometimes still picture the moment of her death. I don’t like the image. But it reminds me that, in that moment, Pam’s suffering was over. And that’s a good thing. More and more I smile back at her when I look at pictures of her smiling. I am in touch with my love for her and realize the depth of her love for me and others. I am still sad for her loss, and my loss of her.
Progress on the last two goals is certainly ongoing. My body has been “telling” me that I need to take care of myself and catch up on the neglect I forced on it for the past few years as my attention was on caring for Pam. Should I just live out what is left of my life, though shorter due to neglect? Or will I find out what I need to and be wise about taking care of myself, expect to live longer, with better quality of life? Give myself the opportunity to nurture existing, and establish new attachments. I chose the latter. Now I am investing psychologically, emotionally, and monetarily in my physical wellbeing.
Reconstructing my faith is a much more challenging goal. My faith journey was in the weeds and tall grasses before Pam’s diagnosis and illness (I’ve got songs about this also). Losing her only exacerbated an already complicated and painful inner struggle. However, I am aware that my journey is more difficult by not being able to rely on faith in God to help me through my grieving process. Not that I don’t keep Him in the mix. I told the hospice chaplain that I still want to cover my bases. So the jury is still out on this goal. I hope those of you with strong faith will respect my circumstance and not attempt to “fix” or “save” me as I work through, toward some end. I promise you, it would not be helpful. On the other hand, thoughts and prayers are appreciated (covering bases). Thanks.
Three comparisons (opposites) on a piece of paper. I don’t remember what I read that prompted me writing this note, but I look at it from time to time and it continues to give me perspective:
Three reminders of decisions we can make on a daily basis. As I learn to live for myself, no longer for Pam or for the two of us, these simple comparisons are a kind of mirror for me to “see” what kind of person this person wants to be. Though I need to live for myself, I don’t want to be selfish. I try to view others with empathy and compassion. And I must be willing to be open to new knowledge that when applied, helps me achieve the first two goals of generosity and compassion. I hope you, my readers, can relate, and feel the same as I.
As I sat in my chair and reached for my paper pad to write down the name of a song, I noticed these notes, bits and pieces of things I thought worth returning to at some point in time. I had no idea that they would merge into a blog post such as this (the longest one yet, I believe). Yet here it is, and I hope, worth the reading.
The song is Time Was by Wishbone Ash. As I listened I heard feelings from my grief journey. Though not all of the lyrics reflect my feelings, in general, I can really relate. Great music too :
I’ve got to rearrange my life I’ve got to rearrange my world I miss you, I need you I’ve got to keep my memories aside I’ve got to try to live again
Time was when there were things around to be afraid of I’ve got cause, I’ve even changed my mind to turn the tables
Time was, when there was no need to stop and rearrange it Now I’ve got a memory and I don’t want to change it
And there’s a time for waking up and feeling down It’s when you have to pick your feet up from the ground
Time was when I had you around, I was a strong man I need you to help me make the change and be a new man
It takes more than a day and a night for giving It’s not so easy just to change your way of living
Time was when there were things around to bother me The crime was, I couldn’t start to change my history
Bits and pieces. Musings of a wandering mind. I created this website near the beginning of COVID, as Pam’s disease crept further into her being; as my commitment and responsibilities increased. It’s been nearly three years since its debut (March 14, 2020). So much has changed for so many! Now, let’s get on with – life. Bits and pieces at a time.
“Hopes and dreams may vanish. Are they based in man-made lies?”
The leading quote to this post is from Heart of Logic, a song I wrote several years ago after watching the movie, A Beautiful Mind. Though the context is completely different from what I feel as I write, somehow the sentiment is similar, if not the same.
I don’t remember having hopes and dreams when I was young. I had no goals, no plans. As I grew, I hoped for love, but didn’t necessarily dream of wife and kids. Those were different times of supposedly “free love” and “peace” and “be here now.”
But marriage and children did come, though I had no concept of the responsibility or challenges associated with them. I love my children – all of them. Children instill hopes and dreams in parents. I hope they have grown up to have hopes and dreams of their own, and can find and follow them.
Pam and I got together when our children were young adults. We mostly hoped for time. Our dream was of growing old together. As we pondered marriage I joked with her that we would have a 30-year contract and we (she) could renegotiate at that time. That would put us in our 70’s, and at that time it seemed so far away. But those hopes and dreams were dashed by disease and we only made it through 25.
Now I hope for a new life. I dream of meeting people and enriching their lives through interaction with mine. I hope for happiness, not in the same way that Pam and I were happy, or I happy just being with her, but some new kind of happiness that I have yet to perceive or even know how to recognize right now.
One of my dreams has been to play (and continue to write) my music for others. I hope that I can meet interesting people, have new social experiences, and affect people’s lives in a positive way in so doing. New music and new songs are emerging, a gift Pam left me with the raw emotions of losing her and in feeling lost.
I hope that writing these posts adds value to your days and to you lives. I realized recently how much I enjoy the writing. Yes, it is cathartic, but I also hope that I am somehow making a difference. You, the readers, appear to be saying my hopes are being realized and hopefully, my dreams. If so, I invite you to share my Musing of a Wandering Mind with others – and share your hopes and dreams with them as well.
May your hopes and dreams be vibrant and uplifting, and my they all come true for you!
