It has been interesting to gauge the reaction of people when I relate the events of that lousy one year period.
My mama died, and I'm a mama's boy.
My sponsor of 25 years - a man that I was closer to than any other man on earth - died. Six hours before my mama died. I wasn't even able to make it to his funeral or wake because I had family matters to take care of.
My papa dies, and slowly and painfully, submerged in a sea of alcohol.
And my cat died. I don't believe I've given this its proper due. This was an animal that was a daily presence in my life for 18 or 19 years. And as is the way of cats this animal picked up on the fact that I initially didn't like cats and glommed onto me like super glue. I couldn't turn around with tripping over her. As soon as I sat down she jumped on my lap. To SuperK's everlasting consternation.
Finally, I turned 60. I know that it's just a number but it's the number that a lot of people see as an irrevocable passage into old age. I have been joking about being old for a while but now I really am pretty old.
That's a tough 14 months. Every time I was getting off the mat I took another left hook, all while I was trying to figure out how to mourn appropriately.
Will you still need me, when I'm 64?
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