Making The Good Life

It's not what you have, but how you live.


Well, I’ve been missing from this blog for quite some time now. Not exactly what I had planned, but what it is, anyway. It seems that balance is one of the hardest things to find and yet one of the most important aspects of having what I consider a “good life”.

When I started writing this entry, I wrote about things to come – my son’s high school musical, my dad’s illness, the time I spend with both of them. Before I could finish writing and post my entry, dad was admitted to the hospital. Ten days later, he passed away. I wrote:

My dad is ill, and has been for some time, but things are looking pretty bad right now. I spend as much time with him as I can but always feel that it’s not enough. Is there ever enough time at the end of someone’s life? Because that’s what this is, barring some new drug or other. Even that would be a temporary reprieve, not a cure.

We didn’t get a new drug, or a reprieve of any kind. We got ten days to say goodbye. There is never enough time. I was close to my dad. He was a wise man with varied interests and a lot of love for his family. He could always zero right in on the heart of any topic that we talked about. He was a talented photographer, loved the stars, flower gardening, good food, time spent together and babies. I will miss him more than I can say.

I’m trying to find my equilibrium; to function normally again. On Monday my sister called to tell me that my dad’s sister passed away. She was a wonderful woman and I loved her dearly. She will be missed as much as I miss my dad. Although she lived in a different state, she still managed to be a significant presence in my life. She and her family visited the family farm, where we lived along with my grandparents, as often as they could. I spent time with them at their home as well. She was a calming presence, a kind and intelligent woman and was incredibly beloved by her husband of over 50 60 years. Their love for each other was inspiring.

There are days lately when I don’t want to get out of bed, because I know I won’t stop moving until I fall back into it, later than I should. Those hours will be laced with memories of two special people, sorrow at their passing and a feeling that the world is just a bit less special than it used to be.

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