Being Present

I am very lucky to be able to hang out with you every morning.

You've been great, reading Spanish into the computer every morning.  Reading Spanish books, over and over.

It was so cold this morning that you told me stories of how the wind carried your friend into the street.  Or when your ran around the yard during Hurricane Sandy.  and you SAW the wind.

You changed your coat because it was too cold, we saw the wind blowing the trees outside.  Like the branches were going to beat their way into the apartment.

It was in the 50's earlier this week, almost like spring.  And next week, it's back to snow.

==
Two nights ago, I was very very sad.  We went out for a dinner and a cabaret show.  $200.  And she likes to turn everything into a joke.  When I said, twice, "My self confidence is shot, I feel like nobody ever listens,"  she treated it like a sitcom joke. "I think I know that woman over there," and "Look out the window at the crane!!"  And then she spent the rest of the night talking about her ex-husband (who dumped her again) and her boyfriend (who she dumped).

Not the way to treat a friend.

Dawn, Scrumpy's Mom, suffers from the same form of narcissism.

However, I had a wonderful dinner with a friend from college last night. Spaghetti and conversation.  Just being present.

It's important to feel, when you are with a friend, that you are the most interesting thing in the room.

(I wish that for you.)

Why It Really Did Work Out Well, but for other people

You remember that day we wrote to each other. (350 emails?)  That Sunday.  You hadn't gotten much sleep. The Friday before, you were up for 48 hours straight.

350 emails.  And then staying up, "reaffirming our friendship".

So, that was the night when She sat up with the Antifreeze. ("But the time you get this, all 3 of us will be dead,")  August 19, 2012?  Something like that.

And then more the next few days. Her whirlwind.

And even if all three of them were actually "fine", I DO believe that my intervention (and your support-your heart shaped smile when I felt so completely alone) were good in the longer run.  (Although I suffered, and still do over it)

Well, the second part of this is about LOVE.

The line from "Nights in White Satin", about the letters I've written, never meaning to send.  [LIWNMTS}

I NEVER stopped writing to you.  I just stopped SENDING emails to you.

Remember I wrote a story about "Invisible Magic"?  I randomly thought about a present for you.  And came up with an idea that I'd write a story a week, every week, until you were ready to talk to me.  A year.  2?  As many as it would take.  So I started this blog.  And lots of others.

The Six Degrees of M was a way to convince you to appreciate the group.  A smart guy like you (if I were you, I'd be dubious about them too).

And so, I ended up getting a table at the M convention.  My best friend met her soul mate there.  Bringing them together brings them both SOOOOO much love.  They are "open" to stuff like that-in ways that I'm not sure that I am.  And they are stupid in LOVE.  Silly.  And I'm happy for them.  And I want you to know that even if you and I don't have a direct connection---- then at LEAST 4 other people (R and E, and my friend K and the guy H_I should go through your record collection, CSNY. . . . and remember how we were going to listen to the Mamas and the Papas next time-that one too!)

4 people are made happy from our friendship so far.  Maybe me sometimes.  Maybe you.  I have no idea.  So far. . .

(And the song, "Right as the Rain" just came on)

Middle of the NIght

It is now 2:51am.

Maybe I had too much coffee.  But I really can't sleep.  The last time I remember this, I remember thinking about you.

And the Boy needs to know how painful it is to know that someone you care for is hidden/buried/hiding  behind a wall.  A self imposed one.  And knowing how much you love them, and are willing to accept them on any terms.

Except the ones they need.

His mom has been in Florida since September.  Gone.  It's painful for her, and for him.  He needs to figure out how to manage expectations, and it's all worse because he's a kid.  And somehow, we can't tell him the truth.  We also don't know how, because we don't know either.

We saw each other today, and it was simple and easy.  And we talked.  And we were all humans.  Neighbors, talking about whatever we thought of.

I'm writing this down because I got the idea to officially request to have coffee with you, once a week, every week.  I don't think I will.  Because you SAY NO TO EVERYTHING. It makes me extremely frustrated, I don't know what your parameters are.  I have no sense of what you are like when things are easy, or when things are hard.  So I assume that it is ALL hard for you.  And thank I can't have anything.

Your reticence has made me reticent.  Frankly, I don't think it serves either of us. We are neighbors, now.  I have a tremendous amount of goodwill for you, now.  You have WRITTEN to me repeatedly that you are a "people" person; you'd much rather relate in person than over email.  (But frankly, I have no evidence of this).

There are maybe a few good sentences in here, but I MUST be careful not to retain anger for you.  Which prevents me from being honest.

It boils down to wanting the fuller experience of an in-person friendship.  If you are going to send me texts in the middle of the night about how you are a "dark soul", then you need to take me to coffee.  Fuck all that shit you take so seriously.  You may think you are crazy and be caught up in CS.  Or worse, whatever.  Nothing scares me now about that.  Your silence makes me want to beat you up, and I'm certain I could.  Stop taking yourself so seriously.  I'm sure your shrink would tell you that it is emotionally healthy to relate to other humans.  Fuck your isolation.

I'm feeling emotionally RAPED.  And I know you are not a person who would want to do that.  But it's as cheap as making a bootie call and then tossing someone aside the rest of the time.  I am grateful for your generosity in the past (sending me music after The Whirlwind and then the Hug after Sandy Hook).

The thing is, I'm afraid to ask for your help, just to be turned down again.  I've been rejected in so many ways in my life lately that one more rejection will send me into tears.

Yes, I am lonely.  But the cold kind of lonely.  I don't want anything from you that normal people can't give.  Suck it up and be a human, COFFEE.  Let's talk about stupid things while we caffeinate.

Even the cat, he climbs into my lap and suckles on my ears, purring loudly.  He is the only living thing that loves me, is eager to touch me, and only when he can satisfy himself.  And the worst part it, I have no instinct to find a human to touch me.  I don't like it and don't want it.

And you are making me cold.  You are making me trust people less.

(Little boy, please read this and work on making yourself normal and happy.  Don't do things to spite other people.  They won't appreciate it AND it won't even get through to them!)

"All This Life is a Ghost of You"

Icelandic group "Of Monsters and Men"
http://www.ofmonstersandmen.com/

"Though the truth may vary/
this/
Ship will carry/
Our bodies/
Safe to shore"

Why is Iceland such a glorious place for you?
The last conversation we had, sitting in the car, you told me you were there in summer.  How they had complained of the heat, 72 degrees Farenheit!!
And we both shared a smile.  (I needed it, and you probably did too)

I think you might have taught Philosophy for a summer session.

All those pictures you sent me, when we first started talking.  You had been so quiet, so hard to pin down for a conversation.  But easy enough to see on the street or in the hallway.  We would stop and chat.

And "chat".  (How carefree you looked, going through your mail over the recycling bin.  Right next to each other, the mailroom and the recycling.  Why bring trash into your apartment?)

I was going to ask you right then, almost as a joke, "What lessons has the universe been teaching you lately that you need to teach to me?"  Because we ran into each other so often within one week!

Now I think you are in bed more than you aren't.

(And I don't know what's going on with you, and how we are so different.  Maybe I am the same crazy as you)

==
"King and Lionheart" video

You are the color in my drab lanscape. (Maybe I'll always spell that word wrong)
This opens with people being torn apart.
(Why does the kid, look like the Kid?)
I run and run from the evil bad guys who are always angry.
Somehow some magic appears beneath my feet, and instead of gravity, I run along a temporary glowing dirt bridge.
I run and I run,
but you are crying, locked in a tower that has become a spaceship.
And with all my magic, I am left to run on the ground, trapped by angry bad guys and gravity.
Even though we have been running towards each other this whole time.
(I have faith the blackness covers the future, and that everything turns out well)
==
 There has to be some way we can talk.  Through art.

I think I will send you music.  It worked yesterday.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4O1iq3yEqXU

I sent you Mary Wells, you wrote back, "Great stuff." Because you wrote that I "Beat You To the Punch". (And that you had been thinking about me yesterday.  Nothing about how we saw each other.  And I didn't write to you until 10:30.  What were you waiting for?)

Tomorrow, maybe, I can send you "Our Little Talks"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghb6eDopW8I

I miss our little talks.  

Your Funny Father

I am writing this down because right now, it is not funny.

(But it will be in about 10 years, or less)

You, Little Boy, do not like to eat food.  You'll nibble at a few bites of bagel or hot pretzel or cereal or pizza or chicken nuggets.  Maybe apple and celery.

And the idea of new food (broccoli, pasta!, or soup, goes against your very being.  Your Mom's family had very sensitive noses and she hates Cilantro, so you've probably got some sensitivity gene.)

And your Poop is large and scary.  (And kinda funny, how can something that hard and large come out of such a tiny, skinny body?)  And it clogs the toilet regularly. (Ironically enough, because you are not so regular)

Like a scene in a movie, think "A Christmas Story" (not "Godzilla"), your father is driven crazy by this.  He gets very angry and frustrated.  He keeps a knife in the shower.  Y'know, to cut it up.  Unless, of course, your crazy roommate decides to flush it.  And cause a clog.

The bottom of the toilet bowl is utterly scratched up and you can hear him swearing for miles.

We need to put Metamucil (that old people's stuff) in your drinks.

==
Your Father and I tried to talk to you about your Mom today. And you got goofy.  (Which is some coping mechanism, like reverting or just being silly when we are trying to find emotional resolution.  But I get it.)

You knew about last summer, before "all that stuff" happened.  How sad she was (and I asked you if she was happier since then, because I hope it's true.  I want it to be true.)  I asked you to give her a hug for me.  After Xmas, she texted me that she SHOWED you all the texts she sent me.  About me jumping the gun.  I think if I had gone over there to talk to her, I would never have been sure about leaving her alone.  She wanted me to babysit you to give her time off (I didn't want to leave her alone).  And I called.  And I don't regret that.
I'm sorry that you guys had to see all that, all the police and the ambulance.  But I'm glad she got help.  I don't know how it could have happened any other way.

I love you guys.  Give her a hug because I never will be able to.  I don't think she'll ever forgive me.  (And I don't know how to be friends with her any more)

==
It's the coldest night of the year. 25 degrees.  It's nice to be in this apartment. (I have all my art and Mousetraps up on the walls.)  I wonder what this room was like back when they were still in love.  I think they fought a lot back then too.  Sometimes, that's how people love.  They allow themselves to FEEL strongly when it comes to someone else.  (Which is awful!  And wonderful.  Maybe Love can make you act like a Bipolar person a little.  Some happy some sad).  And you want them near you all the time when they are gone and you can't stand them when they are near.  It's painful and mysterious.

Good luck to you, kid. When you find your loves in life.  Enjoy them and treat them well.  And let them treasure you.

Our Eyes Met

Of course, what I am familiar with
is the striving for the thing I cannot grasp
Extending my body fully, extending into the sky, my fingers
Curved like a bow,
The pictures he sent, of Iceland.
Enchanting and glistening like oil paint,
teasing me with their size and their monochrome.
I wanted
I want to capture them
These GRAND landscapes
(lance-capes)
volcanic vistas and waters,
roads, unending on a small large island
I love that I could try to paint them 500 times
and never get them right.
But even the failures could be beautiful.
And so it is with you,
I have tried 500 times with you,
(more maybe, and there will be more in the future)
500 hellos.  
500 gestures, countless, even.
And today our eyes met.
I MISS you.
I was carrying 3 bags and 2 dogs
were trying to trip me.
I walked through OUR courtyard
and you were in your kitchen.
Our eyes met through the gauzy curtain you have.
Did you hate me then?
Did you recognize me?
I would allow myself sadness, or torture,
but it is a dull ache now.

I knew from the beginning that I could never paint Iceland.
And I always knew that we would not have a normal friendship.
That you were not someone I could invite over for Doritos, or I could come over for coffee,
But even the mistakes and failures are beautiful.
I ache for the days of sitting in the car with you
and even, stumbling words, I could make you laugh.
Seeing a carefree smile on your face is like
seeing a picture of a mountain against the clear cold blue sky
and feeling the wind, from a photograph.

I can keep you on a wall, on a shelf,
frozen, hibernation, music held on pause.
But I saw you,
and I know you saw me.
Is this the Bipolar part?
The depressed, scared part that regrets opening up to me during a manic episode?
I know you prefer to keep yourself hidden.
You opened up to me and I saw a treasure.
But now you keep yourself buried.
Send me away if you hate me.
Or send me a message if you can, smuggle it out to me.
As I know you have.
(Here I know I should be careful what I ask for.
But I'd like a conversation too.
Some kind of exchange. Something real time,
in person.
I know it scares you, or that you are hesitant about it
But I don't know why.

"I used to live in West Berlin.  The East Germans called the Wall an "antifaschistische Verteidigungseinrichtung"/"anti-fascist defense installation".  "

in person.
A few months ago, October (really?) you got your phone.
And you emailed me.
You called, and we spoke for 5 minutes.
You said it was something to tell your therapist about.
We haven't spoken much since.
The brunch and the pizza barely count
(I know she must think I'm a bad influence somehow,
that maybe I want something from you, maybe from you both.
Or that I am just plain insane, and better to stay away from)

There must be a few walls between us, literally.
My bedroom wall, then the next apartment, 
the older lady, American, very nice.
Then our dead neighbor,
she must have a few walls and windows.
And then your outside wall.
Maybe 5, not quite as many as 10.
Bigger than the Great Wall of China
"antifaschistische Verteidigungseinrichtung"
and anything in Germany.

I miss you like I miss the Dead.
Like I miss all those friends I loved when I said goodbye
and they rode away from my arms,
never to be seen again.
I never know when you will break through that wall.
Or if I should wait.
I miss you sir,
heal yourself.

I will keep singing to you, even if you can't hear the song.

Through Art

Exploring your feelings through art . . .

If we were talking (that is, if you asked me to coffee), I would talk about this article.

http://theater.nytimes.com/2009/11/12/theater/12greeks.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0

About how soldiers attend a reading of Sophocles (who was a General, did you know that?  I just found out.  WOW.) and how it helps them to begin talking about issues.  Especially those who have trouble with talk therapy, and those, whom I would guess, have trouble discussing their own feelings.

Because there's also a movie I want to bring up.  About a main character, who has just come out of a mental health facility, and who is bipolar. (Silver Linings Playbook).  The female character is in mourning for her husband who died.  And she's a little wacky too, but not completely diagnosed.

When they first meet, they have an incredibly open and honest conversation about their medications and issues they are working on.  There was an interview with the director (whose son has mental health issues) and Lopate was saying how both characters have issues relating to society.

I think I was expecting you to keep talking.

I was so glad to see someone who could peel back the mask we all wear (especially in NYC).  I peeled mine back as well.  And I don't like doing that.

I liked who I saw behind your mask.

I miss him.

I still get mad and frustrated and bored and annoyed and lonely and bitter towards you for being so quiet. (Sorry, that's me being a person. And wanting to expect things from you.  Wanting so badly to have you show yourself again.)

Shrug.

Most of the time, I just picture everything in hibernation.  You are up on a shelf like a teddy bear.  (A teddy bear that came to life once upon a time).  I can't expect magic to happen just because I work very hard wishing for it.  There's something about patience.

I'm still here.

And I guess I'll wait until you want to reach out.  However long that takes.  Maybe Spring (it's -4 out right now, in this true January).  Maybe when your new meds even you out.  Maybe after this Depression lifts.  Or maybe never.  (Maybe you are making me the bad guy, or are mad that I responded to you the last time you were in a manic phase, or maybe you've just forgotten about me.  Whatever)

I, myself, am doing well. (Emotionally, anyway).  Keeping myself busy with projects to take over the world.  The good kind of tired that comes from working hard.  (Applying for gigs too)  When the weather is just above freezing, I go out and listen to music (although not tonight, I can't bear to go outside!!!).  Usually I go with friends.  I try to keep a good balance of alone time and people time.

(I try not to write to you too much.  It confuses me.  Sometimes I want you to try harder.  Sometimes I know you can't.  Or you don't want to. Or whatever.  I just know that I don't want to send you letters, not knowing how you'll react to them at all.  If you'll like them, or just delete them or if they would make you feel terrible somehow.  So I'll just keep talking to you here.)

Just so you know I haven't forgotten about you.

(I haven't done a book or anything for you in a long time.  Maybe for R's Mom.  I need to do something for someone, or for myself.  Art takes the place of actual emotion)

Invisible Man

(To the grown man)

This is how I would like to be friends:

I'd like for you to abandon your self righteous work ethic when it comes to moments of importance.  Instead of getting up to work at 7am, I'd like you to invite me over for coffee.  (You work from home and we're neighbors, this isn't so wild a theory).

And a little kindness on your part, when I am struggling, will go a long way.  And maybe you'll feel a little more secure with yourself.  And this Bipolar thing.  (I know it's this HUGE thing for you, a mountain you face everyday.  But, creep over it, step by step).

From personal experience, I know that getting into positive habits are good things.  (Here I'm thinking of the habit of you talking to people, like me)

Of course, I doubt everything.  I certainly have little to no faith that we will ever be any kind of friends.  (I think maybe you changed who you think I am, when you told me about your diagnosis.  I hate you for that.  For opening up and then staying away.  I give you the benefit of the doubt because of your diagnosis.  But I hate you for it too.  For holding out your hand to me and then disappearing into thin air.)

So the only way I can deal with you is erase you from my life.  Not think of you.  Sometimes, I am even good at this. Not now, not today.

Today I want to call you and ask if I can come over for coffee because I want to cry.  Because it's cold outside and I'm trying to look forward to a day in Brooklyn.  Because I have a bump and I have no health insurance.  I want to cry because I am a hopeless mess and I need a shoulder.  I want to cry because there are so many beautiful things in my life just beneath the surface and there is a huge layer of ice between us.

I want to cry because I miss you.  That man who was excited about his leather bound OED.  Who hugged me. Who is afraid.

Is this your version of Bipolarity?  The extremes of opening up and then shutting down?  How much of this is your own personality?  (I am waiting because you told me to be patient, but I think you have forgotten about me)

Drunk Texting

So you wanted to reach out a few days after Xmas. You gave me a present before I left, so I'm guessing we're still "friends".  Even though we haven't connected since we talked after Sandy Hook.  (Boy, was I a mess)

I'm 200 miles away.  Watching "The Way We Were".  And you start texting me.

8:26pm
"Have a good new year.""With plenty of health."
"And warmth and good work and all good things."

8;53pm
"It's hard to find one's calling"
"Death, as I have learned, presses the question."
"Particularly our own deaths"

I tried to call.

"Ar dinner,  we are"
"Reverse word order"

"RToward the end of his life, Charlie Parker went to morgues to look at people.  He said he was "looking for a friend".  He would ride the A-Train for hours and hours"
"You are confusing him with John Coltrane")
Relatively okay.) (Response to R's mom)

10:20
"I am a dark soul.  Be careful"

No matter what I write to you, you are not responding to me.  I'm guessing (from experience) when you write to me on Fridays or Saturdays, that you have been drinking.

I tried sending you pictures of art I saw on New Year's Eve (I was wandering around Northampton)  No response.

I wrote to you, a week later, literally just "Hi!"

You sent back an email saying that you were going out of the country.  That day.  Which means that your plans have changed and that someone's mother is sicker than you realized.  It also means that maybe the jet lag is going to kick in like it did last time.  You won't be able to sleep for 48 hours, or longer.  And that makes anyone crazy. ("The difference between neurosis and psychosis is 2 hours of sleep").

I don't understand what you are trying to tell me.  And why you can't talk to me during the day, normally.  And I wish you could explain yourself.

And I'm not expecting that you will ever talk to me again.  (And I'm okay with that)

A Different Kid on Lined Paper

From the Sandy Hook School, a kid in his last moments.  On lined paper, not a strange and terrific sea creature, but a message of Love in the moments before the bullets came for him.  

(I was so happy to see you coming home w/your friend D on a Friday afternoon.  She was wearing a red Christmas dress and you watched Rudolph on DVD.  And were giggling.)

The Definition of Love

Dear Grown Man,

I remember when I was a young teen, after my Father passed away.  Trying to figure out a definition of Love.  Magazines and girls at school were going on about it, romance and sex and “the right one”.  There was also friends and family and my 8th grade teacher, who merited a special place in my heart.  But what was the common denominator?  Somehow I arrived at something so perfect, I’ve never been able to let it go.
If someone dies, and your world is shattered.

That is Love.

I have been lucky that many people have fit into that category in my life.  My best friend Julie, my Mom, the old neighbor lady Gladys with the 300 dolls.  
Love to me has always been measured in potential loss.
Not what I have at the moment, but what I am afraid to lose.

When she had her “whirlwind”, you referred to her as “a really messed up chick”.   No compassion. I saw her posting something on FB, “It’s disgusting” about the school shooting.  Maybe it’s a kind of amnesia, but definitely a lack of empathy and compassion.
You see, life is impossibly difficult for people.  And we are all pushed to extremes.  How we ultimately react is within our control (we hope), but there is unlimited rage out there.  

We need to be compassionate beforehand, before it gets to that stage.  We need to be kind.

After the whirlwind, when I went to Massachusetts and wasn’t going to come back, I thought about you. I thought about you constantly.  What if someday . . .

By then you had mentioned things to me.  We had brought up the subject.

Parking your car at Fairway, I said the word “S-------” out loud for the first time in 25 years.  I thought to myself, “You’re a grownup. You can say it out loud, just like anyone else, and it won’t mean anything.  It doesn’t mean anything to him,”

And you wrote me about the singer, who had written a song (maybe an album?) in a hotel room.  The lowest point in his life.  And I wrote back, “The next time you think about it, I have just one word for you.  DON’T”  And you responded with a line of question marks.  I reminded you how you had brought it up before, it was something you struggle with, correct?  “It turns out that it is very good to know you, Miss ____ ____.  Very good,”

And I have held those words as sacred.

Everytime I doubt you.  Everytime you run and hide in your cave and I am lonely and want someone to talk to, but instead I have to go back to my room and cry, I think of those words.

And so in Massachusetts, after you had stopped writing to me and I to you.  After I thought you had deserted me.  Before you told me that you had your worst episode in 25 years.  I thought about you.

I thought of you there, alone, in an apartment.  With real metal in your hands, not just the pantomime of a gun.  I thought about what it would be to know you were there, alone.  And hearing about it afterwards.

And then I thought about you calling me.  What if I had to do it all again?  To be the one to read the words that told me that everything was in place right in front of you?

(The horrible echo: “The antifreeze that I had bought to drink.  You wouldn’t have been able to stop me if I had drunk the antifreeze I bought”  Where is it now?  “Next To Me,” )

And this terrible horrible awful scene played out further in my mind.  Because you are taller and obviously stronger than me,  I could never wrestle it out of your hands.  The cops couldn’t break in.  But maybe I could talk to you.  Get you to put it down.  Get you to not feel alone. Diffuse the bomb.  Starting it all now.  As if anyone can save anyone else.  (At least I can try)

And then I thought back to not being there for you.  I had been planning to cut off all contact with anyone who had a hint of mental illness (diagnosed or not). Granted, with all my crazy artist friends, this would leave me tremendously lonely.  But I couldn’t take being that close to death. So what if we never spoke again? Life would be easier for us both, right?

And I realized, even if there was nothing I could do, that I already cared too much about you. (And about A. for that matter)  I couldn’t stop being friends (or trying anyway).  I would not be able to ignore you in the hallway, or turn my face away from your beautiful smile.

I don’t know what my role will be, or if it will cause me pain (or how much).  I love you too much to lose you.  And I will do everything in my power to keep you alive on this earth and in my life.

So I know that I email you sometimes in the middle of a workday, and you respond “Very Busy”.  But I wish you could figure out your other issues, so that you can respond to me when you are NOT busy.  And do some "work" from your side.  Because choosing to keep you in my life was a very difficult decision, and everyday your Depression makes it harder.  

And not having you as a friend is like not breathing.  It’s not something that I can do.  “You gotta go where your heart says go, isn’t that so?” said the great philosopher, Lyle Lovett.  And believe me, in Massachusetts, I was ready to let you go.  Speeding down a country road, trying to shake you from my mind.  But I couldn’t do it.  I wrote to you, saying how much I missed you.  And you wrote back immediately, saying you were just about to write to me.

I haven’t told you, but it was then that I accepted everything. Whatever your future holds, I’m there and I want to support you to be the best person you can be.  So I really don’t know what you are afraid of.  I think there may be a little agoraphobia, or you hesitate to “socialize” with people when you are feeling down.  You have darkness, I know.  

You asked me if I know, if I really know what it feels like to want to destroy yourself.  Trust me, I know.  (Someday, I’ll tell you my story) It’s all terrifying.  

And there is only one thing that can destroy it.

Invisible Magic. (i.e.Love)  The kind that will persist beyond all the petty annoyances and will remind us that we are not alone, no matter how crazy we think we are.

I still Love A.  I love you. I wish someone had been able to communicate Love to that boy who shot those 20 children and 6 adults.

And I cannot lose you.

This Too Shall Pass

Dear E,

I'm so sorry that you will grow up with the phrase "school shooting" as part of your vocabulary.

Just heard on the radio that they are reporting that there are 27 dead in Connecticut, 18 of them being children.  (I'm crying as I write this).

The first time I heard about this, I think I was in college.  It was such a shock, that anyone would be so frustrated and think that this is a way to get some kind of a revenge or whatever they think it would solve.

I wish I could teach you how to deal with all sorts of negative feelings.

The only advice I can give, is something that was give to me by one of my personal heroes.  (PT, that blonde guy on my favorite tv show.  He wrote it in my writing notebook.  I have it framed.)

THIS TOO SHALL PASS.

When you are sad, angry, upset, terrified, worried, stressed or whatever else will come to you in the course of becoming a human-just know that it is all temporary.

Don't do anything you can't take back.  Don't try to hurt yourself or others (more on this later!) and mostly, DON'T GIVE UP.

(Of course, you may realize that this means that all the good stuff will pass too.  Hold the good stuff in your heart.  Take pictures with your mind of the smiles of all of your friends.  Keep them with you at all times.  Work hard to make the Happy Moments as real as the Sad ones.  The sad ones won't need your help, they are strong enough)

I feel sometimes like I am responsible for you.  There are some cultures that say if you save someone's life, you are forever responsible for them. I don't know how I can help you, I can't protect anyone-least of all, myself.  This is why I'm collecting all these pictures of life in these moments.

These Happy Moments.  (They've helped me to get centered.  Hopefully they can help you too.)