I had a dream about Joe the other night. He was a little boy, about five years old. There were a lot of people milling about and Joe was fervently trying to say something, but no one was listening. It made me sad...
Joe died four years ago today, November 23. Someone asked the other day how I am doing. I answered, “fine…ish” and smiled. It’s difficult to answer that question honestly; I assume most people don’t really want to hear that I’m often on the verge of tears. Sometimes I think I am missing Joe more and more as time goes by.
And yet, I really am fine. Life is good, my relationships are good, I am active and productive and generally content. Surely I’m not the only one who walks around in a jumble of contrasting emotions.
I find it is often Joe’s example spurring me to valuable activities. Whether I am volunteering for a local charity, writing, learning a new skill, or playing the piano, it was probably Joe’s voice in my head that got me off my rear and doing something useful that day. I know I've said this before, but, I am a better person because I knew Joe.
I will never stop missing my son. And I hope people never stop asking how I’m doing—it shows they care. I need that, even if I fumble to answer appropriately.
So, I’m fine. And sad. But fine. Pretty much.
Thanks for asking, my friend.