I left a bit of a cliffhanger on my last blog, and I owe it to Laura and Bridget, and those that read the blog, to bring it to a conclusion.
I did attend. The video screening, for me, was a disappointment. Too much artistry and not
enough focus on the actual ‘rich’ life of Bridget. However, if the event was not what I had
expected, the dinner prior with my mutual friend was unexpectedly pleasant, even soothing.
We reminisced about shared events, found moments to laugh, balanced with some sobering
moments where we raised a glass to those no longer with us. The list grows longer each time, not unexpected as we first met a half-century ago.
My first takeaway, now that I’ve had some time to process all the emotions involved, was it’s
important to remember, even celebrate. Despite the pain that came when my relationship with Laura ended, and the subsequent difficult events involving her daughter, I have no regrets.
There is a song by a band named Beartooth that my son introduced me to, entitled ‘I Was Alive’.
It differentiates between living and being alive. Give it a listen.
It may bring pain at times, but being alive, for me is the only option.
My second takeaway goes back to the dinner. Yes, remember, grieve, rejoice, or quietly
contemplate memories from those in our past, especially those that we cared about deeply. But, look at those we have now in our lives, who enrich us and succor us on a regular basis. I’m lucky. I have a wonderful partner, children (an absolute charmer of a grandson), great friends, and a broad range of interests and activities that keep me engaged and yes, dare I say it, ‘alive’.
Sometimes it’s too easy to lapse into habits that distract us from the vital importance of
consciously ‘being there’ each day. I know I fall victim to it, as an example, when I’m
overwhelmed by the negative news of the day.
I don’t for a moment pretend this is some deep insight. Rather, it’s a reminder to live each day fully. And cherish those that matter. That, simply put, is my goal.
A last footnote: I referenced my English project from university and said there was one poet who fell outside of the early age when most English poets wrote their best work. I am tempted to tell you who it was and the title of the poem. Tempted, but I will hold on to it for now. Another ‘cliffhanger’ to hopefully keep you engaged.
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