Like and Love

     I have always found it incredibly easy to fall into like with someone; the sound of their voice, the way a sentence is crafted, maybe the way their hair tips just down over the outside corner of one eye. These little nuances turn my heart so quickly that I can like you in the blink of an eye. Love takes longer, but sometimes, not too much longer. And when I love you, I love you for real and forever with no mistake. I won't tell you I love you until I'm really sure, as the words can't be returned to the shelf once the book is open.
     When I say I love you, I mean each one of those words. I will love you when we can’t see each other, and for some of you, even though we may never or have never seen each other in the flesh. I will love you if we have a fight or even if we are polar opposites on a topic of great importance, because we can’t all think the same. I might learn from you and you might learn from me and therefore we should love each other even more while we work through it. I will love you even if you leave me, if you turn your back and never talk to me again and pretend that I don’t exist anymore. Even then will I love you. I will love you if God takes you from me, physically or mentally, because I guess you’re just not supposed to be mine anymore in this time and space. And believe you me that when I say I love you, you are mine and I am yours and that is the way it is to be. It doesn’t matter if you’re male or female, human, cat, or even the occasional dog.
     In general, I can't turn it off. To be completely fair though, I have found a way to flip the switch in less than a handful of instances, most notably with my father. I'm sure that as a little child I loved him once, but fear and then anger at his actions and words made me realize that he was no longer deserving of my love. I have no recollection of a happy time with him, and if you know me well, you know I remember everything. It's a blessing and a curse.
     Some of you may be thinking that with all this talk of like and love, my dear sweet husband must not appreciate my thought process. But what does he care who I like or I love, being secure in the knowledge of his position in my Marvel universe? I am his shield maiden, his muse, the one who remembers where his good belt is. That’s a different playing field entirely.
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     I also write to you about love, because this morning I learned that Dan, someone I told you about last July, has taken a dramatic turn for the worse. One of my co-workers told me this morning, eyes not daring to look at me while she spoke, that he has been placed on life support. The family is waiting for a long distance grand daughter to arrive this weekend, and then they're going to say their good byes and unplug him. Knowing Dan, I'm 100% positive that he probably has all of his health care directives written to say no machines, thank you very much. He stopped by just a week ago. Hair wispy, cheeks sunken, his coat was perceptibly loose. But that's cancer and chemotherapy and radiation therapy for you. The people you love are eaten from the inside by a disease that's imperceptible until the end, as the treatment destroys the outside while it "works." Forgive my cynicism. This disease ends so many stories long before they should come to a close.
     I will not stop loving the overwhelming majority of you though, loving your faces, your strength, your skills, your craft, the way you smile or sing or move like water across my heart. I will love you even when you're grumpy or distant, or even if you break my heart. And I will most certainly love you when the machines go silent.

Goodbye, Roger

     2 years ago, I wrote here about a client named Roger. When he visited me that day in mid January 2016 he had recently put his dog Milo to sleep after a rather sudden and horrible illness was diagnosed. The vet had told Roger that this was really his only choice. You may recall that Roger had told me that as he held Milo in his lap while he died, that he had wished the vet would have put the rest of what was in the syringe in him.
     This morning I learned that Roger killed himself. He died maybe 2 weeks ago, but they just found his body. I had told you that Roger's partner of 25 years, Jane, had died several years before we first met. He had not recovered from her loss. Milo had given him strength for some time. We had talked over the last two years about a business venture he wanted to try and about him forming a better relationship with Jane's son. Now I know that the questions about protecting his assets and adding beneficiaries were not born from necessary estate planning from an overly-prepared and physically fit man in his mid sixties thinking about the future. He knew his future, and he was putting all  his ducks in a row.
     I do wish that he and I would have had the sort of relationship where he might have mentioned his intentions, although I know full well that there is precious little I could have done to stop him. It is trite and simple to say that suicide is never the answer, and it's always darkest before the dawn, and there's so much to live for and don't be so selfish ... but these statements are the sort that assholes make, and I try really hard not to be an ass.
     But I would have said, Roger, my friend, how can I help you? Would you let me get you some help? Make some phone calls? Can we get a cup of coffee and you can talk about what's going on, what you're thinking about. Please let me help you. For Jane. For Milo. To think that he lay there alone in his home, his last breaths unheard, his last thoughts unvoiced. He's not going to ever come into my office again and say, hey kiddo, with that crooked grin.
     I've never been very good at saying good-bye.

     If you or someone you love or care for or know in passing is in crisis, I urge you to keep the National Suicide Prevention Hotline in your phone. It's available 24 hours. 1.800.273.8255
They also have a online chat: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/