Looking Tab The Negatives

[HAP]

Dear friends,

Time for some honesty: I haven't been right since my father and niece died in August and I have been in an existential mental crisis since the end of November.

No. I am not suicidal. I just find it very difficult to get myself to do anything that does not absolutely have to be done: clearing the snow from the driveway, fixing meals, buying, cooking and eating food. I keep whatever appointments I have with doctors and dentists. But even things I truly enjoy doing just don't get done if they don't rise to the level of a must do with immediate impact personally if I don't do them.

The deaths of my father and niece called up Jane's death all over again. It was like going back to square one, in some respects. Holding the evidence of my conception being the reason my parents got married also called up some emotional baggage I'd thought I'd buried a long time ago.

Two weeks late, I injured my knee. My doctor says rest will heal it--and it is better than it was in September, but it periodically gives me a scary twinge when it is under no strain at all that forces me to cut back on even the minimal walking I am doing now.

The ongoing situation with my teeth and gums is not helping much. I had my dental cleaning yesterday and everything is healing the way it should be. But the limits on my diet remain largely in place. I'm tired of endless bland food with no real kick to it.

In my mind, I am still a young man. But my body is beginning to argue otherwise--and I'm not happy about it. Perhaps this is just my mid-life crisis showing up 20 years after everyone else I know has already been through it.

What I do know is that I get up every day with a list of things to do both in my head and on paper. I have breakfast, do the bed-making and showering and shaving. And suddenly it's noon and nothing on my list has even been started. I've frittered away the morning reading or doing some other project that was not on the to-do list but that distracted me from what I had planned. It's avoidance behavior, plain and simple.

What am I avoiding? Last weekend, I was supposed to design the new garden beds and the orchard I want to build this summer. Why avoid that? Because those changes will make for a dramatically different yard than what Jane and I created together. It is also precisely the kind of project we would have done together and it is going to take me back into that morass the same way shoveling out the driveway has brought back all those memories the last few weeks. It's a double whammy of grief that makes everything more difficult.

I need to write three things for walkingwithjane.org and the foundation. One requires research into how the immune system works--the kind of biology research Jane was good at. But she isn't here to make sure I get the facts straight. More importantly, emotionally, it is exactly the kind of thing we would spend a night talking about and learning about together. I've got about half the research done, but every bit of it is emotionally hard to confront. I have a fundraising letter to write. I can't write it without writing about Jane. Worse, I can't write it without thinking about how what we have learned might have held off her death a bit longer--how it might have improved the quality of her life. And it hurts. Finally, i have to write people to set up our annual meeting. I know how much we've accomplished this year--but I also know how we've come up short--which means I have to honestly confront the things I've failed to do last year. And psychologically--that means admitting the ways in which I've failed to fully keep my promise to Jane to kill this thing.

And the grief book is coming very slowly. It is on a break just now because it opens up every wound all over again as though it just happened. But, again, the point is it needs to get done because it can help others. Every day I feel guilty that I haven't gotten further with it.

Logically, I know I have done all that I possibly could. Logically, I know Jane would be happy with how far I've moved the ball forward in so many areas. But I can't convince my heart to listen. It only knows a fully functional me can do better. Four years after her death I'm still not working right on the really important work in front of me. And I know it is going to take whatever time it takes--but people are hurting and my personality says the needs of the many come first--that I have to put my own issues on the shelf to help those who really need my help. It's not just what I do--it's how I'm made--it's who I am. Think Charlie Brown with the stupid football: I am going to kick that thing. And it doesn't matter that Lucy has always pulled it away at the last second because this time--like every other time--she isn't going to do that.

People die. I can't change that. Intellectually, I know that. People do evil things. I can't change that either. Intellectually, I know that, too. But I have to try because a part of me knows I can change those things.

I can't count the number of times I should have died in the last 63 years. My birth nearly killed my mother--and could have killed me in two different ways--one physical and one, something else. If my mother had died my life would have been very different than it was. Who knows where I would have gone or what I would have done? In the late 1950s, the furnace in our house started putting out carbon monoxide one night while we were all sleeping. When my father didn't show up for work, one of his coworkers called the house. The phone rang for 10 minutes before my father heard it and woke up enough to realize something was very wrong. The guy could have hung up--by all logic, should have. I'm still alive because he was stubborn. I've nearly drowned, nearly bled to death, been surrounded by a gang intent on killing me for my bike...

Every time, some random individual has done something that kept me alive--essentially said to Death, "Yes, everybody dies. But not this one, not on this day, in this time and in this place." More than once, someone has put themselves at considerable risk to keep me alive and functional. That has not made me think I am immortal or special in any way; rather, it has reminded me that while life is uncertain, so is death. I don't buy the idea that "when your number is up, your number is up." Someone can, indeed, step up and change the numbers. As someone who has had the numbers changed multiple times, I try not to hesitate when the opportunity to do so for someone else occurs.

But lately, that's been increasingly hard to do. I have seen too many deaths these past years that I could do nothing to change, starting with Jane's mother. The worst was Jane. I hate feeling impotent to do more than hold someone's hand at the end but there are times that is all any of us can do. It is all the harder when it is someone we love. Here I am trying to save the lives of strangers when there was ultimately nothing I could do for the woman I loved but hold her hand and tell her she was dying.

And if we find a cure for the cancer that killed Jane, save a 112,000 lives or three million lives, how will that matter if all of us die in the extinction event that races toward us like a freight train? How do we change those numbers?

I'm sitting here with 60+ inches of snow on my front yard. It will rain tonight and tomorrow, then flash freeze Sunday night into Monday morning as temperatures plunge back into single digits for most of next week. In Washington, the House and Senate committees on science are chaired by men ruled by a hatred of science. In North Africa and the Middle East religious lunatics behead others for the simple crime of not believing what they believe. China races to build more coal-fired power plants; American oil and natural gas companies try to restrict the growth of wind and solar power while pushing for more subsidies for fossil fuels of every kind; Russian bombers play chicken with NATO jets off the coast of England; the Doomsday Clock moves to three minutes before midnight.

I grew up in the early days of the Cold War. I've hidden under desks and trembled through unannounced air raid drills. I've had neighbors with fully stocked air raid shelters. I know what fear is and I know what it is to live in the shadow of total thermonuclear annihilation. But in that entire time, even in the Cuban Missile Crisis when I sat in the middle of a prime target area, I never felt helpless, and I never felt hopeless.

I've endured weeks and months of emotional depression in my life. I have fought through each of them, knowing that somehow I would see better days. But four years is a long time. Four years two months and eleven days is even longer. Still, I know I will get through this time of personal grief and hurt. The snows in my heart will melt as surely as the snow in my yard will do so. And flowers will bloom and bees will answer their call.

But it needs to happen soon.

I am tired of paralysis--and I can't afford it anymore. There are lives at stake.

Peace,

Harry

[KarenK]

Harry,

Your post makes my heart hurt for you. You are highly intelligent and so very compassionate. You strive so hard to attain your goals.

IMHO you are overextending and I understand this also. In some ways, it is so much easier to have a lot of irons in the fire so that you have less time to dwell on your own personal sadness. I sense a person who needs to step back a bit and just "be". Perhaps put some of your plans on hold for a while. I know we all want to outrun what has happened to us, but it can't be done. Soon we will be trampled in the race.

Please slow down & take care. You are so valuable to all of us.

Love,

Karen

[MartyT]

Harry, my dear, it amazes me how hard you can be on yourself, and I can only imagine how hard it must be to be you. Surely this is not a new trait in your personality. Surely there have been other times in your life when you've had bouts of hopelessness and despair, including when Jane was still physically present in your life ~ perhaps not to this extent, but still . . . and at such times, I cannot help but wonder what your beloved Jane would have said to you. Can you hear what she would say to you now?

You label what you are experiencing these last few weeks and months as paralysis, which implies a total inability on your part to act or to function ~ yet knowing what you've been through and what you still have managed to accomplish these last four years in spite of it all, I can think of many other labels that would fit more accurately ~ such as over-worked, over- extended, and exhausted from the work that you are doing, not to mention recovering from injuries and surgeries and mourning the deaths of your father and your niece.

You say you cannot afford to stay in this state because there are lives at stake, as if your taking time to rest, heal and recuperate is not only selfish but criminal. After all, if people will die because you dare to take some time off to take care of yourself, how can you possibly justify doing so? That would be tantamount to killing them.

You do have a way of chastising yourself for being human, my friend ~ as if the standards for your behavior must be set higher than those that exist for the rest of us.

I must say, dear Harry, that if you continue to push yourself like this, I really do fear for your physical and emotional safety. When you are this emotionally and physically depleted, your immune system becomes compromised, and you are at greater risk for illness and / or injury.

What would happen if you used this horrendous weather you're having in New England as a message from Jane, who may be trying to tell you something ~ or if not from her, at the very least as a signal (excuse? gift?) that you need to stop doing and try just being? (I remember when I was a kid during the brutal winters that would hit northern Michigan, we considered a snow day as a gift, and a string of them as a bonanza ~ as a perfect excuse either to stay under the warm covers and sleep or to go outside and play in the snow. We certainly did not see such days as an opportunity to catch up on our homework.)

I hope you will take to heart what Karen has just said to you. Her words are very, very wise. And she is right: You are valuable to all of us, and you know how we can be when we start watching you.

[annew]

It's good to hear the compassion hasn't dried up here, hope you can give yourself a break, Harry. The first person to need a break from feeling so utterly responsible for everyone is always you. I know a lot of very overwhelmed people right now and it's always the same. We need to allow ourselves some love and compassion from ourselves. I am not doing much better myself now but I recognize it in you and you saying how you feel here and reading the responses helps me consider reaching for more of a break, too. I just can't fix it all now and beating myself up doesn't change it. Blessings on us all, we deserve it so very much.

[Smudgie]

Harry,

Just remember you cant change the way the world works and try not to stress too much over things that happen far away. It is enough that you try to influence events which you have some degree of control over which I note you are doing.

There are bad things happening all over the world at this moment but there are also many good things and it has been the same since the beginning of humanity, we can only do so much as individuals and even the Obama, for all his good intentions has only been able to achieve a small part of what he really wanted due to reactionary and financial interests.

I know what you mean by having an existential mental crisis, both my wife and mother died last year, the two people on Earth who understood and unconditionally loved me and I have been thinking much about the passing of time, where it has gone and where it is going.

Best

Simon

[enna]

Harry, you have been in this place before. Hopelessness rears its ugly head when we have allowed ourselves to become smothered in our need to be “doing” rather than to simply “BE.”

These past years have consumed you with deaths ~ one death greater than another. All significant to you as you move through life trying to make sense of what your purpose is to be now.

I have learned over the years that for each death I have witnessed I must allow myself to grieve for each one and then accept that it was enough. I have lost parents, siblings, relatives, students, friends, and my dear Jim in my seventy-two years of life. All deaths were significant, but none left me as frozen as the death of Jim.

I am so sorry that you are going through this dark time. Please do what others have gently suggested to you and that is to allow yourself to rest from all the things you have been doing. Let the activities that absolutely have to be done be enough. I do not believe that you are “avoiding” anything. Rather, you are fighting with yourself to sit in your own silence and listen to those who just may be trying to tell you that they are fine and you don’t have to prove anything to them. Erase all those things you have on the chalkboard and allow your heart to take over. Our hearts are strong enough to beat to all different drummers. Yours is no different.

I hear you and am willing to sit with you. I am not afraid of the grief we find ourselves in ~ this is a safe place for us to share our journeys and I am sure I will not be the only one who waits with you as the snow melts.

Anne

[HAP]

Dear friends,

Jane was as driven as I am. It was part of the reason we got along so well. But it also is part and parcel to why she died when she did. Still, I know she would simply say--and I can hear her saying it--"Suck it up, buttercup. This is a First World problem." And to some extent, she'd be right.

That said, I have cut way back on what I've been doing. It feels uncomfortable, in part, because this is not generally how I have lived for any extended time in my entire life. Eighteen hour days of focussed effort are my "normal" going back as far as I can remember. It is only since Jane's death that I've not been able to do that. And it is supremely frustrating. I feel like a long distance runner who has lost, temporarily, the use of his legs and begins to wonder if they are ever coming back.

But I am a farmer, as well. I know I have to be patient--that pulling on the carrots won't make them grow any faster and, in fact, will kill them if I do so. So I have let myself read and sit and be mindful. I have meditated and done my breathing and voice exercises. I've been gentle with my knee, gentle with my body, gentle with my emotions and my mind. When things have hurt, I've backed off them--I haven't really touched the grief book since just before Christmas. I want to get it done because I think the process of writing it will be good for me. But when it hurt too much, I set it aside while I process what it churned up.

And I've been very patient, until today, with not getting to the things I want to do each day. I know, most of the time, that I am resting and recovering and grieving and that what is happening is both normal and necessary. My mind and body will let me know when I can pick up the full load again.

But this weather has me on edge. At first, I was perfectly happy to see those "snow days." But every snowstorm has brought Jane's absence to the forefront. We would shovel together, then come in to hot chocolate and snuggles. The weather keeps reminding me of how much I've lost and how much I miss her. It reminds me of how bitter losing her at that precise moment--six months from retirement--was and is. We had planned to put our burdens down and do only what we wanted to do. That meant reading and writing and watching guilt-free movies and television. It meant playing in the garden and designing new beds to build together. It meant hiking and climbing and sitting by our favorite lake. My plan was also to go back to the woodworking I'd enjoyed in my youth. Jane was looking forward to playing tennis whenever she wanted.

Instead...well, you all know what being a widow or widower is like. You all know what the loneliness is like, know what it is like to be in a roomful of people who have no idea what you are feeling or thinking. You all know what it is like to have every dream you once owned shattered in front of you. You don't need me to describe any of it stretching on in front of you like the steppes of Russia. We all have days, weeks, months when it hurts so badly and all you can do is smile like "Patience on a monument" because you have to put a brave face on to deal with the world that does not get any of it.

Today, I went over the edge. I hate feeling this way. I hate feeling impotent and useless. Two more people I knew in NET cancer support groups died today. Two others are in the hospital and a third went into hospice care yesterday. Another had her latest brain radiation treatment this week. One member of my walk team told me the treatment that had held her tumors in check for the last four years has stopped working. Another team member underwent liver ablation two weeks ago. They all feel like family. Part of me is angry that I let myself care about them so much that their deaths matter to me. But if I didn't care about them that way I would cease to be the person I am that I like. I can't stop caring about people--even people I don't know. And if I care... I don't know how to back away when I see someone hurting that I don't know; I've no way to back away from someone I do. And I refuse to become a hermit. I spend too much time in this cave as it is.

But I do understand the need to rest. I'll be in no position to do anyone any good from a hospital bed--or a grave. So I'll leave things throttled down a while longer. I'll do what absolutely needs to be done and try not to feel overly guilty about the things I don't get to as quickly as I'd like to. But I've read sixteen 600-page novels since Christmas and I really do need to find something that feels at least marginally productive to do at some point.

Peace,

Harry

[kayc]

Harry, the most important life that is at stake is yours. I learned many years ago when I was in my 20s that if I didn't first take care of myself, I would be of no use to anyone else. That's not just physically taking care of myself, it's caring about myself, what makes me tick, what's important to me, etc. It seems I've been relearning that in a new way in the last 1 1/2 years since I retired and have had multiple injuries and then health issues. I have learned a whole new way of cooking and rather that look back at the foods I can no longer have, I am enjoying trying new things. Today I made a huge salad, made some Kale Soup, made a fruit salad, had a friend over to share lunch. Tonight I fixed some homemade Boca Burgers and froze some of them. They're wonderful and healthy! I was proud of myself when I got groceries yesterday, I spent $87 and my basket was mostly full of vegetables! Tomorrow may make a Kale Smoothie. I have so many dietary restrictions, and they're for life...I'm not supposed to have red meat (Gout, cholesterol), sugar or white flour (Diabetes), hot peppers, fish, too much garlic, asparagus (allergies). I have to eat very low fat (gallbladder removal). I need to continue losing weight (Cirrhosis of the liver). You put all this together and you think, "What can I eat?" Vegetables, fruit, beans, chicken, brown rice, oatmeal. These are my mainstays. It is challenging but it is also fun to see what I can come up with.

Perhaps you can work on balance...maybe something to "accomplish" in the day, but also schedule time to "fritter"...it's allowed!

It doesn't sound like a mid-life crisis to me but maybe more of an age catching up to you...like it does all of us. I've certainly found that to be true! I've admired your drive, but I've also mentioned balance...I worry you try to do too much and like you feel you are responsible for the whole world...it's too much for anyone.

Your book will wait until you are ready. You may have a little low grade depression going on...I recognize the symptoms I've experienced...one of which is lack of desire in things I always enjoyed. It comes and goes and isn't too bad, but it does prevent me from doing some things as I once would have.

[MartyT]

And there is this: We'll All Die One Day. Isn't It Time We Got Used to The Idea?

[feralfae]

Harry,

Who said sometimes we must break down before we break through?

I think you had to reach a place to allow more self-awareness of the needs of your body and Spirit, and now you are acknowledging your awareness of this shift. I know I had to be pretty far out on a limb before I could admit that I could not do it all any more. I had to honor my grief, my body, and my lack of balance.

Remember Bill's Mary, and how she finally, slowly, slowed down? Kay is so right about balance. And that balance is going to feel wonderful when we can stand there, in peace and harmony. I think we are almost constantly re-adjusiting our balance as we heal, grow, learn, and begin to open. But once we begin to experience the balance of most areas of our lives, we learn to relax and enjoy ourselves a bit more, and give ourselves time and "recess" to grow and explore who we are becoming.

Becoming is what we are doing now, I think. We are shifting our balance— picking up things, putting things down, rearranging things, finding our new way of being. I feel as though I am only lately coming to know and understand, accept and have some compassion toward and for this new, emerging Me. And her needs for rest, food, social life, creativity, quiet time, and so much more have changed radically from Who She Was Before. Kay is experiencing the same re-balancing and shifting, think.

I am glad to see you sitting down and bringing more awareness to this shifting. Making space for it. I am reading and learning from your words, as well as those of others posting here. Thank you.

*<twinkles>*

fae

Well done article, thank you Marty, for that link.

fae

[HAP]

Dear friends,

If I had a family motto to hand down to my children it would be drawn from two literary sources: All men die; the question is what will you do with the time you are given." It would not fit on a shield very well. Jane always said I was a bit long-winded.

By the time I was 14 I understood, in no uncertain terms, just how fragile human life in general, and my life in particular, was. We are all bags of water; put a hole in us in the right place and that precious liquid leaks out at an ungodly and unsustainable rate. I knew this from firsthand experience. I still wear the scar that reminds me of that on my left arm. I knew it from secondhand experience, as well. We had all seen the assassination of John Kennedy on television when I was 11. I remember the killing shot vividly. I've had firsthand and secondhand experiences that have served as booster shots several times since, seemingly at regular intervals.

I understand, as the poet says, that "I have a rendezvous with death." I hope that death will be quiet and peaceful and painless when it comes. It probably won't be. Most of the deaths I have witnessed have been drawn out affairs that were anything but pleasant. And I am more a disciple of Dylan Thomas (Do not go quietly into that good night...rage, rage against the dying of the light.) than I am of anyone else. I will not go quietly--I will fight dirty, as one character says in Red Noses, a musical comedy about the Black Death in Europe. As my mother-in-law once said, "I wasn't invited to this party, but I am in no hurry to leave."

But I'm not particularly obsessive about my death, either. It will come, eventually. I'll deal with that piece when it arrives--and not before, other than making sure my will is in order.

Buddha says, "Life is suffering." That's as far as most people go in trying to understand Buddhism. The Tao says, "Do nothing." That is as far as most people go in trying to understand Taoism. The Koran says, "There is no God but Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet." That is as far as most people go in trying to understand Muslim belief. Depending on the type of Christian, most reduce that religion to a similar phrase that pretends to be all they want or need to know. Those phrases leave out all of the nuances that are the real foundation of each of those faiths. Context matters.

Our lives each create the context of who we are and what we think and do. Each of us sees the world through our individual lens. Our experiences shape what we believe and how we apply those beliefs to our daily lives. They inform how we respond to other people. That context often determines how we use the time we are given.

Most people have children. They achieve a kind of immortality through that. Their children carry not only their genetics into the future but also their values. Jane and I were childless. It gave us a different perspective than most people have. It is a fact that colored our actions and beliefs--and that still colors my actions and beliefs today. What I say--and especially what I say in writing--is the only certain immortality I can have. Everything I do takes place in that context. But there are other things that provide context as well. This is just one example of it.

We are further hamstrung by the fact we have only words with which to communicate with each other. People talked to Jane and I frequently about the idea of balance in life--that we worked too hard and gave too much. But we loved what we did--and within the context of our lives we were in perfect balance in everything that we did. Where others saw imbalance, we saw the union of vocation and avocation in harmony. We were happy.

Losing Jane has thrown me entirely out of balance in many aspects of my life. Leaving teaching further unbalanced things. Had I been wiser, I might have passed on retirement for another year or two. But I also know that it was time for that piece of my life to end. That wind had been rising long before Jane got sick. I ignore what the wind tells me at my peril. The required paperwork that had nothing to do with teaching--and that I have seen destroy many otherwise fine teachers--would have made everything I was doing as a teacher physically impossible. And there was new work that needs doing.

That work is not keeping me from mourning. In some respects, it does just the opposite. It brings me in daily, constructive contact with pieces of Jane's death part of me would like to avoid. But it also takes me out of myself in ways that are useful as well. Otherwise, I could spend too much time looking at Jane's death in ways that would not be healthy. Yes, there has to be some balance between work and play; but there also has to be balance between grief and everything else. I understand that grief is a total focus after the shock wears off--but it can't stay that way without serious health consequences of its own. We have to honor our need to grieve and give ourselves space and time to do so. But it cannot be the total focus of our lives forever, either.

Part of my crisis has been brought on by the realization that I am too often on the edge of becoming one who is merely waiting for death. All my life I have tried to be a liver. I am not just passing through, I am not following life or death or waiting for death to pick me up like a package at the baggage counter. But since Jane's death, living, as I mean the word, has been very difficult. I've always worked to understand the past so i could learn from it; I've always planned for the future because it works better than not planning for the future; but I've simultaneously lived in the moment, fully conscious of what I am doing and fully focussed on that. Doing so now is very difficult--and extremely frustrating.

I understand that you are all concerned for my physical and mental well-being. I am, too. And these three long posts, as well as your responses, have helped me figure some things out to try over the next several days. They've also helped me put some things in better perspective than when I started. I feel better than I did this morning. Some of the weight has come off my shoulders--and that is a big help.

It's 2:30 a.m. I think the next order of business is some sleep. Thank you all for listening and saying what you've said. It really has helped.

Peace,

Harry

[kayc]

I read the article but again, I think balance is in order. If a person is spending all of their energy in trying to outwit death, surely it is in vain and all of their obsession is spent vainly, missing the presence of the moment, our one true gift. However, I'd never mean to imply that we shouldn't try to live healthy or beat disease, or learn about our bodies, or support cures for disease. Disease/death took our loved ones! It seems the enemy to us, as it robbed us of our most valuable asset...our loved one. How can we think otherwise? I realize that death is not truly the enemy, for it is something that comes to all of us. I realize we are not promised any given years. However, tell that to a pregnant 27 year old that just lost her husband! Tell that to the one that just found the right one, after a lifetime, only to lose him. Tell that to the one who has five children at home and no wife to be their mama. To die prematurely, needlessly, seems a cruel joke! If we could stave it off a few years even, we'd feel our striving to live healthy would not be in vain. I know, we all hear of the person who lived to be 100 eating bacon and eggs for breakfast every day. That's rare. Most of us did not get blessed with those genes. But does it not make sense, when you have learned a thing or two about your health, to do your best to live healthy to have quantity and quality of life? We can't outsmart death, but with God's grace, perhaps we can prolong it.

[HAP]

Kay, thanks for putting so well my reaction to that article. It is one thing to accept death. It is entirely something else to surrender to it sooner than we have to or to set up conditions that bring about an early death rather than trying to do that which will keep us healthy and give us a longer period of high quality life.

[kayc]

I have a granddaughter to meet and get to know (she's due in May), I don't want to miss any of her life any more than I have to...I have people and things to live for yet...and so I am striving to get as healthy as possible in order to do so. Funny, we just had a discussion on FB about predestination. Some think everything is "predestined", meaning God's already determined everything. I and many other take it to mean He already knows our choices and so has predestined us, but that does not mean we do not have choices and thus to some extent determine our own destiny, we do! Our freedom of choice was costly but one of our greatest gifts.

I have a sister that has never exercised, is Diabetic but has a drawer full of candy bars, which she eats every day. She is a heavy smoker and refuses to try and quit. She doesn't care how long she lives and assumes she'll die peaceably in her sleep one night. I've tried to tell her it doesn't work like that, she could have a stroke (they run in our family and our grandmother was comatose after hers for 13 years until her death) and be literally imprisoned in her body for years as a result of the choices she's making. But she refuses to change. I understand I can't change her and it's her choice, but I also resent that she doesn't care that we (her family) will be deprived of her way too soon as a result of her choices.

I don't want my family to feel that way about me when I go. I don't think we need to become fanatical, living at the gym, jogging morning, noon and night, but we should at least take care of our bodies, eat healthy and get some exercise...let the times we eat the stuff that's bad for us be few and far between treats in moderation rather than filling up on them as a mainstay. It's just as important to have prayer/meditation in our lives and de-stress. So important to incorporate balance in all things!

[HAP]

Thanks, Kay.

[shalady]

Harry, I'm sorry you have been having such a difficult time. You have been through so very much. I am glad you will throttle down and take some time for yourself. You are in my thoughts and prayers.

Shalady