Things that mean Nothing

I read the obituary of Jack's friend's cousin who died Thursday night in his sleep. Falsely, it seems now, we are taught that after the first 12 months, sleep is a safe place to leave your babies.

I have to admit, I still check on mine some nights when I wander the house, who-knows-what keeping me awake, baby kicking or money. I don't know why I check still, because I'm not worried, not really.

I worry about the "C" word.

I worry with car rides and field trips.

I have the worry that some kid will bring a gun to school.

But I don't worry about sleep. I'm sure that sweet kid's mother didn't either.

It's things like this that I need to recall more often, not to be grisly or mean hearted, but so that I can remember that when I start to loose my temper or roll my eyes or complain, that I remember how badly, I'm certain, that Duncan's aunt and uncle would love to lose their tempers or roll their eyes at some obnoxiousness caused by their 13 year old again.

Things like this happen and I make note of them at the time and make extra effort to try and relax myself in how I treat my kids. Somehow, I always forget.

As terrible as it sounds, maybe it would help to keep a list of these families who will never again be the same, will never be whole again, and look them over often enough to keep from forgetting just how lucky we have been so far and just how ridiculous some of my rants are.

Really, you squashed grapes and didn't clean them up?


Really, you dropped yogurt on the new couch?

This stuff, means NOTHING.

We aren't guaranteed squat in life. It doesn't matter how much money you have or the amount of degrees hanging on your wall (or shoved in the attic). It doesn't matter how much you love someone.

There's no way to hide from sorrow. Not forever.

I am not one of those "God never gives you more than you can handle" people, but I do believe that we can handle much more than we think we can and that we truly do shape our own lives and situations by our actions, by our words and by our attitudes.

Basically the same idea.

I am not always the best example of this, but my dad was an expert. Even when he knew he was dying, he made the most of every day-going to the Masters and talking somebody into letting him in a car around Bristol Motor speedway. He never lost his spirit, never lost his humor and he never lost his love for life.

My dad and I had issues, big issues, but I think those are the qualities I admire most about him. Not that he was a judge, not that he was smart. Even though he had faults, I'm convinced his outlook helped him live longer.

I am learning to appreciate him more after his death than I ever did when he was alive.

I hope that this family can eventually take on his attitude, and perhaps they already have. I don't know them, other than from what the utter sadness in Duncan's mom voice could give away, that their child was important and loved.

Even though their lives will forever be imbalanced, I hope they can find the strength to be happy again.

And I hope that they won't mind that I use them as an example to keep my memory fresh and tongue in check.