A few weeks ago I wrote a piece out about going to funerals, in a stretch where I am probably beginning to face mortality. Right now, in the wake of several deaths of my peers, I am looking hard at life, and crazy-grateful for the turn it has taken over the last few years. For the longest time, I didn’t really care if I lived. I wasn’t going to go put a bullet in my head, but I wasn’t taking care of myself at all, and I have gotten in the worst sort of shape, but at least am still breathing.
My fitness is coming back, and mentally, I am solid, like never before. I just wish that those that have passed could see me, or know what I know now. Maybe it is my daughter, maybe it’s just some different manifestation of mid-life crisis, but it’s good.
As I’ve alluded too, a little time has passed since this was written, but I found it hiding in my Zoho stacks, and wanted to post it. Since this batch of funerals, there have been more, but the feeling about them hasn’t passed.
