October Now...for Better or Worse

So it's October...let's see what I can make of this month, when I turn 69, the same age David Bowie reached when he died of liver cancer two days after his January 2016 birthday.  I don't know what all is in store for me, but I have already defined my enemy: those who deliberately set themselves as obstacles to my daily existence.  In other words, drama-queen prima-donnas. I'm already NOT looking forward to this contrived Grief Share "support" group that meets Wednesday evenings at a nearby church.  It's one of the sad life lessons I've learned that folks, when they get old, tend not to become wiser but rather entrench themselves even more in trying to set themselves apart and higher than others around them, acutely conscious of their "pecking order" status.  So I guess I'll go there and humor these deluded fools.  I think, though, that I'd rather just stay at home and spend the time preparing for our upcoming cruise.  I'm seriously considering writing separate daily articles through October 10th and then, after returning, "back-posting" them on this blog.  Or maybe not. I'm wondering, since I'll generally be avoiding the news shows on TV, whether I'll be spared some of this accursed fascist president's antics as he continually seeks to be the center of attention and controversy. And I suppose that there is another enemy out there: the completely effed-up, morally bankrupt weapons nut who feels justified at settling scores by going after random people in public. Has my country lost its collective mind?  Doesn't look so good, let's see how the high seas do for a few days...

Support Groups, Fight Club and Grief

When I was nine, I was going to a brand-new public school: Nova Blanche Forman Elementary School, known then more commonly and simply as Nova Elementary.  Over time I made a few friends out there in Davie, cowboy country in south Florida.  One day a few of us got together and informally established our own fight club, transforming into a sport and ritual an activity usually reserved for bullies and angry kids.  Surprisingly, it lasted longer than you might think, although with my ribs poking through my chest...making me look like a concentration camp survivor...I quickly got tired of the good-natured blows that naturally would come my way.  So I totally got the meaning behind the concept of an adult fight club, presented with such force in that 1999 same-titled movie. My son Will revealed, though, that this movie went down into a rabbit hole of plot twists and deeper meaning, so one evening I began to watch it...from the beginning.  Presented in the first person, the narrator...played by Edward Norton...is suffering from extreme insomnia stemming from his depression about his mundane, boring life.  He hits upon the strategy of participating in support groups to cure his insomnia, even though he usually doesn't have any connection with the groups' themes.  So my exposure to support groups, along with the way they go around in a circle during discussion time with the members spilling their hearts out, began in full earnest with this movie.  Earlier this evening I attended a "grief care" support group presented at a local church...Melissa suggested it.  I'm not sure what I see myself getting from it, but there I am, within this group.  We're committed to anonymity about the people in it as well as the specific stories told. Had I still been working and not retired like I did, I'd have the perfect excuse for avoiding it...I just DON'T LIKE support groups.  Earlier I mentioned that Will was the one who told me about the movie Fight Club: his recent passing is the core reason behind this support group having me "in" it.  Like the protagonist Jake Epping in Stephen King's wonderful novel 11/22/63, I am not a crying man by nature...although the tears are often simmering just under the surface.  I just never thought of life as being endless: it's mortal, with our life spans on Earth bracketed between the year of our birth and that of our deaths.  This mortal physical body that goes by the name William "Bill" "Billy" Irwin belongs to the life span begun in 1956, and the end year has yet to reveal itself.  I am dead to the year 1856, and most likely won't extend to the year 2200 as well (unless Putin's dubious immortality vaccine comes to the rescue).  I'm also dead to wherever my body isn't...I'm looking out the window and my life isn't there: it's here, seated at this keyboard writing this.  The HERE AND NOW, in essence, defines me in a subjective sense and cannot be quantified by physical science in any objective manner. My eventual experience of dying will, of necessity, be conceptually very different from what others experience about my death from their viewpoints.  It's a great quandary, this gulf between subjective awareness and objective observation, and since time marches on without regard to how I feel about anything, I might as well relax and entertain a sense of inner peace about it all, tedious support group or not.  Either I'll survive others or they'll survive me...

My Dear Sister-in-Law Krista Passes Away

My dearly beloved sister-in-law Krista Bailey sadly passed away yesterday evening at 10:47 due to complications arising from an aggressive form of leukemia.  She had been staying at the ET York Hospice, Care Center off Northwest 39th Avenue here in Gainesville.  Krista was a beautiful person and a blessing to Melissa as her little sister.  She had such a wonderful, refreshing sense of humor, a direct way of communicating and in her own way was quite brilliant.  Her husband James, her true soul mate, had tragically died four years ago, and she moved back to Gainesville from Kentucky less than a year ago.  Krista is survived by Melissa and her brother Keith, as well as her daughter Amy and granddaughter Tabitha.  For me the month of July is becoming a rather dark month, with Krista's recent passing and my son Will's accidental death on the 18th last year.  May all who knew Krista derive comfort and peace from God in this time of mourning.  I am truly saddened by her absence.  Once again I'm a "survivor"...and it brings more grief...