How their death shows your salt.

I am not writing about the death of a movie star this morning.

I am not writing about the death of a friend or relative. 

I am writing about the death of a human.

Yesterday, like much of the world, I read the sad news of Paul Walker's death.

I was instantly sad with the sight of his picture that was attached. It was a somber photo. He was looking down and had a smirk. I was sad about his death, the untimeliness of it all... 

About 10 days ago I lost a friend. 

My neighbor of 10 years.

He was not only my friend but he was a son, a husband and a Father. 

He was an eye, I always felt, watching over my house and my family when my husband was away. 

He was the man that we smiled and and waved to on a weekly basis. 

He was always smiling.

He worked on his boat and smoked the salmon that he caught, always sharing. Always smiling.

The sudden passing of my friend, 54 years young, has kept me in a constant state of worry. 

I worry about my own mortality. I worry about my husband. 

What would he do without me? Or worse yet, what would we do without him?

I am sad and in a somewhat dark place, as death tends to lend itself to the dark side. I am coping though. Remembering the good, trying not to focus too much on the fact that I will never see him again.  That his children will be without him. His beautiful wife. Her sadness is my sadness. I will be a good friend to her, even though I am paralyzed to help. I can do nothing to make her feel better. I can only be her friend and that will have to be enough- for both of us.

Before going to sleep last night I couldn't believe the jokes and rude comments about Paul Walker's death. There were people who were actually saying his death didn't matter. There were "friends" of mine that were writing about what they believed to be unjust shock waves- "if it had been De Niro".... seriously, I read that.

People are attempting to make jokes about the Fast and Furious movies, how he wasn't a good enough actor to be sad over. 

My stomach turned and I got really really angry.

What if this was my neighbor? What if someone wrote that about my friend?

That is the way it felt, because Paul was someone's neighbor. He was someone's son and friend and he was someone's Father. 

Would these "friends" say this about their neighbor? How they weren't good enough to be remembered? I can't say that they wouldn't. I can say that they are no longer people I associate with because I can take a lot, I can read ridiculous political opinions and still be your "friend". You can talk about Obamacare all you want, or the war or the GMO's. You can ask me to support something I don't believe in, you can talk about your God. I can really see the difference in all of us. I can accept, not support, a lot of things but I cannot accept, support or even be remotely associated with making light of someone's death. 

They are dead. 

They are gone.

Never coming back. 

Not to be in anymore movies, or smoke anymore fish.

RIP

Roof chicken.

I have been getting a lot of pity looks lately. Maybe it is because I look like absolute shit or maybe it is because people feel that I need it?

I don't.

People ask how long Eddie has been gone, or I just share the stats for conversation purposes and it is instantly a pity party. And I LOVE parties!

But not this kind of party.

It's startling, I'll admit, when you hear that he will be with us for 9 days out of approx. 270 (who's counting? HA!) but it is what we do. It is who we are right now. It is not easy, it's hard and it sucks but it is, for better or worse, all we know.

Damn, that sounds depressing.

I often think how much in common we have with military families but then I pull those thoughts back because to say what we are doing is remotely like what they are doing is just wrong. Similar in the tiniest way and that is still nothing. I can't imagine but I can imagine they get the pity party too. And I would have to say that they knew what they were getting into as well.

Anyway-

I appreciate concern and help. I am never one to shy away from a friend who likes to lend a hand or an ear. Even those who shower us with love, be it mail, food or alcohol, I will always be thankful and grateful.

I just don't want your pity.

I don't get to wake up next to my husband every day.
This is true.
I don't get to go on a date with him. Ours consist of Facetime and phone calls, sometimes at 2 a.m. so I can get a chance to talk- kids need their FT too.

I do 100% of the parenting 90% of the time and even though sometimes I feel like I am doing everything wrong, pleasing seemingly no one, looking a mess.

Don't feel sorry for me.

Because this is my life. This is what I am choosing to do with it and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Right now.
There are things that are starting to make me wonder if we are doing it right, and so begins our next journey. I need to come up with a cool thing to call "it". The word "journey" is forever attached to the cheesy band (I'm not hating on your bad choice in music) so that is not right. "Adventure" sounds like we are going to the jungle and "next step" sounds like I am going back to rehab.
None of these fit the bill. It'll come to me...

So when you are thinking about your friend who's life is much different than yours but they are happy and healthy- don't give them sad eyes. Sometimes the most insane things for us are quite perfect for another.

Had to tell her.

I had to tell my daughters doctor about her scare. It was rough reliving it. In person, especially. 

I wrote the blog entry about it and have just been dealing with my anxiety, quietly and waiting for myself to get over it. 

Today, as I retold the horrifying story, I realized (even though I said I would never get over it) that I really will NEVER get over it. 

Never. 

Damn.