Same Room, Different Chair

The boat won’t even start. My car’s fuel pump wails loudly each time she decides to turn over, and God knows when and where she decides to give up the ghost and strands me at the worst possible moment. And my front door has swollen so much that it refuses to shut. I just don’t open it, like the stack of bills piling up on the kitchen counter – don’t open it, and it won’t give you any grief. The front door remains sealed, just like the mail that arrives daily.

The whole world seems out of order as of recent. Well, since the summer at least... ever since Gloria’s diagnosis. It was almost like her AML was a precursor to a series of unfortunate events; a foreshadowing of another blight upon our crops. But this story does not involve locusts or killer bees. The evil do’ers are staring back at us. We have seen the enemy and they are us. But I digress… no one e.v.e.r. sets oneself up for cancer. It just happens.

I find new perspectives on life each time I sit in a different chair, or drive home a different way. It’s like looking at Duval Street from a parade participant rather than a spectator. The Good Captain Tony’s farewell sendoff was yesterday, and in honor of him, his family and my former employee Tony Jr, it was appropriate that I participate in the funeral service and his celebration of life parade down to the saloon. It was only the 3rd time I’d ever been to St Mary’s Star of the Sea Catholic Church. All three times was to say good bye to the human body and say hello to the spirit – a segway between flesh and spirit that happens twice in a lifetime but celebrated and ministered to with formality only once. So I found myself out of my comfort zone and in a new point of view about life. At a funeral no less… but that’s why we do that, right? To remember, laugh, cry, and remember that every heartbeat counts. A sobering look at an old standard.

So yeah, things are different in our brave new world. Folks we knew as “regulars” are gone, business as usual is only a glimmer in the rearview mirror, and the things we counted on become unreliable. Mumma is okay. Not great, not bad, just ya know, okay. Her days seems filled with doctor visits, lab tests, trips to the pharmacy, and the occasional date with a bag of blood platelets. Disease and disappointments have purpose; it brings to the surface the things that matter. It’s a distillation process. And what’s left is the good stuff. If the disease and/or disappointment takes on the guise of Leukemia, or a car accident, or a downturn in business, so be it… what’s left is what’s important. For everyone who gets the message, the distillate is love. Each and every one of you who get a chance to read this, I know you understand. I rather like to think that God has programmed us to “get it” when we most need to hear his calling. So lift up thine eyes and prick up your ears. Tell someone you love them today. And sit in a different chair… both actions summon up the same significance.