I've been quite low on the happiness index.
Researching possible causes for my health is dangerous, not to mention pretty damn stupid.
Pain and circulation that jumps on and off in my hands and feet.
Tiredness to the level of steeling myself when the kids must get dried off after a shower.
And then one of my students fell off a first floor balcony, landed on his head and died this week.
A life not lived out in the full sense: no old age, no quiet passing after a long and contented life.
He has the same first name as Son#2.
Son#1 is visiting with the in-laws and is missed terribly here at home.
Sons#2 and #3 dress up in superhero suits, hide in the kitchen with lots of noise and strategy talks and then ask me to come and find them.
Where does one hide in a kitchen?
They kiss me often, and that is precious.
When I'm not feeling utterly sorry for myself, I micromanage my moments of living.
There is still a life to experience, regardless of what I hear next week, regardless of pain and discomfort
My existence hasn't been snuffed out like my 22 year-old student's has.
I'm still alive.
I still have hope.
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