Well it looks like I have a lot to work through this month.  Trying to figure out why I am stressed I came up with the following list.  Maybe y6our list is longer than you think too.

My grown daughter Lori has moved back home after ten years living in California.  Glad and cautiously optimistic.

I discovered that wanting to be included in an event does not necessarily mean I want to attend.

I'm trying to finish my screenplay but not motivated to do so.

I'm motivated to work through my poetry but partially blocked.  Unwilling to work through it … there's something there.

I finally reorganized my old bookroom (a new guestroom) and my new bookroom.

Reading a book on reprogramming your brain … involves working through issues.  Not everything is about what everyone/anyone else does.  Some of it is mine but it's tangled together.

I'm going to Israel next month.  Anxious and nervous about traveling after a stroke and with new memory and physical issues.

I'm having communication issues.  What I hear is sometimes garbled.

It's hard to determine what stresses me out, I'm used to avoiding what I cannot fix or feels overwhelming.  Right now everything seems overwhelming.

My friend's mom just died and I have a memorial service on Saturday for a man I used to work with.

I'm insisting on transparency from the companies I do business with.  Should I not also require that of myself or I would be a hypocrit.

Death is such an integral part of life.  As I approach 70, time seems peppered with condolences, memorials and funeral services.  I don’t expect it will slow down much at this point.  At first my question was “Where are you?”  Followed by, “What are you doing? Who are you seeing? Are you at peace?”  My friend Julie started this grand exodus.  After our trip to Ireland.  I got my news first followed closely behind by hers. We shared stories of chemo, rads, and surgery.   A year later her diagnosis turned.   The last time I saw her she had very little time left. She showed off a new size 2 wardrobe and an iPhone ... early 40th birthday presents. We giggled and shared funny stories.  She got serious as it was time for me to go.  “No offense but it’s not fair”, she sighed.  “I’m going to die and you’re not.”  I thought for a moment and replied, “No, it’s not fair at all.” She was only 39. I was 62, and no,  it wasn’t fair.  We hugged and I left.  A few weeks later I got a message from her mom and a call from her husband.  She was gone.

Sitting in my book room that night I went through the pictures of our Ireland trip to put an album together for her husband.  The last picture was her walking towards the waiting train in Dublin, backpack slung over one shoulder, half turned, calling me to hurry as she ran to the open door.  “Where are you,” I whispered.  The still air held no answer.  Just gone.