Stumbling Towards Perfect

Dear Jadrian, Somehow, without really understanding how, you just turned 18 years old. Today. No offense, but there's no way you look 18. When I think of you, my mind pictures you as a 2-year old toddler. Me and you, hanging out in our no-cable-here low-income apartment. You dragging out every single one of your dolls and stuffed animals; me wondering how the hell I was ever going to buy food and pay the electric bill. You were always so smiley. So happy. So oblivious. My birthday wish for you this year is that you make it a priority to be smiley and happy -- and that you will forever be oblivious. Oblivious to the temptation of stress. Because, the truth is, you're an adult now and adults tend to get sucked into this vacuum of stress and anxieties. Too many of us forget how to let go and laugh things off because we've been convinced the way adults should operate is by being unbelievably neurotic when it comes to stress. And stress is not fun. It also accomplish

Grief can be so... ironic . I don't know how else to describe it. Only that half the time I'm left shaking my head wondering what just happened. There seems to be no rhyme or reason as to when I'm struck and left in a puddle of tears. People are left bewildered and I try to explain I'm just as shocked as they are, not to mention confused as to why now I'm struck, as opposed to the obvious time the other day when I should have been struck but wasn't. Grief isn't like a broken arm that heals itself in six weeks. It isn't something you get cleared by a doctor and then come back to work. It isn't something where you set the timer and once it goes off you're done and ready to face the world. There is no magic off switch. The pain and anguish from loss sneaks up on you, blindsides you at a sunny picnic and sucker punches you when you're walking down aisle 13 at Target. I tell you this because I don't want anyone to be mistaken:  grief has