I've been talking to, or stopping by to see my friend every day since the "c" word (cancer) was spoken aloud. We still don't have a prognosis or treatment options, but that ugly word is floating in space - once uttered, a word like that can take on a life of its own. I see my role as a tether to the here & now, not there & then - a tough place to be when my own feelings are on high alert. Hence meetings, meditation, talks with good friends. And paying attention to where my own historical grief is triggered. Potential loss triggers acute memory of other losses, and I find myself in this dark and poignant time of year, thinking of those who’ve left this plane during the autumn and winter months: my dear mother, cousin Doug, my friend's sister Janet, teacher & friend Jayna, my ex Hassan, dear Walt... I know that we each have our list.

I stopped by his house last Wed. We touched on the medical stuff, but mostly talked about the upcoming Thanksgiving meal, keeping it positive, keeping it light. As I headed towards my regular meeting and turned on to the busy four-lane boulevard, bumper-to-bumper at 6pm, it felt like I'd entered a gentle flow with multiple drivers letting cars in from the side streets, making room for each other. I felt the spirit of the holidays deep in my heart, the kindness of strangers as we made our way in the dark. With my emotions in a fragile place, I found myself tearing up as “Rocky Mountain High”, of all things, came on the radio, with that swelling of feeling that is sadness and joy wrapped into one. A few miles later, a group a pre-teen boys danced at a bus stop, not to the song I was listening to, but in perfect time with that rock & roll 4/4 beat. Again the tears as I reflected on the beauty and brevity of this frail human life. One day we're dancing at a bus stop, or in the school gym, or at a noisy club. Blink a few times, and we're at the end of a stethoscope, hearing what no one wants to hear.

As Mary Oliver so beautifully writes, "What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" I ask myself that question, often with a "what have I done?" spin.  I think about life and death and all that comes between. I think about my powerlessness over so very much. I think about the continuum, especially now that I'm officially an elder. I will say that it's easier to accept  life and death as part of the spectrum when it is death and illness in general we’re talking about - way harder when it is yourself or a loved one. Harder still when it comes in multiples, like it is for several of my friends. All we can really do is love each other. All we can really do is let the car into our lane, smile at the boys at the bus stop, and share a Thanksgiving meal.

And today, all is well. Pies are baking, house is clean(ish). Tomorrow, our small family will gather, plus one. We will look at old photo albums, stick olives on the ends of our fingers like when we were kids, and likely eat a bit too much. I’ll put up the Christmas lights over the weekend, go on a hike , attend a breakfast potluck, go to a 60^th birthday celebration, and attend a memorial for a grade school classmate who just passed. As we officially enter December, I will be mindful of giving myself the gift of quiet amongst the holiday hustle & bustle, noting the restful nature of darkness as we move towards Solstice, always and forever, one day at a time.

Today, I am grateful for my recovery community, which includes you, dear reader, wherever you are. May the spirit of gratitude and giving thanks carry you along, this day and always. What is on your gratitude list today?

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Those who read my blog on the web page www.soberlongtime.com will notice “Now What Workbook pending” along with PayPal options in the upper corner. I am hoping to have the workbook ready before the new year, which might be a good time for self-reflection. Stay tuned!