Dark Clouds Choking out the Rainbows

I feel lately like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, toes curled over the rocky ledge, an eager wind pushing at my back, daring me to dive into the murky depths of the frigid, rocky water below.  I don't want to, but sometimes I feel as if the choice was taken from me, by the windy fingers, by the depression that has holds me captive, by the land that decided to stop in front of me and lead only to one place--down.  I can't shake it, no matter how hard I try, no matter how fast I run in the opposite direction it all leads back to that cliff.  No, I'm not talking suicide.  I would never do that.  I'm talking about drowning in a depression that gets deeper every day, stealing the joy in my life and leaving it as a puddle of tears.  I don't want to depend on pills for my happiness.  That wouldn't be me, that would be me on mood altering drugs (and not the fun kind of my teenage years, either) and that's not someone I want to be.  I just want someone to teach me how to deal with this, with death and loss and sadness.  I want someone to show me how to pick up the pieces, glue them back together so they have some semblance of meaning that allows me to not feel as if I'm just waiting for my death.  I need a life that has purpose, I need a reason to keep going, I need to do something worthwhile, something that changes the world, even if it is just my small portion of it.  I feel restless, like I've wasted so much of this wonderful life God gave me, and I need to make the most out of the time I have left.  But what to do, how to do it, where to go, how to get started...so I do nothing.  I go nowhere.  I waste more time.  

It's hard to accept that I will never know the love my parents shared for over 60 years.  The respect, the loyalty, the teamwork, two people who wanted the same thing and built a life accordingly.  We didn't have a lot of money growing up, but we had everything we needed.  I will never know great love.  That is heartbreaking, but it's my fault.  I sold myself short.  I accepted less than what I should have.  But thinking about their love, their marriage, has me really questioning my own life, and how I want to live the rest of it.  

Until I find a way to shake this dark cloud and find my way back to the rainbows, I will stand on the edge of this cliff and avoid looking down.  I will look up--to God, to heaven, to my Mom, and try to find that reason, that purpose, that sparks the fire of passion in my soul, giving me something to fight for.  I don't want to sit around waiting for death.  That's no way to live.  And I'm not ready to die.  

" There's no sight of the morning coming
There's no sign of the day
You've been left on your own
Like a Rainbow
Like a Rainbow in the Dark Yeah . . .
Your a Rainbow in the Dark."

Dio

Emotions in Motion

"That old alarm clock gives a yell
Starting another day in hell
Passing a world I can't face with you gone"--Nick Lowe/Cold Grey Light of Dawn

At this moment in time, I am very emotionally fragile.  Everything threatens to make me cry.  Yes, it is very close to that time of the month, which does nothing to ease the situation, and besides, women hate when you blame it all on that.  I can be at work, doing fine, doing my thing, and faintly hear the song "Home" by Michael Buble drift to my ears, and I literally have to blink back the tears.  Some days it's harder than others.  I love the song "Fidelity" by Regina Spektor but for some reason it always makes me cry now.  I used to be safe, now I'm on shaky ground and if I can't make order out of chaos then I am no better than a lost soul wandering around in the woods.  

My children miss their Grandmas, and their Grandpa, but they don't know what it's like to lose a parent.  They are where I was months ago.  You believe that your parents will be around forever.  And then forever ends.  Just like that.  There is a hole in you that never fills.  Life shows signs of tarnish, the corners fray and unravel, the color and the beauty dulls, and it stays that way no matter how long and hard you polish, no matter how many patches you sew or knots you tie in the loose ends.  

I skipped a writing on my birthday.  I turned 45 but is that really some great feat?  My Mom turned 45, and she still ended up dead.  So will I.  So does any of it really matter?  I skipped a writing on Thanksgiving, even though I am thankful for so much.  And now, we plow into Christmas again, and the depression mounts, and I am trying to shake it but it ain't easy.  The blows keep coming and coming and I hate having to be strong, pretend nothing bothers me.  My sister battles cancer, my Dad turned 84, and every time the phone rings and it's a 513 area code I am immediately seized with panic.  You know it could come at any time, but no matter how much you try to prepare you are never ready.

I just wanna go home.

I can't let the thought of dying ruin the rest of my life.  I have to do something that means something so I don't waste the gift of life bestowed on me.  My beautiful daughter will be home from Germany in a little over a week, and she is my best friend and lifeline.  Every time she is here things are just better.  My boys are here and they help me laugh and give me someone to love.  My dogs are a constant source of joy, and the man I married is a constant source of entertainment.  The Bengals finally have a better team.  I am reading again, and enjoying it, and hopefully that will lead to writing.  I have to find my way, in the shadows of grief, to make it count, make it worthwhile, make it mean something before it's my time to go.  

So maybe a good cry is in order.  Get it out of my system so I can smile again, laugh again, lighten up again.  That's what my Mom would want, because that's how she lived her life.  No regrets.  From here on out, no regrets. 

When Everything's Different

I had hoped that this year would be different from the last one, the last two, hell, the last three or four.  So many tweaks I would have made to improve the past few years, just little things to make them a little more pleasant, a little more bearable.  We have been surrounded by the shadow of death, you feel his cold steel breath on the back of your neck, and you just want to shake it off.  So I had wanted this year to be different.  Be careful what you wish for.

One minute my Mom is here, the next we are saying goodbye.  How do you do that?  How do you say goodbye to the one person who loved you no matter what, the one person who always believed in you, always had hope for you?  I don't expect anyone to know what I am going thru, not even the ones who have already been thru it, because you see, it's a unique experience.  It is different for everyone, from siblings, to spouses, to strangers, we all experience it in our own way, with our own techniques, our own method to preserve our sanity and ensure our survival.  None of us are wrong, none are right.  It just is.  We are who we are, and we do what we do.

People tell me I am handling my beloved Mom's passing better than they expected.  That's how it would appear.  I go thru my day, see patients, smile, laugh, joke, I simply carry on.  But if there's one lesson everyone should learn in their lives it is never judge a book by its cover.  Appearances can be deceiving.  I have always said my strength can be my weakness.  I have to be the strong one, in Ohio for my Dad, here for everyone else, myself included, because falling apart just isn't an option.  You have to maintain, have to get thru the day at all costs, even when you feel like crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over your head.  If I had to give my opinion, I'd say I'm taking it pretty hard.  

I internalize my problems.  I pull away from people,  become distracted, distant, more quiet (yes, it's actually possible for me to do that).  It's like a war has been waged inside me and it's all I can do to keep going.  No one will ever understand what it is like to be me.  How hard it is, how tiring.  I don't wish to be someone else.  I am a product of two people who shared an epic love, who built a life together from that love, who then spread that love to their family.  You can't find that today.  They don't make 'em like that anymore, hell, they don't even WRITE them like that anymore.  Because it would be seen as boring, uneventful, plain.  God, it was a great life!  To be raised in a house with so much love, such emphasis on family...it was the best.  The memories are painful reminders of how fleeting life is, how we truly don't savor what we have until it gone.  It weighs so heavily on my heart sometimes I have to block it out, pretend it isn't what it is, sleepwalk thru my life, keep myself numb so I can't feel the pain.  I don't listen to what people are saying, I don't hear their jokes or stories, because if I let myself then I will feel, and if I can feel then I can hurt, and if I hurt then the floodgates will open and all bets are off.  So I fight the tears, I fight the feelings, I fight everything around me so I can stay in this little bubble world I created around me, one that will allow me to function without feeling.  I have to concentrate so much on me that I can't deal with other people and their own selfishnesses.  I see people complaining, and I tell myself that's not worth complaining about.  I see people in a hurry and I tell myself what's the rush?  I see people angry and I tell myself they are wasting so much energy being mean when they could just let it go.  Priorities shift, and I don't have patience for those who waste their precious time on things that don't matter.  Why be miserable when you can simply allow yourself to be happy.  You don't know how much time you have left here, do you really want to go out with a frown?  It's especially hard when people close to me are like that, because I don't want to be that way, and I don't want to be dragged down with them that way.  God willing and Mayans be damned, I could have another 44 years or more left on this earth and by God I want them to be great.  I don't want to miss a thing.  I want to take my time and enjoy the ride, because the destination ain't all it's cracked up to be.  Are we there yet?  God, I hope not!  

So although I appear to be handling things well, inside a war is raging.  The depression is almost unbearable, like someone put a ton of bricks on my chest and I'm expected to carry them around with me.  I have no energy, no desire, I have a cold I can't shake.  So although I am not walking around in tears, I am in pain.  Sometimes it hurts so bad and it's hard to pretend like it doesn't.  So I swallow it, I ignore it, I beat it down.  But it's still there.  And even those who have been there before me don't understand, because for them it was totally different.  When everything's different, nothing can be the same.  You just have to find hope, that things will be okay eventually.  That the pain will lessen enough for you to get back into your life.  That you can remember without feeling like someone is ripping out your heart.  That life goes on, and you need to be in it.  Otherwise, you're as good as dead, and what kind of life is that?

I miss you, Mom.  I always will.  Until we meet again.  You are in my heart, my soul, my everyday.  I will always love you.

(author's note:  Today would have been my parent's 63rd wedding anniversary.)         

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving couldn't have come at a better time.  At no other point in my life can I remember really needing to be thankful for things.  I hit a slump, reached an all-time low, sank so far down a break in the clouds was not visible.  In trying to do a good thing, I set off a catastrophic chain of events that I'm not sure I can forgive myself for.  Well, that's being a bit dramatic.  I could kick myself, if I still maintained enough flexibility of youth, but since I perpetuate my own antics, forgiveness is a given.  Plus I'm a Catholic--we're always looking to forgive someone.

It all started with Facebook, which I am beginning to believe is evil incarnate.  Yeah, I know, too much drama.  Well, I have a flair, don't you think?  I saw this dog, this puppy, with the saddest sweetest face, who was going to be PTS if someone didn't step up and rescue her. (the kind way of saying murdered--put to sleep.  Killed, put to death, extinguished...an animal lover had to have thought of "put to sleep".  Where's Buddy, Mom?  Well, he's sleeping, dear.  Good Mom, not crushing her kid with the weight of truth and death, right?  But she left off a crucial word--FOREVER.  Hand him a copy of Rainbow Bridge next time, Mom, or better yet, read it to him.  He'll learn more, and appreciate life and love more that way.  And "euthanasia" just candy coats murder.  And isn't "humanely euthanize" an oxymoron?  I can understand ending an animal's suffering, but humanely euthanizing is not a good phrase for it, if you ask me.)  Okay, off on a tangent, like you didn't see THAT coming!

Her name was Maggie, she was "under a year" and was said to be shy.  In all actuality, her name was Maggie, she is farther under a year than it seemed, and she must have reserved her shyness for the rescue.  Anyway, although I never thought he'd agree to it, the man I married allowed the rescue to take place.  We drove to Chesterfield, SC, and picked up an emaciated, flea-infested happy puppy.  Thankfully the vets at Banfield/Petsmart agreed to see us with no appointment since Maggie couldn't have a bath for another week due to recently being spayed.  She got a great pill called Comfortis which eradicated the fleas in a half hour, and after a night of confinement in our garage, finally made her way upstairs to meet the pack.  I should have had some clear sense of foreboding when the transition went without a hitch.  I've seen enough horror movies to know that just when you think everything is fine, you turn around and get your head chopped off.  In my defense, it's been eight years since I've had a puppy, and Dakota, Thor, and Jack require very little supervision.  

To make a long story a little shorter, Maggie has been a member of the family for almost three weeks now, and has ruined a sweater, numerous socks, a pair of underwear, chewed my slippers (they're fuzzy and must look like a toy), shredded six toys in one sitting, and, the piece de resistance, managed to pull a $1700 BTE hearing aid out of my ear and chew it to ruin.  Worst weekend of my life so far.  I had barely had them a month.  I cried two days straight, barely ate anything, and was completely open to abandoning all hope.  With Dakota just being diagnosed with Atypical Cushings and her vet bills skyrocketing, I cannot afford another ear.  Feeling hung out to dry, chewed up and spit out, and utterly alone, I did what any strong person would do--I crumbled into a blubbering mass of despair and hopelessness.  Maggie annoys the living sin out of Thor, chews anything she can get ahold of, pees and poops at will in the house--even by the sliding door--and doesn't seem to be too shy.  In fact, she's rather hyper.  I decided right then I didn't like her, and any recovery from that seemed impossible.

She must've known.  She was sweet, dainty, lovable, and did so good letting me know she had to go out.  I couldn't help but decide I loved her.  I picked her for a reason, things happen for a reason, so I just had to learn my lesson from this and keep plodding along.  What else could I do?  Returning her could be a death sentence, because anyone with less inner strength than me would not keep her. So long haul, here I come!

Things have a way of working out.  You just have to be patient.  Have faith.  Learn from your experiences, take that knowledge and grow.  See the silver lining in that gray cloud.  Know that God never gives you more than He knows you can handle (although I can honestly say I can totally relate to Job and how he must've felt.  It's very defeating.  You feel forsaken.  Makes you wonder if God's been placing bets with Satan again, only instead of Job it's your faith on the line.)  My hearing aid should be covered with a $200 deductible.  If it's not I'll just find a way to get another one.  You deal because really, what's the alternative?  Curl up in the fetal position and die?  Although I considered it--briefly--it's not an option.  

So I am thankful on this day, for so many things.  My family, my friends, my animals, myself, life, love, laughter and happiness, I'm as thankful for the bad times as I am the good, because you can't have one without the other, and besides, you merely enjoy the good times, but you learn from the bad times.  I've learned more about myself and the person I am in the last three weeks than I have in a long time.  So even though my car is in desperate need of a tune up, I had to battle Aflac to cancel my poor excuse of supplemental insurance, I have to buy a new hearing aid and oh, did I mention I had to get a new keyboard for my computer as well, even though I seem to have more debt than money, it really is only money, after all.  It's not what really matters.  I can do without a lot, but if I can no longer laugh, love and have fun, then I've truly lost it all.  

I am not perfect, but I'm here.  I am alive, my 44 year old body is still running (the only thing I've owned for that long that still works!) I have a job, a home, a car, coffee in the morning, and even though Dakota's medicine is expensive, she's still alive.  I have so much good in my life, I just need to open my eyes and see it.  Thank You God, for all the blessings You have bestowed on me.  Because even in a cloud of bad, there's still good shining from within, and as long as you can see that, you've got reason to be thankful.  

Don't Sweat the Dog Stuff, Because it's All Dog Stuff

I am a dog lover.  The scratch on my chin made by an exuberant Husky at the mere mention of the "w" word (the "w" word is walk, and even though we spell it out, I swear their ears perk up like they have learned what those four letters mean) is a testament to that.  Most of the time my body resembles that of someone who battled a thorny bush and lost horribly.  Although there are only three dogs remaining, they are my canine children and I love them dearly.

If you are a neat freak or a germaphobe, you would not last ten minutes in my house.  You would immediately notice the pine straw deposited on the carpet from shaggy tails, the tumbleweeds of dog hair, or that distinct smell of soggy doggy that no air freshener can defeat.  There are various pee spots from the males marking territory or overactive bladders.  Not to mention the dog hair that inevitably ends up a special seasoning in whatever meal I actually get around to cooking.  It's a given.  Dog hair is either cooked into the dish or will end up there via your clothes.  When I go to sleep at night with my three dogs right there with me, I put a thin layer of Vaseline on my face to help keep it soft, so I always wake up with a face like the wolfman from shedded fur that sticks to me as I sleep.  I live in fear that one day I will go to the doctor with a stomach ache, and he'll tell me I have a fur ball.  Of course it would make the news, and eventually post on YouTube, and I will be forever immortalized as the woman with the ten pound hairball.  You can't just cough that up!

There are times when I think back of the brief period when my beloved Sheltie died and I wasn't ready to get another dog, or when our beloved mutt Sega escaped and got killed by a car.  I tried to distance  myself from animals so I wouldn't have to see them die, sparing myself of that pain.  But what I didn't realize was I was robbing myself of the joy they bring during their short lives.  

I wasn't ready for a dog when the man I married decided he had to have a yellow Lab.  I didn't want a dog yet.  We walked with the breeder past these outdoor kennels, with these happy friendly Labs running along the fence.  My heart began to thaw.  By the time we got to the litter we were to choose from, my heart was melting fast.  When we saw the small yellow body sleeping in his food dish, I looked up at my husband as a female yellow lab puppy came over to me and said, "Can we get two?"  It was decided that day, my destiny.  I believe we don't choose our fate; rather, it chooses us.  Mine was sealed that day.

One dog led to two, because come on, it wasn't fair to Austin to have to chew on things to keep himself occupied, he needed a friend.  That friend turned into Dakota, who in turn had a litter of seven puppies, which of course led to three dogs in da house, which led to another litter and another dog.  I knew then although I would have kept every puppy if I could have that I had reached my limit.  Four dogs are a lot of work, especially when you're doing the majority of the care yourself.  I didn't complain (much), because I was the reason for this development.  So accidents, dog hair, dog smell, well, you get used to it after awhile.  Having a pristine house never really mattered to me.  Having furniture no one could sit on because I didn't want it soiled or ruined wasn't gonna happen.  So my life became a house of falling apart furniture filled with the love of good dogs.  It doesn't matter to them, though.  They love me and they don't really care what the house looks like.

When Austin passed from cancer, I was fine with the three amigos, Dakota, Titus, and Jack.  Until a friend of the man I married was giving away a Husky, another dog the man I married always wanted.  I was less than enthused.  I had adjusted to life with three, and was quite content.  My traitorous human children betrayed me by saying we should take him.  I saw more work and expense for me--not to mention trying to add a strange dog to this tight-knit pack.  I couldn't see it working.  But...the crazy dog lady gave in.  It was rough at first.  Dakota did not like him at all.  But when I saw him, that heart of mine was a puddle on the floor, and I thought well, there are worse things that four dogs (like dog hair, pee spots, pine straw, dog smell, dog breath, fleas) but I accepted my fate.  

Now we have just the three--Dakota, Jack, and Thor, after losing Titus to cancer--but I still stopped and took a quick gander at the woman holding a "Puppies" sign in the parking lot at WalMart.  Lucky for the man I married they were Chihuahuas for a price and not Golden Retrievers or Labs for free!

Even the man I married finds time to complain, about the hair, dogs on the bed, bones laying around to be stepped on, and dogs always walking in front of the cable box when he's trying to change the channel.  We've had dogs chew MP3 players, pencils, toys, lip gloss, cords, books, and just about anything else you can imagine.  I used to sweat the dog stuff, but not now.  It doesn't change anything, and it causes me to lose valuable time that could be spent playing with my three wonderful canine children.  I've realized my yard will never have grass, my bushes will always need pruning, and my front porch with the railings falling down might never get fixed.  I might never have nice furniture, or a bigger house, or new linoleum in the kitchen.  But that's okay.  I've got a great family, both human and dog, filled with love, laughter, and memories.  Let everybody else keep up with the Joneses, and compare material possessions.  I'll take three dogs waiting to shower me with kisses every time I walk in the house.  Where else would I ever find such unconditional love and adoration?  No diamond ring or dozen red roses could ever give me that.

So I won't sweat the dog stuff, because it's all dog stuff.  And it's all good.

(on a side note-- I highly recommend reading the book "Dogs Don't Bite When a Growl Will Do" by Matt Weinstein and Luke Barber.  I've learned a lot about living my life the way my dogs live theirs--with excited happy abandon!)

Where I Wanna Be

The road to happy is riddled with pot holes, slick with oil, a long winding road that seems flat and endless.  But it's where I wanna be.  

Depression has jumped on my back and dug in its claws, refusing to relinquish its hold without a battle.  I have no will to fight.  I have fallen in the rabbit hole, and can see no sign of escape, of rescue, no sign of light.  The day is sunny, but the darkness surrounds me.  My heart is heavy, the tears threaten to fall over everything and nothing in particular.  I just want to be left alone but don't want to be lonely anymore.  

I'm tired of hopelessness.  I'm tired of sadness.  I'm tired of wandering lost thru a life that is supposed to be mine.  I'm tired of negativity, manipulation, threats and stress.  I'm tired of trying to grieve and having my time interrupted by the insecurities and needs of others thrust upon me.  I'm tired of being misunderstood by people who not only don't try to understand me but don't want to.  More than being loved I want to be understood, accepted, for who and what I am, instead of trying to be fixed, altered, to be someone who is easier to get along with.  I am difficult yet simple if you just try.  It might not seem worth it but the payoff would have been so big it would have made it all worthwhile.  I am tired of being chained to the past.  I'm tired of worrying about the future.  I'm tired of coming in last every time, I'm tired of being blamed for everything, I'm tired of the twists and turns that confuse and confound me, the verbal barbs that wrap around my heart and head making me dizzy and heartbroken.  I'm tired of closing myself off because I'm so cynical I know that when I try I am only going to be taken for granted.  What I give freely will not be returned, because I am not worth the effort.  That is not my fault, but the fault of the ones who deem me that way, who see an easy target, who tell me the horrible deeds I'm capable of when I do not have an evil heart.  They can not convince me I am this horrible person, because I deflect their attacks, hold up the mirror so they can see what they try to put on me is really their reflections.  

So I push myself along, on the road to happy, hoping it will be around the next corner, over the next hill, hoping, always hoping I will arrive at my destination.  I know happiness will not rescue me.  I know happiness will not fix what is wrong in my life.  But happiness will make the hardships easier to bear.  Happiness will knock depression away, salve my wounds, and give me a reason to keep going.  It will act as my guiding light thru the darkness that surrounds me.  It will pick me up and keep me going when I otherwise want to give up.  

We are responsible for our own happiness.  I have not always been happy with my circumstances, with the direction my life has taken, with the people or things in my world.  But I have discovered a happiness with myself.  I finally see that what others find annoying I find endearing.  What others think is high maintenance is really quirkiness.  What others see as weird is really weird, in a good way.  If only they could have celebrated me the way I do.  If only they could see that maybe the problem isn't me, but within themselves.  If only they looked into a mirror instead of just glass.  If only they were happy with themselves.  Maybe we could be happy together. 

Undefeated Death

"If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character...Would you slow down?  Or speed up?"--Chuck Palahniuk

http://media.photobucket.com/image/death/LITLWILDCAT/backgrounds/death.jpg?o=3

Death is the one thing in life that, no matter how much hope you have, you will never defeat.  It is amazing that we can live productive lives knowing that one day we will cease to be.  I can't imagine not being alive, or that I lose people I love and have to go on without them.  So many people wandering around in this world, wasting their lives, and I am one of them.  We think we will always have tomorrow--to achieve our goals, to change our lives, to be happy, to tell someone how we feel about them--but we don't know with all certainty that tomorrow will be there.  

I am still relatively young, at 43, and God willing I could possibly have another 43 years left.  But I curse getting old.  I hate it.  Each year brings something else I don't like--a wrinkle, an ache, a change in my body that I swore when I was svelte (too skinny) and young (stupid) would never happen to me.  Time ravages us, no matter what care we take, it has its way with us at its will, on its terms, and we have no choice but to be victims.  Sure, we can take this vitamin, the latest supplement, eat fruits, proteins, carbs or no carbs, certain meats, no meats, vegetables, grains and fibers, deprive ourselves of cake and ice cream and candy, jog until we feel like our heart will explode, use this cream, lotion or salve to stop wrinkles, aches, or dryness, but time marches on, in a zig zag willy nilly pattern all over us, leaving wrinkles like tire tracks etched in our skin, in our lives, until there is nowhere left to hide but in plain sight.  Our bodies grow weak and flabby, our minds dull and forget, we move slower, step by painstaking step until we have to stop for a breather.  Soon we need this pill or that pill, this surgery or that surgery, the operating room table like a cutting board and we are the turkey offered for Thanksgiving.  It's sad and depressing and then it's over, just like that.  We live--if we're lucky, that is, because too many of us just exist--and we laugh and we love, and then it's over.  We are gone.  Or they are gone and we are left to live without them.  How do you do this?  How do you ever get used to losing people you love?  Do you ever adjust to it, or is it like a knife every time?  I used to love being the youngest but now I know I am more likely to lose more people in my life because of my placement.  I've got a lot to lose.  So much pain.  

But then...

I think about it.  How lucky am I to have so many wonderful people in my life?  To have known so many people that have given me so much, so many people I have been honored to love and share my memories with.  We all have so much but we don't see it!  We don't let it in!  We let the pain rule when we should let love rule.  Sure, my body is 43 years old, but what else have I owned in my lifetime that has lasted that long?  NOTHING.  It's foolish to think it won't need a tune up along the way.  I can't stop living in anticipation of dying; in fact, I need to live more because of it.  I don't mean make foolish choices and say nothing matters because I'll be dead someday, but I mean work to fulfill my dreams, live each day like there's no tomorrow by appreciating being alive, being able to see, hear, experience--good, bad, joy, pain, laughter, tears--because it's all a vital part of my life.  Use this pain to learn more about the kind of person I want to be.  How I can change me to be that person.  Do something with this life I've been given before it is taken away.  We can choose to stay in grief, or we can choose to feel that grief and turn it into something better.  We can choose to ignore the living in order to remember those we've lost, choose to feel alone instead of feeling part of those still here, choose sadness over happiness. Everything is a part of life, the good and the bad, and we must experience it all.  But then, we must choose to live.  I will not be a walking dead person.  I will be alive, until I have only the last breath to give.  

So in answer to the question in the quote at the beginning of this post, I would definitely slow down.  Because although my life has not been perfect, nor have I, it is my life, and I like being me.  And I wouldn't want it any other way.