What is Today, but Yesterdays Tomorrow.


Sunset over Potter’s Lake, Wisconsin

Where the hell have you been woman?

Great question.

Since completing my thesis, life took a bit of weird(er) turn than usual.

No. 1 son moved out.  It was time, at twenty-two, he is more than ready to test out his wings and fly, just fly into adulthood and all that comes with it.  Of course, any parent will tell you when the children fly off on their own one’s heart is pulled in two directions, sadness to see them go, as well as a happiness that you’ve done your job as well as you could and they are now able to greet each of life’s challenges on their own, no longer looking back to see if you are there to catch them when they fall. This new development meant that there would be extra space, an entire room to be re-purposed and so in between my multitude of doctor appointments, the fact I can work for about twenty minutes at a time, my youngest son headed back to school and the new pain medication that I am trying out (leaves me somewhere between the moon and mars) I reach the end of every day recalling that I must write something profound (or not) in order to keep (you) my followers yearning for more, or at the very least semi-interested.

Tomorrow, there is always tomorrow…

Finally. Today most certainly is my tomorrow. 

My words of wisdom, the something profound, that I may impart are within the confines of a life event that occurred last month and reads something like this as I logged into my Facebook account one early August morning.

My inner dialogue, although at times, I am certain I spoke aloud — I was alone.

Wow, it’s Andrew’s birthday.  Darn good thing Facebook reminds me of such things. I haven’t spoken to him for ages. I wonder what he is up to. 

Proceeding to scroll over to his page to see what he has been up to, or at the very least write happy birthday, while thinking I should call him, as it has been a couple of years.   Upon further reflection, we should not have lost touch.


The year: 2004.  The place: The vastness that is Southern California.  The reason: Life Implosion.   What we shared: life, love, laughter, friendship and the trials and tribulation of our separate divorces and multitude of legal issues.

For four years we hung out, we laughed, we loved, we had a great time. We would hang out, over a beer (or two) debating the strange world of dating we both found ourselves in — the crazy women, the insane men, and all the drama that goes with it.  He boosted about his children, how proud he was of each of them, as I would about mine.  We took trips to the beach, we spent time, simply time watching the stars float in the cosmos.    Upon the realization that I must move in order to survive, we had one last beer (or two) over sushi and promised not to lose touch — we failed.


A quick Google search and there it was, in black and white.   Andrew passed away on Tuesday April 30, 2013.   It continued about his passion for life, music and his children.

I felt a terrible loss, not only of a friend but of time, time itself — it was gone, never to be regained.   Then the “I should have’s” floated to the surface.  I should have called him, I should have stayed in touch, I should have. . .

In this crazy world, we call our lives, we forget that time is forever fleeting and what is most important — people.  We will get to it tomorrow, we are simply too busy today. We will call them next week, and get together.

I am truly grateful for the time Andrew and I spent together, our friendship, the laughter, the shoulder to cry on, how he helped me get through the darkest of days.  I smile when I think of him — I think of him often.

Who should you call?

I have reached out to other people I have lost touch with and while there are a few that really have no desire to reconnect, that is fine – I tried.  As should you.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

This one’s for you Andrew.

May you light up the heavens with your smile.

August 11, 1960 – April 30, 2013

Miss you big guy

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