Yesterday would have been my Dad's 101st birthday. He didn't make it that far, but every year on my parents' birthdays, I think of them. Actually I think of them many other times as well. Recently they have been appearing in my dreams. They are the adults and I am one of the children.
Just as it was in the 50s and early 60s.
That makes me wonder about the essence of life -- and death. We seem to come and go, but after we are gone, our memory and our footprint remains.
Our stories are rich with memories of those who have preceded us in death. I'm not at all sure what our dreams represent.
This was a rough week at work. Many personnel issues to deal with -- people not getting along with other people. I've got several of these tough interpersonal relationships to manage. I took care of one yesterday. At least two others remain. One will prove to be a long-term project.
Most of us spend so much time at work that those relationships come to dominate our lives. Most of us have a partner at home, which is special. But that is not me, not my story.
My story is that I had two marriages, both of which lasted many years, and a few other relationships, none of which lasted many years at all.
Now at age 70.5+, I have been alone for a long time. And, for reasons obscure to me, my various IRAs are forcing me to withdraw money, which I suppose will be taxed as if it is income when in fact it is money I didn't spend but could have years ago.
This feels unfair and only one more sign of how America does not care for us as we age.
We are all left utterly on our own.