One week ago today, my sister died.
My nephew called me about this time last week to tell me she had passed that morning.
Apparently she had avoided seeing a doctor for long enough, in spite of repeated complaints of feeling unwell and in pain, that when she finally did get nagged into seeing a physician, she was diagnosed with late stage lung cancer. She was dead within six weeks.
All of this came as a real shock to me because I didn’t know she was sick. Or at least, I didn’t know she was that sick.
We’re living in interesting times, wot?
I have actually been socially distancing for about three weeks now, largely because I almost never go anywhere anyway. Now that my county has officially gone into lockdown — or they will as of tomorrow at 6pm — I get permission to stay home and get things done!
At least, that’s the theory.
For posterity, I suppose I should just mention that I am writing from the first wave of the novel coronavirus pandemic. Last I checked, the U.S. was up to more than 78,000 cases and a bit over 1,100 deaths. Since I am over 60 years old and have a chronic illness, I am considered to be an individual at greater risk for not surviving if I contract the illness. That’s nerve wracking.
I don’t generally do New Year’s Resolutions. I pretty much agree with CGP Grey that resolutions are usually not good for anything except giving yourself a reason to beat up on yourself come March.
So, I have gone the theme route. My theme for 2020 is self-care.
The nice thing about that is that it is very broad and encompasses a lot of different kinds of activities. I have even already gotten started in a number of different ways.
Happy New Year.
I spent New Year’s Eve at home with the boys, as usual. The end of the decade and the start of a new decade provoked a reflective mood.
It’s been a hell of a decade.
It started with me going back to school and getting divorced.
I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot lately.
There are a few different reasons for that.
For one thing, I have now officially outlived her. She died when she was 59 years and thirteen days old. I passed that milestone (if that’s what you want to call it) on April 16th of this year. I spent a few months fretting because, deep down in the irrational part of me, I was afraid I wouldn’t and that was unacceptable to me because I still have things I want to do.
Another reason that she has come to mind is because she never did forgive me for dropping out of college (twice!) without earning any sort of degree. At the time, I told her that there wasn’t anything I wanted to do for which I needed a degree, and if I ever decided I wanted to do something that required a degree, I’d go get one. As matters evolved, that is precisely what I ended up doing.