Yesterday morning I went to St. Barnabas, led a Bible class, and went into the sanctuary for the service. Nothing unusual in that. That’s pretty much been my normal Sunday morning practice since last June. I walked in and found my seat. Yes, we all have “our” seat, “our” place on the pew. And, heaven help that person who sits there before we get in! Don’t deny it! “My” seat is at the back of the sanctuary.
The service began as it always does. We stand for a hymn while the priest and acolytes walk to their places at the front of the church. A couple of prayers were offered. Then we sat down to listen to the readings that were selected for this particular morning.
As I sat there, I gazed around at the people who were all sitting in “their” seats. Their faces were all pointing toward the lectern where someone stood, reading words from our Holy book.
My heart became suddenly light. Joy welled up within me as I watched these people. Around 150 people had chosen to come here. They chose to spend their time on this gloriously sunny morning in February together!
Later in the service as I knelt by the altar rail to receive communion, as the host was on my tongue, I looked back out over all of those people.
I smiled.
I thanked God for all of them. Every child. Every woman. Every man.
Why, I wondered, had they chosen to come here? Why St. Barnabas and not St. Mattress?
In the early mornings, when all is quiet, I sit at my desk and seek God. During this time I lift my hopes, dreams, concerns, and desires to the Heavenly Dwelling of Yahweh. Daily, I remember the people of St. Barnabas. Our priest and leadership. Those who serve faithfully in myriad ways.
And, I always ask Yahweh to make St. Barnabas Church a beacon of Love, Hope, and Acceptance. A lighthouse in the storms that rage, unseen, around and in each and every one of us.
Are these many people I watched yesterday, with all of their faults and foibles, all of their wounds and scars, all of their hopes for tomorrow, a result of prayers like mine?
Perhaps.
I can’t know for certainty.
What I do know, however, is that when I sat in that place, with all of those people, I felt God’s pleasure.
I think that we have the makings of a pretty amazing comedy! We can call it, “The Life and Times of An Average Guy.” It will tell the story of a person who led the most average kind of life you could imagine. Married; Kids; Soccer; Work…you know, Average.
Then, after nearly 50 years in the Average work force, earning average wages after average daily commutes, this average guy decides it’s time to take his average retirement.
No biggie.
Average.
With a capital “A.”
Then, two months before said retirement he goes for an Average, Routine health exam and all of that Average stuff that he had been accumulating over the Average years of his Average life was suddenly thrown into the spin cycle of the Cosmic Washing Machine.
Shit.
Here’s the latest update. I wrote yesterday that I had met with the surgeon who is going to perform the necessary surgery to remove the cancer in my colon. He told me that he is going to put a few holes in my abdomen and remove about 12″ of my colon. Of course, this is still contingent on the MRI that I mentioned yesterday. I should be in hospital 3-5 days, or until the newly routed plumbing begins to function. Then, I was told that I could return to work in 5 weeks. FIVE WEEKS!!!! I told them that I just sit in front of a computer all day. They said, “Oh. Ok, 4 weeks.”
Taken by itself that doesn’t sound too bad. After all, I will be recovering from a major surgery. And, when they put holes in your belly, that can be real painful for a long time. I get it.
But….
That time restriction takes me right up to my retirement date. So, what that means is that the 7 weeks that I had planned for is suddenly 2 1/2. It means that the time I have to train my replacement is cut. Ok, we can deal with that. It also means that I won’t have a paycheck coming in for that entire month. That is more difficult to deal with.
Fortunately, the powers-that-be at the company I work for are going to work with me to see what options are available.
Do you want to know how I feel right now? No, I didn’t think so. I’m not even sure how I feel. I’m being swept forward by a tsunami of Not Average Events that are really screwing up my Very Average Life.
Oh, we’ll get through it. But, it’s gonna take an Above Average Effort.
To state the obvious, this has been an interesting month. It began with me looking forward to entering the world of the retired in about 8 weeks. Now, I’m preparing to fight cancer.
Surprise!
On top of that, I’ve been struggling with some kind of virus that’s kicking my butt. I have slept maybe an hour out of the last 36. Coughing, hacking, and not being able to breathe have helped that. Then, there’s the stress and anxiety of dealing with the cancer. Doesn’t lend itself to a restful night’s sleep.
Yesterday, I met with the surgeon who is going to treat me. We talked about the results of the CT Scan. That proved to be interesting. In the report I read, it noted that there were a few small spots on my liver that were too small to identify. The doc said that these are most likely simply cysts that are completely normal. But, there’s always a “but,” he wants to be sure. That means I get to have an MRI before they do the surgery. Now, if the spots on my liver turn out to be cysts, or some other innocuous thing, then surgery goes on as scheduled. If, however, they are not then the surgery’s off and we begin chemo.
Yippee.
We won’t know for 2 more weeks. More waiting and not knowing.
I also saw my cardiologist. He needs to give me clearance to have anesthesia. He ordered a nuclear stress test. Another layer of Pain In The Ass.
The surgeon’s office gave me a folder full of instructions that I must follow to the letter before the procedure. I thought prepping for a colonoscopy was interesting. I ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
By the time I got home from seeing these docs I just wanted to jump up and down and scream, “F#@K!, F#@K!, F#@K!, F#@K!, F#@K!” and break things. I’m frustrated, angry, sad, bummed, anxious, scared, and a myriad other emotions. I know that this is a normal reaction to this kind of, what?, disruption?
No one plans for these things.
It’s part of being human.
We hit bumps in the road. (Or, in this case, the road ends and you fly over the cliff).
I’ll get through this.
But, c’mon already!
Sorry. This has been my rant for the day. Hopefully, now I can get some sleep.
I’ve written about this before. In the movie, “Brother Sun; Sister Moon,” there is a line spoken by the character of St. Francis that goes something like, “Words. I used to believe in words.” The implied meaning being that words no longer have meaning to him. While, in the context of that story I can see what that screenwriter was trying to do, elevate action above mere talk, I find that I can’t necessarily agree with the sentiment.
Words are important. They convey meaning from speaker to hearer. Words can start and end wars. They can also sooth and calm those who are distressed.
So, I place a great deal of importance on words. As a wannabe Wordsmith, I try to choose the appropriate words and fashion them in such a way that the idea I am trying to communicate is done with clarity and meaning.
I know that it’s hard in this day of Instant Messaging and e-mail to put much stock in clear communication. We want to hit that ‘Send’ button as quickly as possible. It’s our texting version of trying to get a word in “edge-wise.” We want to make sure that ours is the last word spoken. After all, our own opinion is the best and most important.
It concerns me, then, how those to whom we look for information and enlightenment are so bad at using Words. (Yeah, I’m looking at you @BetsyKling! “Nother” is NOT a word!) We have become a semi-literate culture that emasculates the language. Then, we wonder why we are misunderstood.
I admit that I don’t always get words right. I may choose one that is not clear in meaning. I may string together sentences that don’t make sense. That doesn’t mean that I don’t see the importance of clear communication.
That brings me to the actual topic of this post. (Yeah, I know, you are all waiting for me to make a real point. Here it comes.)
Yesterday, I received the preliminary results of a CT Scan that I had done last week. The docs wanted to see if the cancer in my colon had spread, or metastasized, to any other part of my body. The report reads, ” NO DEFINITE METASTATIC DISEASE IN THE ABDOMEN OR PELVIS.”
At first blush, this is a beautiful statement. The cancer is still contained in the original location. Cool! Let’s go in there and pull that sucker out! Let’s do it NOW!!!
But, our language is strange sometimes. Look closely at the above statement from the report.
What, exactly, does “DEFINITE” mean? To me, that’s a qualifier. It tells me that there may, in fact, BE some kind of spreading that they simply are not able confirm definitively.
See how words work?
I really wish that they would have written, “No Metastatic Disease Present.” Or, even, Yes, there is evidence of it.
Now, my mind is thrust back into the land of Not Knowing.
Maybe this is normal for people who are diagnosed with a disease like cancer. Our minds may simply kick into gear and continually ask, “But, what if?”
I guess we’ll find out for sure soon. I meet with a surgeon later this week to determine what next steps must be taken.
Until then, I guess there’s no definite resolution to this.
Here we are. It’s Monday again. You know, that day that comes after a weekend. It happens every week about this time. Folks bemoan it, “Oh, man! I gotta get up and go to work! I wanna Sleep!” Others are a tad more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, “Yay! A new week! Let’s Go!!!”
For most of us, it’s just another day in a long string of days that sort of blur together.
This Monday marks one week since I had that colonoscopy thing that revealed cancer.
And, I really don’t know how or what to feel about that.
The first couple of days my gut was tied up in knots. I couldn’t eat or sleep. My mind racing all over the place. “What’s next?” “How do I fight this?” “Why me?” I didn’t fall into that category of people who try to deny the reality of their illness. I was ready to put up my fists and kick some ass.
But, I was in that Betwixt and Between place of knowing and not knowing. I knew something was not right…but, not for sure. The doc said that it was probably cancer. Probably. I waited four days in that place until I got the official word. Yep, cancer. Now, even though I now know kind of what I’m up against, I still must wait. I had a CT Scan to see if the cancer has spread. Waiting on results. I have a date with a surgeon. Waiting for that day.
Living in this Twilight World is hard. My heart goes out to those of you who have already experienced this. It’s no longer day. It’s not quite night. It’s something else.
So, no, I don’t know how I should feel right now. After the initial shock I guess that I just feel numb.
Not denial. Just numb. Not angry. Still numb. Not really anxious. Numb again.
As an aside, this is really an interesting dive into what’s involved with being human. I’ll post more thoughts on that later. For now, I do appreciate your consideration during this time. Those whom I trust I know will walk with me. The rest? I hope that they will be moved to care for themselves and their loved ones.
LOS ANGELES – JANUARY 8: Patrick Stewart as Captain Jean-Luc Picard in the STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION episode, “The Hunted.” Season 3, episode 11. Original air date, January 8, 1990. (Photo by CBS via Getty Images)
First, I want to say Thank You for your gracious outpouring of support. I do appreciate it a lot.
The main reason that I want to share what’s happening with me with all of you is to emphasize the importance of screening and preventive measures. Colon cancer is extremely common. And, it’s one of the most treatable cancers. That is, if it’s caught early enough. (Hopefully, mine has. We’ll see next week.) Yet, even though these facts are true, many, if not most, people will never get tested. I don’t mean those mail-in poop-scoop tests that are advertised on T.V. While any action is good, the only truly accurate way to detect the illness is by colonoscopy. You may say, “Ewww! They stick a camera up your butt!!!” Well, yeah they do. They also give you versed. That alone may be worth the test.
People complain about the costs involved. Those without health insurance are afraid. Right now, I believe that the basic test is considered a Wellness Visit. So, there’s no copay and whatever insurance you do have covers the entire cost. Now, if there’s any kind of treatment that must be done, like pathology or any complications, you may be liable for that.
But, what are the consequences of NOT getting tested?
Actually, for a lot of folks there will be none. They will never have any issues at all. Good for you all! You’ll also never know for sure, will you?
For the rest of us? Colon cancer kills. That’s the alternative of not getting tested. By the time symptoms become too great to ignore, it’s likely too late to treat successfully.
So, the point of all of this?
If I am one of the fortunate who can be successfully treated and become cancer free, then I hope this story encourages you to see a doc soon. Especially, if you are high risk. Ask your doc what that means or do a simple Google search on risk factors. Then, we can celebrate my success together.
If, however, I find that things have turned sour and I’m not one of the successful ones, then I hope that what I share will: 1) Still encourage you to get screened. DO IT!!! 2) share with you the inevitable part of our human journey that none of us gets a pass on.
In any case, I really hope to be encouraging through all of this. If my experience helps anyone else avoid this, then Yay! And, I expect that sharing this will be therapeutic for me. Processing the whirlwind of facts and feelings can be overwhelming. Sharing these, writing them down, helps me to sort through them and manage them more effectively.
So, if you would be so kind, Follow this blog for updates. Feel free to comment your own thoughts and feelings. Particularly, if you’re impacted by something yourself.
So, now, let’s get started! In the words of Captain Jean-Luc Picard…
I shared a few weeks ago that I will soon be joining the ranks of the Retired. After nearly 50 years working in commercial printing, I’m hanging up my computer. I will be spending more time with, well, this computer. We have been working to prepare for this. Getting the finances squared away; signing up for medicare; gloating about it to my co-workers. You know, all of the important stuff.
And, things seem to be progressing nicely.
But, as with most things in life, the things that we don’t see are the ones that tend to impact us most. We try our best to prepare for every contingency. What if the water heater blows up the day after I retire? Can we pay for a new one? Check! How about the car? Check on that, too!
How about your health? Well, I’ve got that dicey cardiac thing pretty much under control. So, yeah, Check!
What about your cancer?
Wha?!? Who?!? What cancer?
The cancer that’s been growing in your colon, dummy!
But, I don’t have any cancer!!! I eat right and exercise and don’t engage in high risk activities! I even get regular colonoscopies to make sure that nothing’s happening!
Well, you did skip a year and a half. Right? You were supposed to have a scope in 2018. But, no, there was something else going on. And, the previous two scopes had been clear. Nothing to worry about. Right?
Wrong!
This past Monday I went in for my routine, but belated, colonoscopy. I wrote a bit about it here. Afterwards, the Doc came in to give us the results. There were a few polyps. No biggie. They snip them off and we’re good to go. There was something else, though. A mass in the ascending colon. They took a biopsy and sent it to pathology. The doc, however, was pretty sure what we were looking at. Cancer.
Yesterday I received the results of the pathology. Yep, suspicions confirmed.
Not how I had planned to begin my retirement. Hell, not in any plans for anything at all! But, there you go. The things you don’t see are the ones that can derail you.
What now?
Today I go for a CT Scan to see if this bugger has spread. Hopefully, no. We have hopefully caught it early enough that it is self-contained. If it has not spread, then next week I meet with a surgeon to go over how they will remove it. The best case is that they will take it out and I will live happily ever after. The way things are going, though, I’m not overly confident.
Right now I am consumed by conflicting emotions. I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know how I SHOULD feel! I know there are folks out there who have experienced exactly what I am. I don’t want to be a whiner and do the whole, “Woe is me!” thing. Especially when you are dealing with far worse.
But, we each process things in our own way.
My way is going to be to process it here. I want to share this experience. Well, not SHARE it. I can assure you that you do not want this! I want to share my experience with you. What’s happening physically? The tests and the doc’s reports and surgery. All the good stuff that cancer patients get to have. What’s going on emotionally? What thoughts and feelings are racing around in my head…my body. It looks to be a roller coaster ride that rivals anything at Cedar Point. What is this doing to form me Spiritually? Where is Yahweh in all of this? IS Yahweh in ANY of this?
So, for the next little while I’m going to write about these things. Sure, I’ll still write the other stuff, too. But, this is important right here; right now.
I invite you to come along with me on this journey! Lord knows that I can’t walk it alone. Your company is appreciated. I also encourage you to share this and invite others to come along. This is part of our shared human experience. So, Please, share on your social media, at the dinner table, with co-workers…anyone and everyone.
Hopefully, in a little while I’ll be able to share with you OUR victory over this thing.
It’s odd how certain thoughts and ideas pop into your head. Churning and turning over and over and over…. See how the myriad facets of that thought present their varying colors and perspectives. Sewing themselves into the fabric of your mind. Amazing!
What does that have to do with anything? Well, this morning my mind wandered to how one generation’s life and experience influence those that follow. I know that this is something that we in the West don’t often consider. We think that each person is an individual who is capable of building her life on her own. Through hard work and grit people can slough off any and all encumbrances and create a successful life…for themselves.
But, is that an entirely accurate idea?
I’m not so sure.
My Dad’s mother died when he was very young. His father remarried. Eventually, his father, an alcoholic, left them and moved away. So, he was raised by his step-mother. It was late in his life when he told me anything about that time in his life. His step-mother was truly a bitch. She abused him in passive-aggressive ways that left lasting scars. As a result, he withdrew into himself. He became known to others by his quietness. His high school yearbook noted that he didn’t say much, but what he said was profound. He never experienced true intimacy with anyone. Yeah, he had a special relationship with my mom. His love was as deep as the ocean. His devotion to her unwavering. But, even with her, he held his feelings close to himself. It seemed that only after his mind began to fail him toward the end of his life that he began to open that long-closed box that contained his heart. Nature and Nurture. Joined to create a New Thing. Dysfunction.
As I wrote before, I was adopted. I was torn from my mother and placed in an institution. I was given to my adoptive parents while still and infant. But, damage was done. All of the experts agree that attachments are necessarily created, bonds of love and trust, at this early age. Although my adoptive parents cared for me, gave me their name, and provided stability and security for me, they will always be at best High Level Foster Parents. It seems that only those who do the adopting consider that their new child is truly theirs. No one who keeps these stats and stories ever really asks those who were adopted. No one seems to really consider our insight into our own lives. I don’t want to take anything away from my mom and dad. They loved me and supported me in their way. I will always have deep gratitude for the life they provided and the sacrifices that they made. But, the ability for me to make intimate links with anyone was diminished. If not totally destroyed. I withdrew into myself. I tried to emulate Mr. Spock. Suppressing my emotions, stuffing my feelings, became my ultimate goal. We all know that’s an impossible task. Rather, my emotions raged like a class 5 hurricane. They found no true or constructive outlet. So, as I worked to contain the storm within, damage was done. Nature and Nurture. Joined to create a new thing. Dysfunction.
Those are two generations in which similar circumstances created similar narratives.
My brain goes to these places as I try to come to grips with dysfunction, not only in my own life, but in my family and among my friends. There is something to the idea of generational influence. For good or ill; better or worse. These are things that we have absolutely no control over. They have been handed to us by those who came first.
We can, however, make choices on how to engage these things. I know that I will never be able to experience a truly intimate relationship with anyone. There are too many issues deeply embedded in my soul to allow that. But, I can push myself to learn new ways to deal with that. The first and perhaps most important way is to be honest with myself about these things. Second, I can learn to forgive those who preceded me. Both the one who gave me away and the ones who took me in. They are no more perfect than I am. I have to be able to extend them the grace to be human. Third, and perhaps most important, I must learn to forgive myself. Because I am acutely aware of my own shortcomings, my own “sin,” it’s easy to find myself swimming in an ocean of guilt and shame. That’s hard. The guilt and shame were truly earned. But, I can’t…I mustn’t…live there. That compounds hurt upon hurt. That leads to death. Spiritual; emotional; physical.
We give too little consideration for anything beyond the tiny sphere in which we live. We think, mistakenly, that we are an individual who is a self-contained entity with no ties to anything outside of ourselves.
I came across that hashtag on twitter yesterday. Since I am one, I decided to see where it would lead. To say that I was unprepared for what I read would be understating things. The amount of hurt and anger radiating from these tweets would rival the sun’s heat. I was truly taken by surprise.
I didn’t experience the same emotions that many of these other adoptees did. As I reflect back on my childhood, I really don’t know why I didn’t have those feelings.
Abandonment. Loneliness. Isolation.
Perhaps my adoptive parents were just different than others. Maybe they cared enough that I didn’t consider myself anything less than their son. Even though they never hid the fact that I was adopted, they always treated me like their own. So, maybe I was special in that regard. I grew up with nothing but gratitude to them for giving me a chance at a good life.
I do remember asking about my birth parents. What I don’t remember are answers to that. Like many of the folks tweeting about this, my adoptive parents deflected that question. They tried to get me to focus on what I had with them. Not what I might have had in another life. I really can’t blame them too much for that. They had feelings that they wanted to protect. I suppose the prospect of rejection from the person that they felt they had sacrificed so much for was difficult for them. You see, my adoptive parents had tried for nearly a decade to have a child of their own. Physical issues didn’t allow that. They wanted to have children, though. So, they took the only avenue that was open to them. Adoption. For that, I should be grateful, I guess.
There was something missing, though. As a young child I had no idea what that was. I had neither the ability to process those feelings, nor the language to express them. So, for the most part, I stuffed them. I remember when I was 12 I was talking to friend who was also an adoptee. When I shared some of my regrets at not knowing anything about my birth parents, he told me not to think about them. His feeling was that his birth parents didn’t love him enough to keep him. So, screw them. They weren’t worth the effort to even consider. I accepted his logic. Hey, it made sense to 12 year old me!
And, I lived with that assessment. I never gave my birth parents another thought. Yeah, I was reminded that I was a type of singularity with no roots every time I went to the doctor and had to answer the question about family traits with, “I’m adopted.” But, even that became a point of pride with me. It made the doctor squirm a bit. I liked that.
When I got married I suppose my wife and I discussed the fact that we had no idea what kind of genetic issues might lie hidden in my closed adoption records. But, we didn’t let that stop us from bring new life of our own into the world. Yeah, it might have been helpful. We realized, though, that even in the most solid families with a great pedigree having children can be a crapshoot. Likewise, birth families with a history of physical and mental issues can produce a perfectly well-adjusted child. As they say, There are no guarantees.
What changed the equation for me was the night I received a phone call. The person on the other end introduced himself as the husband of my sister. Hmmm…I don’t have a sister. Or, do I? My first inclination was that this was a scam of some sort. Even though the voice gave me all sorts of details about the person he said was my birth mother, I had no way to corroborate those. I knew nothing about her.
We met that evening. I took my wife and we drove to the place that we had arranged. When we walked in I spotted them immediately. Over in the corner of the restaurant was a young woman who was more frightened than any deer caught in headlights. Yep! That’s her! We sat down and introductions were made all the way round.
The story of their surprise trip was, well, interesting. It turns out that our mother was emotionally handicapped. At some point she was, as my newly minted brother-in-law said, “Taken advantage of” by an older man. Voila! Enter Me. Our mother was living with her parents who were apparently abusive. They force her to give me up. Now, we need to understand that in the year that I was born was during a time when abortion was illegal. Mothers of children born in our circumstances were shunned and treated like whores. The social stigma of this was a price too high for them to pay.
So, I was placed in some kind of orphanage. At least,that’s what I was told. When I was 6 months old, my adoptive parents entered. I had a rather pronounced birthmark on my upper lip. So, at that time I was considered “handicapped.” That didn’t stop this couple from taking me in as their own. Again, I should be grateful. I could have easily languished in “The System” for years. But, I was placed in a warm and loving home. And, I never really looked back.
After I met my sister, the time came for me to meet my birth mother. You see, the whole reason that my sister tracked me down was because our mother, besides her disability, was overcome with remorse for her lost son. She lamented the choice that had been made for her by her parents. So, my sister and her then husband thought that if they could locate me that would bring some closure and peace to our mother. So, we drove to their place and met her. The meeting was good, I think. Our mother was overjoyed at finally finding me. We did all of the first time meeting stuff with hugs all around and tears and all of that. We set up a time for them to come to our place and visit.
Then, I told my adoptive parents what was happening. I’m not sure what they felt. Hurt? Anger? Fear? All of the above. My mom said that she had feared this day. She asked question about what I had learned. When I answered them, she admitted that she knew the answers were correct because she had the documentation that identified my birth mother. She had my original birth certificate with the name that my birth mother had originally given me. She knew these things and never told them to me. Again, I can understand her actions. I get it. I’m not sure that I will ever agree with them, though.
Be that as it may, this is the life I’ve been given. I have no choice but to accept it an get on with it. And, it has been a good life over all.
There were things, though, that didn’t seem to add up. So, I began to seek counselling. Over the years those folks I talked to have all stopped when I told them of my adoption. All of them point to that one event as being the primary shaper of who I am. And, in every case, I doubted them. After all, I was only 6 months old! How much could that short time be problematic?
Well, apparently a lot. The lack of emotional connection in the earliest DAYS of life can have devastating effects on a person. How? In my case it is most pronounced in my own inability to form and maintain any close emotional connections with others. This has snowballed into people considering me aloof, selfish, closed, and distant. And, people are right! I am all of those. And, more.
Are they a result of my separation and disconnect from my birth mother? Maybe. Or, do they have their roots in the fact that my adoptive dad was also aloof and seemingly unable to make deep emotional connections? Maybe, I got hit with a double-whammy!
In any case, here I am over six decades later still wondering…still imagining.
Will anything be proven by anger, hurt, or any other negative feelings toward either my adoptive parents or my birth mother? Oh, hell no. That would only amount to me punishing me for something that I had no control over.
All I can really do is try to live into the life that I have created with my wife and our family. No, I don’t do it all that well. Like I said, close emotional bonds are not something that I am capable of. But, I can’t blame those who came before me for what I have done with the raw materials that I was given by means of both nature and nurture.
Last week I wrote that this year, 2020, is not going to be like most other years. There are new things sitting on the horizon. If you squint just a little and tilt your head to the left a tad, you should be able to see them.
In just under three months I am going to enter the ranks of “Those Who You Used to Work.” Aka: Retired.
I began working in the printing industry 49 years ago. For those keeping score, that’s a loonngg time ago. Little did I know then, as I cleaned spray powder off the ceiling and pipes, that I would spend my entire adult life helping to push paper through machines. But, I have come from those first days of cleaning the overhead to sweeping floors and working in the warehouse, through helping on presses and nearly 45 years in prepress, to here today getting ready to say goodbye.
I have a lot of different feelings right now. So much has happened during the last nearly half century. Most of it good. Some time spent in the valley. But, that’s the way life is, right?
There is so much that I would like to write about. But, I am still processing some of this. Yeah, I’ve been planning for this for quite a while. That doesn’t change the feelings of anxiety and fear that lurk around the periphery of my heart and mind. It’s not until you etch the decision in stone that the reality of change begins to truly come into focus. As long as you’re talking about what’s coming it still has a fairy tale feel. But, when you actually bite into the apple and feel the truth coursing through your veins, well, let’s just say that it’s different. It’s real. This is actually happening.
