It was only a dream...

Last night, I dreamed of the forest. Clear streams winding through ancient trees, with happy children laughing on the banks. My uncle Chester fished in the shallows as I looked on smiling. I was wishing that I could have allowed my son to spend his entire childhood there, oblivious to the troubles of civilized life.

I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock, well-rested. I'd slept through the night without awakening for the first time in weeks, and the vaguely frenetic fog that tends to follow me when I'm tired had lifted. I knew that I had too many things to focus on today, and that I wouldn't be any less frantic today than yesterday. But I could think clearly. I could start my day with a quiet mind. And I was grateful.

My life is a good one. I am fortunate in ways I can't even begin to count. But sometimes, it takes a simple, delicate moment - like waking up from a peaceful dream - to put all of the peripheral noise in perspective so that I can be appropriately grateful.

Perspective. It's like the sound of laughter in the wind, sometimes.

I do believe it's time for another edition of What Have we Learned?

• Life happens every day, whether or not you're watching. Death ensures that you watch.
• Cute shoes and handbags are worth it, every time.
• Be grateful if your thirteen year-old has little interest in Facebook. Also, be warned if you log into his account when he's not home - seeing nineteen friend invitations from girls who look twenty can be quite disconcerting.
• Salsa dancing is way super fun, even if you are convinced that you're the most uncoordinated person on the planet. Sometimes you can surprise yourself if you are encouraged to push beyond your comfort zone.
• If someone invents nail polish that dries completely in ten minutes or less, they can become the richest person in the world. I will personally see to it that this happens.
  
• Thirty-something is a lot less angsty than twenty-something. That still doesn't make forty-something sound any more appealing.
• It's important to visit your grandpa. Excuses will only sound lame later.
• I am fun, damn it.
• Hot Single Guy Night at the Grocery Store does not exist at Super Wal-Mart.
• I still can't shop at Aldi. Sorry.
• It's important to have Hope for the Flowers.
• Sometimes you need to try harder. Other times, you need to not try so hard. Figuring out which situation is which is the hard part.
• Keep moving forward. Sometimes, that means leaving people behind. Other times, it means carrying them with you. And every now and then, it means letting yourself be carried.
• My generally quiet life is very good for me.
• Charlie the Unicorn will always be funny, and Starfish will always love you.
  
• Yes, I have Europe's "The Final Countdown" on vinyl. Yes, I realize this makes me old. But it also makes me awesome.
• A has been waiting his entire life to be told, "I am not at liberty to divulge that information," by a government employee. You never know what sort of odd little dreams your kids may have.
• Spring will always come back eventually.
• Men are a lot more fun to have around when you've figured out that you don't really need them to be happy.
• Patience really is a virtue.

A friend of mine from work committed suicide Saturday night.

He drove his car into a canal in Lemont.

How do we know it was suicide?

"Churulo said tracks found through the snow and mud indicated the man attempted at least two or three times to drive over a hill into the canal because his vehicle most likely became stuck before forwarding and reversing multiple times."

Also, a client of mine passed away last week.

Also also, P's mother passed away last week.

Spend time with the people you love.

I think I'm going to go visit my grandpa.

I learned today that M has been diagnosed with ALS.

I am so angry that I could scream.

When my friend E died in October, it hurt on a level I'd never experienced. Sitting in the ICU, holding his wife's hand, and watching the nurses with hushed voices go about their business, there was a sense of desolation. Eighteen months of fighting leukemia seemed deserving of a more dignified end. Knowing that his family and friends had been with him every step of the way was small consolation, I thought at the time. The unfairness of death seemed to outweigh everything else. We had done everything we could, and it still was not enough.

But I took care of things. I made the phone calls that his wife could not make. I made funeral arrangements, and I made food. I picked relatives up at the airport, and I helped clean up his things. I stayed busy. I was useful. I fought the sense of helplessness by doing something - anything - to make things easier. I was okay because I was making a difference, no matter how small it was.

Now this.

I instantly realized that M's situation will be dramatically different. ALS has no cure, so the only hope is to slow its progress. I don't know how long it will take. I don't know how it will end; he may choose to end it himself before the disease becomes unbearable. I don't know what he's thinking, and I don't know how he will manage.

What I do know is that he will do as much of this alone as possible. He will not let me help, and he will not rely on family or friends except when absolutely necessary. He believes that accepting support is a weakness, and that asking for help is unforgivable. He will insist on preserving what he sees as his own dignity.

This is his prerogative, of course. But I hate it.

I hate it so much that I could throw up just thinking about it.

I know that we never could have made our relationship work forever. I realize that despite how much we've always cared for each other, our differences were too great to allow any permanence. I made peace with that long ago, and I won't kid either of us by pretending otherwise.

But it hurts desperately. I now realize how fortunate E was to have the people he loved at his side through everything, and how important it was to not have to fight alone. I see his family take solace in the fact that they did everything they could for him, and find some semblance of peace in the connection they felt with him as the end neared. I see the difference it made.

M will never allow himself to rely on me. He will begrudgingly accept some level of help from his sons, but most of the basic needs, I expect, will be met by strangers. Financial compensation is much easier to dole out than thanks, no?

I grieve already. I am horrified by the thought of him slowly dying alone. I can't comprehend the level of misery he will experience, or how it will be compounded by his stubborn refusal to let people love him. It screams of wrongness, and it rages at my sensibilities.

Maybe it makes me so angry because I know that I am so much like him, if on a much more subdued scale. Or because there are so few people in my life that I would be willing to ask for help if I desperately needed it, and I can't bear to lose one of them. Or because there are so many opportunities that have been lost.

I will say, though, that the saddest part of all is that I don't think the ALS will kill him. I think his pride will take him first.

And that is something I can not reconcile.

Strength, by itself, is overrated. We all admire the person who survives a tragedy, or overcomes an obstacle. The problem is that human nature demands such of us. Often, we have no choice but to do what needs to be done when the situation arises. Adrenaline and instinct are more responsible for our success than we are.

More admirable is stamina - choosing to fight the unsung battles, the quiet wars that are waged beneath the surface. Perseverance is a recognition that sometimes, there is no victory, but only an ephemeral prevention of defeat. It is choosing to push forward when no one is watching, and consciously refusing to allow hopelessness to gain a foothold.

At night, when all but the mind is quiet, it is that stamina, that resilience, that brings peace. It is its own courage. It is the knowledge that tomorrow, there will be more hope.

Strength is only an attribute when it is ingrained in character. Alone, it is a fluke - a moment that passes as quickly as any other, and might perhaps be captured and framed for future melancholy reminiscence.

Strength of character, though, requires a bravery that burns like a pilot light in the soul. While the body sleeps, time creeps past, and the world's attention wanders, its glows quietly, creating its own company.

Today, I choose to persevere.

Tomorrow?

I'll need to make a choice again.