I ended my last job before retirement quietly, sharply. American Airlines, a contract signed and signed again until it felt like a mantra I no longer believed. I doubled my rate, expecting the break. And it came—in one line from Steve: “We won’t pay your new rate.” No explanation. No conversation. No thanks for letting me know you had changed your rate so I wouldn't face explanations to hirer ups. Just gone. Another job. Another “friend.”
Friends drift like leaves in wind. You should get used to it. I never do.
April 17, Ruben died. My neighbor’s cat, a lifeboat in fur. After Mom passed, he never left my side. Lap, chair, floor—he stared into my eyes as though he could absorb the grief and hold it so I might survive. And I did. He was love without words, quiet and unwavering.
August 22, diabetes?? Not a companion I wanted stacked atop kidney and heart disease. I responded with fury: bread gone, potatoes gone, vegetables and air-fried chicken in. Daily walks turned into miles in Texas heat. Mom’s treadmill returned home. Fifteen pounds lighter. Alone in the world, I chose charge over surrender.
September 17, Bobby and Linda to Alzheimer’s care. Painful, necessary. What is happening-
2024 has been absence after absence: jobs, friends, pets, certainty. And yet here I am—still standing. Still moving. Still breathing into the empty spaces. I’ve discarded the hollow comfort: “It can’t get any worse.” It always can and often does..
