S: I can only speak for myself, but I feel like the whole nation is in a bit of shock in losing our dear friend who made us laugh and seemed to have no limit of compassion for others. That unimaginable kind of talent has left our lives, and we are now left with only each other to fill those places of life. It is what we do as survivors. We survive.
A: I know a lot about surviving. It takes time, strength, and a bottomless pit of support and friendship from others. I remember when I was in Washington DC, meeting the oldest friend of my late father for the first time. We toured the capital and its dome, mall, museums, and laughed. We met my oldest friend there for dinner. It all came full circle that night, we all had a passion for music in common. While it was a year before I knew I would move from Montana, it was 30 in the making of my way.
F: My late father’s friend was a man who did not march to the beat of his own drum; he just beat, marched, laughed. If he had a drum in his hand, all the better.
A: What little I know of my late father is apparently along the same route. Talented, music, painting, love, photography, writing… There are some really good stories, like how he had jobs he had no right having, and a silver tongue to boot.
R: About compassion. I used to lay awake in the middle of the night as a child wondering how much we are supposed to care for each other. A lot? A little? Where does a lot meet a little? Am I not compassionate enough?
I: Have you ever tried something totally new with someone before? Something you’ve never done with anyone else, with that someone else? Like travel to a new place, or meet under frank circumstances, or share something unprecedented? Most of my adventures in life have been with few, mostly solo. But every once in awhile, I get to share new experiences. It makes being a survivor the best thing ever.
© 2015 Jess Rowell firstname.lastname@example.org