Tag Archive: Living Buddha


At 86, my father lay at the precipice of passing. He spends nights talking to ‘friends’ – those being his mother, an old friend or angels he claims to be guides. During the waking hours, my father’s life is not unlike Elizabeth Kubler-Ross.

For 15 hours a day, I sit in this same chair, totally dependent on someone else coming in here to make me a cup of tea,” Kubler-Ross says. “It’s neither living nor dying. It’s stuck in the middle.”

Watching a loved one pass can be painful, gratifying, even joyous. Seems ritualistic for my mother, for this is not the first time my father died.

May 21th, 2001 was the first time my father passed. During emergency procedures, he claimed to have an out-of-body experience and successfully repeated, verbatim, all medical procedures to every clinician. He briefly entered the brightest white light ever seen, spoke to his mother and was able to identify key angels, ‘helpers’ and ‘takers.’

The above background lays the groundwork for this post. My thoughts are not of the afterlife, white lights, or angels. Rather, I wish to document critical life lessons my father has revealed in the autumn of his.

Lesson 1

One beautiful thing about death is that one’s life circumstances doesn’t determine your outcome. Whatever your life, whatever your mistakes, God probably doesn’t view personal successes and failures as ‘black’ or ‘white.’ All of us are redeemable. All are loved. And in God, there are no ordinary moments, there is no ordinary person.

Lesson 2

We all feel heaven will end our human experience. Yet, my father has taught me heaven is a world where pain is not worth losing every other emotion and experience that makes us proud to be human. Spiritual living is a changing experience that should cause all of us to dig deep and live all the moments we’ve ever dreamed about, regardless whether they be here or in heaven.

Lesson 3

Love is the most powerful purifier of all. When our heart is filled with love, we are healed. God’s love resonates with everything around us that affects the physical, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual well-being. True love purifies the spirit and cleanses the soul. Expect nothing less from heaven itself.

Lesson 4

Heaven is probably more like our world than we think. Just as we are a collaboration of energies, heaven is probably reinforces that everyone has something to contribute. Everybody has a purpose and a spiritual life attunes you to the rest of the universe. All the life force energy comes to your aid when your purpose is in attunement with betterment of the universe as a whole. “All energy is only borrowed … You have to give it back.”

Lesson 5

Lesson 5 summarizes 1 through 4. Simply stated, Heaven and life, are very similar to ramen. Maezumi from the film The Ramen Girl summarizes what my father has been trying to teach me for 58 years.

A bowl of ramen is a self-contained universe with life from the sea, the mountains, and the earth. All existing in perfect harmony. Harmony is essential. What holds it all together is the broth. The broth gives life to the ramen.

What’s in the broth? Love.

It seems like forever since I’ve written. In theory, one might say I’ve busy. Some time ago, my eighty-year-old parents collided head on with an SUV trying to cut across several lanes. Or, another friend might blame it on the fact I’ve now moved to a wheelchair. As a result, there’s less stress on my heart.

In truth, I haven’t written due to time and having a lack of anything to say.

I thought of letting my blog just reside there, allowing those who wander across my words to read, partake and ponder. And while visitors still read my posts, the exchange of ideas probably occurs offline. In truth, there is no one ‘right’ way to exchange my thoughts. Enjoy them as needed. Find strength in them as required. My words are not my words, but rather that eternal inspiration that guides all living creatures.

Today’s message is one many have pondered. After having cared for my parents post-wreck, I read of Dale Earnhardt Jr. account where he believed a supernatural being pulled him from a fiery wreck. I wouldn’t have thought much of the account if it had not been for my father. A few days ago, my father stated that during the head on collision, he saw four angels or spirits. He remains unaware of their purpose, except many medical professionals, after reviewing accident pictures, pondered how either of the vehicle occupants remained alive.

The desert southwest, where my parents live, is full of wonder and movement – a geological marvel where spiritual and physical life resides and interact. However, this interaction is not exclusive to only the desert southwest. I believe the spiritual and physical lives and breathes around us each day.

We just need to look and experience. We need to reach beyond our own limitations and believe

Care for the Goose

A gifted psychotherapist spent a decade working 65- to 70-hour work weeks, often working one full-time job and two part-time jobs, multiple back-to-back speaking engagements, and literary writing. Her friends warned to not burn herself out, that she was on an exhausting pace. Still, she tarried onward, for in her eyes, God said the need was great.

Reality has a way of sneaking in. On a crisp warm spring morning last year, she awoke with no voice. Multiple trips to multiple medical specialists returned a similar prognosis – her voice chords were nearly paralyzed. Fearing the worst, she turned to prayer, then to various concoctions of honey, seaweed and aloe shakes, over-the-counter allergy medicines and finally use of a voice microphone. However, she kept working.

A year of unanswered prayers whizzed past. She experienced little to no relief from shakes and over-the-counter medicines. Exhausted, she returned to medical professionals. The update? Her voice chords were completely paralyzed. Thus, all that raw talent, knowledge and ability to assist those in need are locked forever – a voice chord away.

Aesop’s fable of the goose that laid the golden eggs should echo for all of us. The fable details a struggling farmer who finds an egg made of gold. Thinking someone ‘punk’d’ him, the egg was appraised and found to be real. Using the gift wisely, the goose lays a golden egg every day and the farmer becomes rich.

Like many before, finding talent and using it wisely are often polar opposites. The farmer convinced himself there lay an infinite goldmine inside the goose. In a fit of greed, he killed the goose and finds nothing.

The Buddha told his followers a similar story. A man who died was reborn as a golden goose. He remembered his old family and felt a pang thinking of how, since his death, they were barely scraping by. So, he went to them and released one of his valuable feathers. “I’ll always provide for you,” the goose promised. Day after day, he gave the family another feather until they had enough gold to buy soft beds and rich foods.

But his former wife grew greedy and one day lured the goose close with sweet words. She grabbed him, pinned his beating wings and plucked all of his golden feathers. Since the goose couldn’t fly, his wife threw him into a barrel, fed him skinny scraps of food, and waited for his feathers to grow back. But when they did, she was disappointed: instead of the golden glint she was hoping for, the new feathers were as white as icy silence.

Essentially, all three stories teach the same lesson. However, the gifted psychotherapist is a friend and her’s story is tragically filled with real-life consequences. Prayers unanswered, she remains voiceless.

Stephen Covey used Aesop’s fable to illustrate that the more you produce, the more you do, the more effective you are is illusion. You can wear yourself out helping all sorts of causes, but a certain point, you face diminishing returns as your body fails from lack of care and sleep.

The lesson? You have to care for the goose.

This past February, I turned 58 — seven years away from Medicare, eight years or so away from Social Security. So there it is: I’m one of the last of the baby boomer generation (1946 – 1964), a Buddhist, and just another individual soul face to face with his own aging. All of this was reinforced a week about when an ex looked at my medical bills, glared into my eyes and stated the obvious:

“You cost too much.

Yes … “I” … cost too much.

Sorry,” I explained. “I was supposed to have been dead already.”

If death had occurred, there’d be no underlying medical expenses. No costs. No loss of employment wages. No hassels. However, the past six months have been a de facto race to retain eyesight. There was no major accident. I did not poke out an eye. I did not succum to household chemicals or hit by a baseball. There was no car accident, no fistfight, not even a stumble. I simply awoke on the morning of January 26th and couldn’t see. While I survived five major eye surgeries between the last week in January and first week of February, I accumulated $9,000 in health care deductibles and another $4,000 in lost income.

All that was just eye surgery.

All told, I was lucky. I had health insurance, albeit COBRA from a previous employer. Fast forward to 2025, all of us will likely to encounter a shortage of primary care physicians, increased emphasis on disease prevention, growth in electronic medical record-keeping, and growing disparities in both access and quality of primary care. Simply put, if you’re rich, you’ll have healthcare. If you’re poor, you die.

The number of those aged 60 and over will increase to 1.2 billion in 2025 and subsequently to two billion in 2050. By 2050, twenty-two (22%) percent of the world’s population will be over age 60 and 75% of the elderly will be living in countries with overburdened health care delivery systems. People, like me, will experience higher prevalence of chronic diseases, physical disabilities, mental illnesses and other co-morbidities.

While health care for the elderly requires collaboration of health, social welfare, rural/urban development and legal sectors, legislators continue to push aside such thoughts and while dropping billions into other investments, such as military armament, wasted border walls and other pet projects.

In fact, legislators say I cost too much, as Paul Ryan noted in December 2017;

We’re going to have to get back next year at entitlement reform, which is how you tackle the debt and the deficit,” Ryan said during an appearance on Ross Kaminsky’s talk radio show“… Frankly, it’s the health care entitlements that are the big drivers of our debt, so we spend more time on the health care entitlements — because that’s really where the problem lies, fiscally speaking.

By 2050, 80% of all older people will live in low- and middle-income countries. As a generation of aging baby boomers, and a corresponding uptick in chronic illnesses, meets rising medical costs in a perfect storm, the medical and social services communities have to face a critical question: How can we best provide care for our nation’s low-income elderly population?

Financing alone will not be enough. I invite all those who are interested to reach out to your communities, get involved, and include yourself in the ongoing health care conversation. Only together can we create solutions for the expansion and improvement of community-based health care to better serve all our citizens. We have to do something now, now in 2025 or 2050. If we don’t, one day, you’ll be informed you cost too much.

To L&H: Be “Special”

Dear L&H:

Thank you for your wonderful follow-up letter.

During a recent dinner party this past Sunday several guests turned the discussion to personality testing, specifically Enneagrams.  I’m not a psychological expert, but my understanding is that the Enneagram can be seen as a set distinct personality types, with each number of the Enneagram denoting a personality type. As with most, it is common to find a little of yourself in all nine of the types, although one specific type stands out as being closest to you. One Enneagram level is expressive, dramatic, self-absorbed, and temperamental. Supposedly, if one is of this level, that person believes they are special.

My ears perked up when one of the guests readily admitted she was “special.” Thinking about my past, the term “special,” has not been uncommon word in my life, for I’ve encountered many who’ve claimed they were truly special. And truthfully, they always thought they either were or are better than either someone else or everyone else. To highlight, I once heard a successful Aquinas Associate, book author and speaker say:

“I am the most interesting person I ever met.”

In April 2015, I penned “You Are Your Greatest Weakness.” Part of that blog is as follows:

“We all think we’re super important.  Children are told how great they are. They aren’t. We aren’t. But what I’ve learned is that the road to character is built by confronting your own weakness. It is he who conquers his own soul that becomes greater than one who takes a city. The road to success means understanding personal weakness.

This key lesson begins with the process of opening one’s mind to the possibility that one does not know what one thought they knew – that one may not really understand what one thought they really understood.”

Nearly three years later, I perceive myself as remarkably average, that there are a lot more interesting people than myself – far too many to name. As such, when someone asks “How do I create an interesting worthwhile and special life” I find no better prose than George Bernard Shaw:

“This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.”

L&H, the key caveat of Shaw’s quote is “… being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one …” If you recognize you are being used for a mighty purpose, then you have reached the level of all great social movements wanted to achieve. It is the same level of inner acceptance Christ, Buddha, Martin Luther King, Ghandi, Nelson Mandela and so many others hoped all would achieve.

I believe the youth of this world will generate a great purpose. Each of you are special. However, ensure your purpose is a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one. If achieved, then you will become the force to which mortal men only dream.

~Peace~

Moving Aside

Colorful foliage in the autumn parkAs we near the end of 2017, I’ve reflected upon my writing and whether to continue this blog. The mission of my blog was to enable readers to see blessings often hidden in plain packages. I asked for acceptance, guidance, and loving kindness to remind me what love is really like, to feel safe and lay my heart open, exposing my journey and soul to your inner light.

Looking back, I’m unsure exactly what my journey was. My blog’s journey started in 2012. And in four years and eight months since, I’ve opined upon many topics, from politics, health, spirituality and so on. Four years and eight months since, I remain unsure exactly what my journey is.

Over the years, I’ve opined on lost neighbors, friends, even blogs. “Ultimatemindsettoday” is gone. Respect Life? Gone. The Buddhist Blog? Gone. Women Active in Buddhism appears to have been updated eons ago, for Aung San Suu Kyi remains listed a hero. Shakya Design closed it’s doors December 2016. Quiet Mountain’s website struggles upon opening. Thus, since life moves on, I removed them this afternoon. Only one has moved forward – Oscar Relentos by publishing a book on Amazon, even noting a reviewer.

During these past years, our global community lost many good politicians, entertainers and sports stars. Also, too many military members died, both home and abroad. Mass shootings interspersed my blogs – Pulse Orlando, Ferguson, Missouri, Connecticut, and Las Vegas just to name a few. Hurricanes, earthquakes and other disasters crossed my thoughts. Still, forty-eight months later, did any one specific blog post change anything? Hard to say.

As such, I reflect. How has my blog impacted anyone? Or, maybe more so, “How has my blog positively impacted anyone?” That question, in and of itself, leads to a more contemplative thought, “Have I positively impacted anyone.

Looking back at various blog notes, I had a difficult time comprehending how current events could be mastered by older textual teachings. In a world of Trump-ism and self-importance, it’s hard to envision how the Biblical teachings that I grew by could prevail in a world of hyper-conservatism. Then again, it’s hard to understand how good people would let bad things happen. Yet more often than not, ‘we the people’ ignored our faith and jumped toward a pool of darkness representing itself as the path to glory.

Maybe my blog attempted new horizons, trying to communicate something fresh and exciting. My writing became less about legends and storytelling and focused more on current lessons and the beliefs that a Christ, Buddha, Dr. Martin Luther King, and others maybe would have pressed.

It’s ignorant for me to confess, but in my early twenties I visions of becoming a spiritual master. After seeing the God, who wouldn’t? Right? However, I have learned over the past decades is that real heroes are destined for greatness. But I never experienced such, as most don’t. Borrowing from Harry Chapin I am not a hero. At 58, I’m a tame and toothless tabby who can’t produce a loin’s roar.

The arrogant belief in their own legend. As such, I have no legend. I have no Wikipedia page. Just as politicians are blinded by their own ideals and belief in their own legend, so was the man some thirty or so years ago. What I have realized is that teaching and learning is a two-way street that it is. My own mentees have taught as many lessons as I taught them.

The real lesson is that all things are temporary. Even this blog. As leader and in life, I must move aside.

As 2018 nears, I will end with a quote from Roxanne Gay.

The older we get, the more culturally invisible we become, as writers, as people. But you have your words. Make sure there are people in your life who will have faith in your promise when you can’t.”

Yes … the real lesson all along was to ensure there are people in your life who will have faith in you when you can’t. That’s love. Love’s what it’s all about.

This blog of “thoughts” started over five years ago. And with exception for a few sabbaticals, I continue to provide something to anyone willing to stop and read. November 2012 found me in Ocean City, Maryland. November 2013 Vermont saw me host the holidays as I looked over Lake Champlain. In 2014, I opined on Jameis Winston and our inability to provide credibility to victims of sexual violence. On a personal note, we’ve learn little in the waning years. Missouri University and Black Lives Matter decorated the nation’s table in 2015. Last year, I was on sabbatical, as I traveled five countries while briefly discussing Trump’s “War on Christmas” – to which I’ve not seen.

So, what have I learned?

America remains a great country. The economy is rolling. Granted we need to improve wages for poorer folks; create some form of national healthcare that everyone can use, and create a better world for our children.

Despite the fact most people don’t know the complete words of our national anthem, America has sports. In America, we can choose to protest by kneeling or rioting in the streets. I am thankful our sports teams can give us a momentary pause to think while enjoying something rich and wonderfully diverse.

God bless America’s immigrants. Each person coming to America adds their own flavor and layer of life to America. Like all living things,  we require injections of new thinking and energy, and rearranging our identity and heritage is a wonderful process. Most arrive from desperation, but they learn and like others before them, they reshape America. Diversity is our strength.

I am thankful to have gotten this far in life. Wasn’t meant to. I am thankful for my doctors who provide me the opportunity to defy the odds. These medical professionals, researchers, clinicians and physical therapists are the real gifts from God. They’ve arbitrarily decided my net worth from some big office based upon my healthcare policy. And even though I will eat some Hickory Farms beef sausage, don’t take my momentary weakness personally.

Having traveled to all fifty states, I am thankful to understand just how big America is. As such, America is not under siege. Our size, depth and global position of our country prevents us from being under siege. And the world is thankful our reality TV star, who has promised to “bomb the shit” out of our enemies, attack the families of terrorists, and reinstitute torture, has remained relatively ineffective. As such, most Americans will die from old age versus anything terrorism.

Taking a message from Thich Nhat Hanh, I will recite “The Five Contemplations” at mealtime. The verses have been handed down through twenty-five centuries. Each is known for their depth of compassion and wisdom and remind us to walk lightly on this earth and consider our purpose. They remind us to be mindful of unwholesome acts, such as greed, anger, and delusion, and to transform them with insight, wisdom, and loving-kindness.

  1. This food is the gift of the whole universe—the earth, the sky, and much hard work;
  2. May we live in a way that makes us worthy to receive it;
  3. May we transform our unskillful states of mind, especially our greed;
  4. May we take only foods that nourish us and prevent illness; and
  5. We accept this food so that we may realize the path of practice.

Peace to all.

Former Defense Secretary Leon Panetta said President Bill Clinton “more than paid the price” for his affair with Monica Lewinsky while he was in office, basing it in part upon the fact he was impeached. Vice President Joe Biden echoed similar themes.

The same can’t be said for Lewinsky.

As the Huffington Post noted in 2012, Lewinsky floundered. She’s designed handbags and received an advanced degree in social psychology from the London School of Economics, but nothing seems to have stuck.  No one will hire her. In the past few years, Lewinsky has reemerged into the public spotlight as an anti-bullying activist. As such, if she lived near me, I would be proud to call her my neighbor.

For the accuser, life outcomes tend to be different. The harassment sequence is familiar to anyone who has followed the Harvey Weinstein scandal. Power and imbalance. Professional invitations really disguised for assault. One person trading upon connections, plum jobs, pressuring the younger person for sex, followed by the “public outing,” and indignation of being falsely accused.

As Vox wrote earlier this year, Weinstein’s community rejected him. Yet Trump and Alabama Senatorial candidate Roy Moore continue to receive support. Why? Well, they’re needed. The Republican party needs both Trump and Moore. They certainly don’t need Al Franken.

People may think sexual assault is unacceptable, but when push comes to shove, there are circumstances under which they’ll tolerate it because there are other things that matter more to them.

Should you be the accuser, the window of light is very small, then you’re discarded.  While I understand that as humans lying may seem to be a common practice, the public automatically assumes “victims” would lie and “the accused” be believed because they have a public presence.

Repeated presentations from law enforcement, FBI, therapists, and state providers provide hard evidence that “false allegations are very minimal.” The overwhelming majority of victims drop their charges because the implications and pressure to convict the accused are too costly. They shared how difficult it is just to try and convict those guilty of sexual assault, pedophilia, and neglect. It was difficult to not only hear but to swallow.

Throughout the years, I’ve taken an extensive personal inventory of the man I had become. For quite some time, it was not a pretty picture. Many years later, I now take responsibility for speaking out, for listening to those who claim to be victims, and holding men accountable for their language and actions.

As a Buddhist, I understand people don’t always tell the truth, but we should not immediately assume that those who are dishonest. As leaders, in both community and household, we required to act, to fight for victims.

Biblically speaking, I suggest the following:

“Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves. For the rights of all who are oppressed speak up, judge fairly, defend the rights of the vulnerable and needy.” (Prov. 31:8-9)

The Monica Lewinsky’s of the world need us.

The ideas I stand for are not mine. I borrowed them from Socrates. I swiped them from Chesterfield. I stole them from Jesus. And I put them in a book. If you don’t like their rules, whose would you use?

~~ Dale Carnegie ~~

I leafed through a copy of Chris Matthews new book “Bobby Kennedy: A Raging Spirit” and glanced through the book’s Prelude, I read Matthew’s words, “That Bobby’s background was different from his own didn’t matter; only his principles did.

I was eight years old when Bobby Kennedy was killed. Not completely unlike today, between March 16, 1968 and June 5, 1968, the country survived a series of events. Bobby Kennedy challenged his brother’s successor, Lyndon B. Johnson, for the Democratic presidential nomination. To which, LBJ withdrew. April brought the brutal assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., followed by urban rioting. And June 1968, the national would have to grieve again, as Bobby Kennedy would be assassinated.

Pushing democracy aside, our nation has not had to endure political assassinations. However, years of The Black Lives Matter movement, a Presidential race touting body parts, racial discord of white supremacy, sexual discrimination and the utter inability to work as members for a common good suggests our society has fallen behind the ideology of all men being equal.

Another small snippet led me to compare Trump to Bobby Kennedy. In reality, Matthews noted Joseph P. Kennedy (Bobby’s father) thought Bobby was devoid of any valuable qualities. Anguishing for a moment, I sat in a bookstore chair, closed my eyes and thought of Trump as he told FOX News “I’m the only one that matters.”

What Trump doesn’t understand is that Kennedy knew vulnerability alongside privilege and power. I fear this unwelcome gift the Trump children have applied well.  For instance, Ivanka Trump seems unwilling to acknowledge that there could, hypothetically, be a difference between what’s good for women and what’s good for her brand. In The Trump Card, Ivanka broadcasted her similarity to the President. “That’s what you get from this particular Daddy’s girl,” she wrote.

“As the first daughter goes around touting herself as a champion of women,” Sarah Newell, a representative for International Labor Rights Forum told Newsweek, “women are literally facing abusive conditions as they stitch her [brand name] into her products, and they aren’t being provided a structure where they can advocate for themselves.” NYT Opinion writer Lindy West phrased it well.

You’d think that a passionate anti-wage-gap crusader like Ms. Trump would relish a broad, ever-expanding data set illuminating her pet issue so that she could go after it with laser focus, but no. The first daughter strode into Washington with two big promises: She was passionate about helping “working women” and she was going to close the gender wage gap. However, Ms. Trump endorsed the President’s decision to abandon an Obama-era initiative. 

But remember, Trump is about brand – Trump brand. Not your brand. Not my brand. It’s as if Trump has been repeating, “I’m the only one that matters.”

The Trump brand will never intermingle with our brand. I’ve never heard President Trump ever express outrage at hunger in in the inner cities, mistreatment of blacks, or  unfair work conditions faced by migrants, regardless of how legal or illegal they be. Yet he will discuss nuking North Korea while simultaneously and unapologetically stating he received a high draft number and never served. Damn those bone spurs. And lastly, I’ve never heard Trump having the same empathy for white workingmen and women for blacks, Latinos and foreigners.

Trump’s true soul showed and we ignored it. As such, former Barack Obama voters swung the election by supporting Donald Trump. “It’s now the accepted wisdom,” Matthews wrote, “that the interests of the discarded factory worker and the ignored inner-city youth cannot be met together, so why try?

As a Buddhist, I find peace in Robert Kennedy’s sympathetic words from the night Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated.

“For those of you who are black and tempted to be filled with hatred and mistrust of the injustice of such an act, against all white people, I would only say that I can also feel in my own heart the same kind of feeling.  I had a member of my family killed — but he was killed by a white man.  But we have to make an effort in the United States.  We have to make an effort to understand, to get beyond or go beyond these rather difficult times.”

Contrary to Trump, we are “that” which counts. And returning full-circle, I would much rather borrow principles from Socrates, swipe them from Chesterfield or steal them from Jesus versus living by Trump’s. Accordingly, every day, each of us must choose which principles to honor. Trump’s values are not my true north. Neither should they be yours.

America must make an effort … an effort to understand, to get beyond or go beyond these rather difficult times.

I received a telephone call this past Thursday informing me my cousin passed away in his apartment. It’s unknown how long he laid prior to being discovered. An associate had not heard from him in several days, went to check and discovered Eddie Monday, October 16th.

Normally, such news would not impact me. However, I spent many summers raised by his family on their farm near Janesville, WI. There was no one in that period of time to which I had become closer. I remember many days jumping from barn loft beams onto piles of hay. We rode horses across wind swept fields of prairie grass watching grasshoppers, dragonflies and butterflies dart from our path. At night, we gather round the fire-pit to toast or burn marshmallows and gaze across the galaxy of stars never seen again.

The Eddie I knew, was a wonderful person. He was always interested others, became a lawyer and raised a family. Coming from a deeply religious and stern Catholic family, he was challenged by faith in life and love.

Yet Eddie was not without fault. For a long period of his life, he was a closeted gay. And I can only presume that torment finally caused a significant rift between family. He divorced, left the confines of the Midwest and moved to San Diego. Somewhere along his life, Eddie experienced some form of injury that rendered him in constant pain. He lost his job and became addicted opioids. One-day last week, he went to his closet to retrieve something. His heart stopped there, half-in, half-out. He died alone. His body half in, half out. Left for days until a concerned friend checked on him.

I never thought any family member would succumb to opioids. As Eddie drove helplessly into the abyss, I am not sure if his family knew. I didn’t. Then again, maybe some knew, but were unable or unwilling to help. In truth, I am unsure why Eddie’s death has such impact on me. Maybe there’s lessons we can learn – the lessons I missed.

  • First, I hadn’t talked to Eddie in years and I knew neither of his life in San Diego nor struggles. And I should have.
  • Secondly, shame can kill. Maybe Eddie’s death was cut from shame. As a family member, shame shouldn’t kill anyone, but it does. All LGBTQ members should be loved and accepted for the person they are … not the person we think they should be. We (you and I) should not stop being that caring father, husband, son, daughter, cousin or friend.
  • Third, never live life halfway in nor halfway out. Try life in its purest form, believing love and living in peace.

Because of our fears and prejudices, many of us cannot seem to others with respect. I’m sure Eddie, may have, at times, felt no one would treat Eddie the same. Thus, we robbed Eddie of one crucial peace, how to help him live a very crucial part of life well—the end of it.

I was proud to know and be loved by him.  Eddie, I will miss you. You are missed already. You will be missed forever. I will learn from your pain and live a better live.

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