
Perhaps I am cursed to always feel the mark of yesterday’s pain. Yet, perhaps, tragedy is a grace and tribulation a gift. Perhaps from our deepest wounds grow roses of everlasting change.

We are obliged to cherish the living while they remain in reach, to honor the ones who had a hand in the making of us, and to keep carrying them on the short walk to the graveside – and in our memory for the long walk.
A grown man should be utterly embarrassed to suggest he or anyone else should make a big fuss over his birthday, but any man worthy of his fated age should always rejoice in the birth of new life and new family.
Instead of pretending everything was fine, and instead of offering the middle finger salute, I wish I would've told myself that the grief I felt, which many of us experience, was real. But also that it doesn’t last.