I wish I could make people’s lives easier.
I know so many people who are suffering in one way or another. So many animals in need of loving homes or an environment which supports their life. I suspect that if Randy and I won the lottery, most of it would then be donated.
I realize that people have to find their own way in life, and that struggles teach us valuable lessons and help us grow. Still, I wish I could do more. I wish I could wave my magic wand and cure diseases like cancer and addiction, that I could ease the grief of loss, that I could build up when someone or something has been torn down.
All I can do is keep plodding along, making contributions where I can.
Wishing I could do more.
Sometimes, usually late at night like this, I feel like I don’t have much longer, that my days are almost up. Like I need to make them count. My work allows me to feel like I’m making a contribution, a difference in people’s lives. Sometimes I look at someone and wonder, “Are you the reason I’m still here? And if I help you, does that mean my time is up?”
Which I know is nonsense, of course.
And there are times, usually after I’ve read the latest headline or watched the news, when I wonder if my numbered days are such a bad thing.
But my goal is to love, however imperfectly, and for however long I have.
To love my fellow travelers.
To love life.
To love you.
To love me.
To make the most of the time I have left which, to be honest, will probably be decades as long as the world doesn’t end in the meantime.
Don’t mind me. It’s only a dose of late night maudlin, and a determination to be grateful for every day I’m given with the people I love.