at the time of writing this, i am sitting on the last plane i need to take before i get home, into the excited arms of my children, and later, a warm bath. i am still digesting this week and all the weighty questions that come with a situation like this: one’s own mortality/futility/humanity and have come to no conclusions. i spoke with my dear friend therese today, as well as my kids’ daycare mother and both were very warm and supportive; but this is a part of life – sickness and death- and no matter how we rationalize these processes within ourselves,they continue to filter through our lives. i guess my ‘hopeful misanthropic’ nature leans more towards the misanthrope in these times. i believe the big secret of life is there is no secret (and yes, i have seen ‘it’s a wonderful life’) and there is no point but to let our little, insignificant lives become significant to those handful of people that will move on and grow old. they, in turn, become significant to a handful more. the only thing we will ever do that is actually worth doing is making others feel like they matter, that they are loved, and that their suffering matters, be it on a global or personal scale. my grandmother is a strong lady and resents the independence that this stroke has taken from her. the loss of her freedom suddenly equated a loss of significance in her thoughts, and the only comfort i could provide for a women who is quite special to me was to reassure her that her life means something to me and to my family, and that her life, for us, has value. i guess that is where the hopeful part comes in… for what else is there to life?