Lost in Space

We like to believe that we keep our dogs on a leash, but the reality is that it is we who are tethered to them.

Inkling left us yesterday; he was only three and a half, but nonetheless a robust 160 lb Newfoundland with a deep and mighty WOOF! He was with me every minute that he was awake and I gave him all the time, care and love a dog could want. In return, he kept me focused, slobbered all over me and let me stroke his beautiful fur.

Rest in peace, Inkling. I am adrift without you.

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Turning invisible.

When there's a death, there follows an immediate cluster of support and love.

This cluster begins to fall away a few weeks after the death; people are busy, they have their own lives, money worries and health issues to think about. The epicenter of grief puts on a brave face, a mask for the most part.

Months pass and life goes on.

Except for the crumbling inside. The missing. The opening your Skype and seeing their familiar face in your contacts, as if you might be able to reach them wherever they are in the beyond.

It's not the easy choice to remain close to the epicenter. We must allow our lives to fall away - work, play, Internet - so that we may hover nearby, and silently bolster. And that's why you haven't seen much of me lately. I'm turning invisible.

But I'll be back.


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You Shall NOT Pass.

This was me last week.

I was on my way to deliver a keynote in the USA; to make a few hundred really nice people laugh, smile and hopefully leave them inspired by my drawings and my message.

But I never made it...

Have  you ever wanted something very, very much, and just when it's within your grasp it slips away?

You're allowed to grieve for a bit. And then you move on.

The silver lining: The thing I thought I wanted wasn't the thing I actually wanted. I already have that thing and it's right here inside me.

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