Co-dependency is a loaded term.  On the face of it, the term's negative connotations are most often the winners, and there does seem to be a measure of that in your relationship with Pat.  But to me, coming from a more philosophical direction, co-dependency is what love and marriage are all about.  If this is not so, then why do divorce and losing a love hurt so much?  Mary and I almost always walked hand-in-hand.  We two were one.  We were co-dependent.  And I say there's not a damn thing wrong with that.  So I suppose that I see a clear distinction between what could be described as healthy versus unhealthy co-dependency.  And this ripe quality in a relationship, to me at least, points to the greatest wonderment of all in the continuing mystery of life.  Sure, we have learned that love is largely a bit of highly evolved brain chemistry driven by pheromones and the entire autonomic and endocrine systems of humans, and there is a widely accepted theory that this chemistry is simply a physical manifestation of our inherent drive to reproduce quality offspring, but there are also theories that (at the quantum level, at least) everything is illusion; love, macro-level physics, and even the physical universe we apprehend are nothing more than uncertain probabilities in a grand equation.

I think what I'm getting at is that your perceptions of value and my perceptions of value are not mutually exclusive and can correctly coexist.  That's how we can both interpret O'Reilly's comments and body language differently and both be right.  And that's how you can make choices for a bucket list that are right for you but wrong for me.  Your glass, it would appear, is always half full, while mine is always half empty.  And that's OK.

Whereas you have learned and believe that happiness in life cannot be dependent on others, I have learned and believe that happiness in life cannot exist without dependency on others.  That is why you want to get on with things and I want to die, and that's OK, too.

Whatever.  Ya pays yer money and takes yer chances.

Following is a letter to a friend based upon my previous post and his disinclination to agree.

I get your point but do not concede it.   Our circumstances are so different, and our lives have been so different that it is hard for concession on either side.  Sure, the point of the movie was all about treating yourself to that great Dairy Queen Sunday In the Sky before you kick the bucket, but remember that Morgan Freeman's character had not the means to do any of the things Nicholson's character made possible because he had the money.  Believe me when I say that I've thought long and hard about this, but I cannot come up with one--not even one thing that I want to do even if I could afford to do ANYTHING that money could buy--that I have not already done.  I have no children.  I have no grandchildren.  Going places and seeing things only makes me miss Mary more.  I'm at the point that my list will soon be empty, and I fear the depression that will likely follow.  Oh, I've promised Steve that I'll do 10 new paintings  of "pretty Indians," and I'll try to make good on that promise.  But though I've sold a few paintings in the past year, I've actually been living on savings, and that is about gone now.  Then I start in on my 401k money.  Maybe I sell a few more paintings, but it is all too little and too late.  Even coming up with audacious new ideas has lost its luster to me, since I know that I have neither the means nor the years to see them through.

My friend in Belize who, after years of struggling to take a breath and was finally reduced to a bedridden shadow of himself,  decided that he'd had enough and that it was time to exit the stage in a place he loved, with his wife at his side made the right choice, I think.  I've been waiting for a heart attack due to my untreated high cholesterol, colon cancer (because of my refusal to be examined), prostate cancer, or something else to make my choice a bit easier.  But then I go and survive an accident that should have killed me.  This is God's punishment for being a good man?  Sure, everything happens for a reason, but, to me, the reason is what Einstein couldn't admit: God does play with dice.  Leaving an omnipotent power out of it leaves me with luck.

I finally gave up on Bill O'reilly the other day when I heard him mooning about having to pay millions a year in taxes (gladly, mind you) and then proceeded to say offhandedly that if you live in America and work hard and are honest and all that, you'll become a millionaire, too.  No question.  Condescending bullshit.  He ain't that good, and he has not worked harder than have I, nor is he a better man.  Maybe because he is Catholic and I'm not?  I don't think so.  I think it all comes down to luck.  Sure: work hard and be good and honest and all that.  But if you're not lucky, POOF! -- it can all come to nothing.

So I'm happy with my two-item list.  I've seen wondrous things in many beautiful places.  I've tasted good food and even had rides in a private jet.  I've flown in a sailplane.  I've taught myself to sail.  I marveled at men floating in space and walking on the moon.  I've thought amazing thoughts and none of it mattered near as much as having had Mary's love for a while.  Things have never been very important to me.  Love was pivotal.  Being loved was my dream.  That's what I wanted, and that's what I finally got.  And then it just melted away.  So perhaps I WAS lucky.  Many people never find love at all.  Then again, many others eschew love for possessions.  For things.  For places.  For booze and late night laughter and sex and other pleasures.  But not I.  I had my run and actually did pretty damned well, so there's no complaint on that side.  But I still demand dignity in my increasing age, and I demand dignity in death.  I have no intention of killing myself anytime really soon.  But when the time comes, you can bet that I'll be ready.  As the sticker in your car states, I came into this world with nothing and still have most of it.  And that's OK by me.

Your list is a great list, and I hope you can cross off all the most important ones, at least.  You have family, and that's good.  But my list is all that's keeping me going right now.  If I think of something to add, you'll be the first to know.

Few people will read this, I expect, so it seems the perfect place for me to try to make sense of my life. It is my own epitaph, I suppose. I’ll stay tuned to this channel until the end is nearer, and perhaps find better words.

I’ve done pretty well as the son of two school teachers. I was lucky (I guess) enough to be born with some fair amount of brains. The good sense was imparted by my parents. I wanted to change the world, and suppose that I have, in tiny ways. I do know that I’ve changed a few lives for the better. I set my own standards and tried hard to live up to them. I’ve cried until sleep was the only safe place to go. I’ve laughed until I cried, and way more than once. I made choices. I took risks. I found love. And lost it.

Some say that no one wants to die alone. Not me. I’ve never thought that. I want to die alone. No memorial service, either. They are ghastly things, too little and way, way too late. And no gathering of family or friends. What has needed to be said has either already been said or it hasn’t, and when I’m gone, I won’t care. There have been some special people in my life, and I was glad for their counsel and company. My brother will undoubtedly mourn my passing, because we were brothers, after all, and though we drifted apart for a long while, it has been good to have him as my brother during these last few years of my life. Thank you, brother.

Others will miss me because (of course) being dead, I’ll be making no more art. This will sadden some, and be a herald of profit potential for others, but I care not.

And a few... a very few will miss me because of who I am and what I made of myself. They’re the important ones.

I was never a real father, though at times I certainly felt like one. I fought for both my pretend children just as hard and consistently as I fought for their mother, though they never new the battles were taking place. Whether they choose to hate me now is just an issue with which they will have to deal. (Oh, that will create some angry words!)

All that bothers me is that I will not be missed by the woman I loved for most of my adult life. That’s why I’m crying now, I guess.

---

Ah, my bucket list. It is short. Of all the things I wanted to do over my lifetime two now remain. They were always few and they changed over time, but they’ve all been crossed off or dropped from the list due to the exigencies of life. And now there are but these two.

1. Get the last legal hurdles for Mary and Rebecca settled.
2. Purchase this condo for my brother so that he'll have a place of his own if I die before he does.

I’ve also promised to do 10 more paintings, at least, but they will only be ways to fill the days, and I expect that I’ll live long enough to fulfill that promise. But it is this short list of two items that, to me, must be done before I can die with little (I so wanted to say NO) regret.

Beyond that, I have little to say. Pick your battles (but pick only the ones you can win); otherwise, just make your point and bow out. Accept responsibility for yourself. Find joy when and if you can; the good news is that you get to define the meaning of joy.

And know that when I die, I will die on my own terms if I can. If not by disease, then by some other means: a means of my choosing. And I will choose to die alone, as I always knew I would. Though it is I who am leaving, it is to you that I say a hearty and heart-felt BON VOYAGE!

Tags: Bucket List, Epitaph

Last Tuesday, while on my way to visit  a friend in Pinetop and take a few days respite from Mary-care, I got just north of Oracle, took my eyes of the road, ran off the road at 55 MPH.  looked up, overcorrected, crossed the highway (2 lane) roll-flipped the car. and thudded into a deep ditch with almost vertical sides.  People said I was lucky to be alive.  I didn't bother explaining.  Walked away with just a few small scratches and two compound compression fractures of T5 and T6.  No spinal cord damage.  No other internal injuries.   No loss of consciousness.

Suffice it to say that it is ironic that the two times in the past Year I've tried to make my life better both ended with broken bones and months of pain.  Is there a message there?

Anyway, back hurts.  Sore neck much better; just muscle strain, I think.  Will see about getting a brace sometime Monday.

I did this as a group mailing because I want to ask al of you who care one way or the other that I can not sit at the computer for hours thanking you for your condolences.  Sorry, but true.

First day "home" was filled mostly by beating myself up as being stupid.  Am mostly beyond that now and have come to the realization that I now have nothing: no car, no pool, no pets (as the song goes).   No land no home and no furniture.  Few prospects.  A "pretend" wife.  Big change from just a few years ago.

Still thinking about leaving Tucson.  Must leave this house and Mary very soon.

If bad things happen in threes, the third should be a doozy.

I was giving a lot of thought last night to the concept of choice. My wife used to say all the time that you always have a choice. I don't think I really believed her then, but I do now. The paths we trod may not be the ones we would have selected (given a choice) because there are an infinite number of possibilities, and somehow, for the simple sake of survival I suppose, the number and kind of paths available at any one time are possible because of things both within and beyond our control. They are there because of what we have done and because of what we believe, and because of what simple realities we face. In my case, my choices are limited not only by past choices, but by what I have come to expect of myself. But we are always walking or running down one path or another. The only given is that we cannot choose not to choose. Our perception of time forces us always to move ahead on one path or another. The frightening thing is that we can see the connections if we look. I see the things that have happened in my life and how they now have influenced the options available to me. Oh, I tend to say that I have few options, but that is not true. it's just that some of the options are obvious non-starters because of what I expect of myself and because I do know that no matter where you go, there you are, and that who you are with is more important than where you are. Being the Existentialist that I am, I know that I have made myself what I am, given what I had to work with. And from my current perspective as a Monday-morning-quarterback I can see how some of my choices were probably bad choices. But they were made, and there's no going back.