Stop worring, start living

Submitted by Canton1 on

A word from Van Zandt Newspapers Publisher Brad Blakemore

 

I wanted to share something written by a colleague of mine Pete Marsh who has experienced the unthinkable loss of his son Anthony.

Only those who have lost a child can relate to his pain. His words provide great insight into his thoughts as well as a valuable perspective we should all consider before putting our feet on the ground each morning.

 

Pete Marsh

Guest columnist

 

Since my son died, I’ve stopped making eye contact with people on the street. When approaching another pedestrian on a crowded sidewalk, I am no longer the one to politely step aside.

I’ve stopped routinely waving to my neighbors. When traveling, I’ve stopped making small talk with cashiers and hotel clerks. I tend to eat in my room so that I can avoid seeing others – especially young people – having a good time.

Although I still check my social media channels most days, I rarely like or share anything. And, I get a little bit angry when I see photos of food, vacations or proud parent moments.

Since my son died, I get surprisingly mad when someone posts a tribute to a dead pet. The sad irony here is that my son loved animals. We’re hard pressed to find a picture of him without a dog by his side. In college, he once babysat for a pit bull while its owner spent 90 days in jail. He always comforted friends when they lost their cats or dogs, and he was our main source of strength when our family’s golden retriever died.

Since my son died, I’ve stopped worrying so much about coasters. I’ve stopped rinsing bottles before recycling. I’ve started leaving my laundry wherever it falls. Another sad irony. My son was a neat freak. Everything tidy, straight, clean and combed.

I speak my mind more openly now. I’m less tolerant of stupid opinions. I’m less concerned about what others think, about always trying to be the conciliatory one. Since my son died, I guess you could say my heart has hardened.

My heart has softened, too.

On the road, I’m less apt to honk my horn when you flash your headlights behind me. Perhaps you’ve just gotten a phone call like the one I received. “Come home now, it’s an emergency!”

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