Sammy Alley

Every day I take my dog for a walk, and we head down Sammy Alley. Sammy Alley is the unofficial name of the narrow passage about a block from our house. We named it that because toward the end of her life, it was all the further Sammy could make it on her walks.

Bailey is of course much quicker and much more curious about his stroll down this lane every day. He knows when we reach the intersection of the sidewalk and the alley, we take the alley, and he leads me down the path, his ears perking up when he sees a bunny, head cocking as he stops to sniff some flowers. It’s near the beginning of the walk, so Bailey is always ahead of me on Sammy Alley, unlike the end of the walk where he has to work a little harder to keep up with me.

It’s kind of strange to have a dog walking way ahead of me down this stretch of street. Sammy was always lagging behind, hobbling along, her arthritis clearly bothering her to the point where people who crossed our paths would comment on the “old girl” doing the best she could to get her daily exercise.

At the beginning of Sammy Alley is an unkempt tiny yard belonging to one of our neighbors. Two cats live at that house and we always look to see if they are outside when we take our walks. Most of the time they are. They have a little cat door and they can come and go as they please. The curious thing about these cats is that I’ve never seen them out of their little yard. One of them is always on the bench and the other is always on the sidewalk. Sometimes it’s just one of them, and the striped one is out more than the calico, but they never leave the yard. I smile and say hello and if they acknowledge me at all, it’s only to give me an annoyed look and send me on my way.

Halfway down there is a pumpkin patch. I’ve been watching the pumpkins grow all year. This part of the alley is never at a loss for bunnies. It is here that I have been able to practice teaching Bailey not to chase bunnies. I never had to think about that with Sammy. She wasn’t interested in chasing bunnies. She was just trying to get around the block.

Three-quarters of the way down is a garage and more bunnies and at the end of the lane there is an overly rambunctious Irish Setter who invariably runs to the end of his fence, jumping and barking at Bailey, just like he did with Sammy. Both of my dogs always responded by eyeing the dog, tails wagging.

Today as Bailey and I were nearing the end of Sammy Alley, I stopped and took a picture. It is the perfect picture of Sammy Alley on a cool autumn afternoon, the sun shining brightly from heaven onto a world that’s about to go into another season.

I didn’t know it on all those walks that I took with Sammy, but it is right here in this location that I learned to love dogs. I never really wanted to walk her every day but I felt it was my duty on the evenings Brian was otherwise occupied with golf. Somewhere in all that pulling and coaxing her around the block, somewhere on those walks where she would just decide she was no longer going to walk and instead she was going to sit down right where she was and let us get the wagon for her, somewhere in all that waiting for her as she plodded along, I fell in love with Sammy. She will always be the dog that turned me into a dog lover and made me realize something I was missing all my life.

As I stood there and snapped a picture of it today with Bailey by my side looking up at me almost like he was smiling, I knew he would never really know the significance of the alley we just walked through. But he will know the end result for the rest of his life. Every day he will know that I love him. Every day I will be thankful that I rescued him from a life of neglect and abuse and brought him into a home filled with love. And we both have Sammy to thank for that.

Maybe someday everyone in the neighborhood will know this little lane as Sammy Alley and the legend could live on years after we are gone. But for now, I’m OK with knowing it my heart and thinking of her every time my dog turns down the lane at the beginning of our walk.

The Problem With Being Bold...

I walked into a beauty store in Altoona tonight looking for eye makeup and foundation. Before I could get to the aisle I was looking for, a woman asked me if I needed help with anything. I told her no, thank you, I was here for something specific and started over to the aisle containing my makeup of choice. She followed me and said that I should buy this other product because I have I have a lot of pink.

I blinked.

“Pink in my eyes?” It’s allergy season. Who knows?

“Pink in your face.”

I’m sure I gave her a look, but I followed her over to the tiny tube of $30 liquid foundation she was trying to sell me. She squirted some out on the back of my hand and told me to rub it in. I humored her and told her I would keep it in mind before walking over to get the makeup I was there to buy.

What was wrong with this conversation? I had just finished a 45-minute workout, thrown a tee shirt on over my tank top and run out to the store. Why did she see so much pink in my face? Well, I think you can probably figure that out, but she couldn’t because she just assumed she knew what she was talking about.

It’s a big mistake to assume you know what you’re talking about. Sometimes it really makes you look foolish, like the lady at the beauty store tonight.

There was another time when I was at a conference and the subject of my cats came up. This woman who was super-abrasive and acted like a complete know-it-all from the minute I met her looked at the pictures of them on my smart phone, rolled her eyes and said, “Ugh! I hate Siamese cats. They meow too much from morning until night. I hate that. Do yours meow all the time?”

I smiled, giving her much the same look I gave the woman at the store tonight. “Not really.”

Why? Because they’re not Siamese. They are Ragdolls. All three of them. Yes, two of them are seal point. Yes, they have blue eyes. But beyond that, they look nothing like Siamese cats. Siamese have bigger ears and a more angled chin than my cats do. But she was so sure of herself I didn’t say anything to burst her bubble and walked away thinking she was really kind of an idiot.

Now, I’m not saying that I haven’t been that idiot many times over. I’m sure my husband could tell you plenty of stories about that, like the time I so confidently walked up to my cousin’s house after my mom asked me if I was sure that was the right house. I told her of course I was sure this was the right house. After all, I have been here before and you have not. I walked up to the door and knocked and some Greek woman who spoke no English answered. I said, “Um, is Cari here?” She called for her grand-daughter who did speak English. I asked if this was the right address and she said no, it’s one house down. Great. Now I had to go back to the van and announce that in fact this wasn’t the right house, a story I’m sure they will never let me forget. :)

My point is that maybe as I get older and see this in myself and others I will get wiser. Maybe I will learn to keep my mouth shut if I don’t know what I’m talking about.  The more I see how foolish it can make you look, the more I will keep it in mind anytime I assume I know something.

I’m going to try. The alternative of looking unintentionally foolish is much worse.

(Intentionally foolish is fine. But those are other stories for other times.) :)

I was sure the answer would be YES…

When I was in high school, it was a fate worse than death if the boy I liked actually found out I liked him. Identifying to anyone the person I had a crush on meant they were within a small inner circle of friends that I trusted. It was understood that I would observe my crush from a distance, analyze his every move, blush bright red if he even looked at me, then go home and write about him for hours in my journal.

I was a crazy stalker.

Seriously, there are volumes and volumes of pages written about the boys I liked in high school. The scary thing is, I knew next to nothing about any of them. Whatever I didn’t know, I would just make up based on not-so-casual observation and half-conversations I would hear about him.

Mostly I was like this because back then I had no confidence in myself. But I was young and awkward and stupid but one day I grew up and all of that changed.

I remember when I was about 27 there was a guy I thought was pretty cute. He was a friend of a friend and I will call him Alex for the purposes of this blog. One New Year’s Eve, I was invited to a party Alex was attending and he basically spent the entire evening talking to me, then walked me to my car in the wee hours of the morning, carrying some of my things out to the car for me. I felt pretty certain there was a spark there, and even more certain when he invited me to his super bowl party a few weeks later. Again we spent most of the day talking, so it was a no-brainer to me that he would be calling me and asking me out at some point after that.

I waited a week. Then two. Then I decided I was just going to call him. I knew what they said about guys liking girls with confidence, but that’s not why I did it. I did it because I thought he was too shy to call me and I really wanted to go out with him. Once I made up my mind, I really didn’t hesitate. I picked up the phone and called. He answered the phone and I went through the usual small talk before asking him if he wanted to get together sometime and go out to a movie or something.

I was confident in my delivery because I really thought there was no way he was going to say no. But that’s exactly what he said. Well, it wasn’t exactly a no, but it was some equally dismissive response, like he would let me know sometime or maybe he would give me a call. Of course he never did. I knew a blow-off when I got one and that’s exactly what he was doing.

I crumbled up his phone number and threw it away. The next day I was slightly embarrassed when I had to tell my best friend how the conversation panned out, but that was pretty much the end of any conversation with or about Alex.

Within a month of my conversation with Alex, I was dating the man I would eventually marry, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But I was thinking about how people react when they don’t get the date they thought they were going to get. How many people just forget about it and almost forget that it ever happened? How many people allow something like that to really hurt their self-esteem? How many continue to pursue the person, possibly becoming someone they’re not or just trying over and over again to prove to themselves they can get the person they wanted?

I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but I started thinking about it as I was thinking about some of the characters in the Jessica Summer Series. Those of you who have read “Love, Emily” know that Jillian was crazy about Adam to the point of literally being crazy about Adam.

I don’t think I would ever go to extremes for a guy who rejected me even once. What about you? Have you been more persistent than me (but less persistent than Jillian) and what were the results? Did you get the guy and live happily ever after? Did you get the guy and realize he wasn’t someone who was worth fighting for to begin with? Did you continue to pursue and never get the guy? Or did you just take no for answer the first time and move on to someone amazing?

I’m curious to know how other people have handled rejections from the opposite sex. If you are so inclined to comment, don’t worry, I promise I won’t write you into any of my stories without your permission!

Random Things I've Learned Over the Past Few Weeks (This one won't make anyone cry.)

Your body doesn't know what to do with chemically engineered/processed food. If you haven't read Jillian Michael's Master Your Metabolism yet, it's worth considering. She explains how your body doesn't know how to handle unnatural foods and why this is contributing to the epidemic of obesity in America. I'm only about a third of the way through, but she's already inspired me to go out and buy carrots, celery, fruits and iced tea with only natural ingredients, none of which can be bad for me.

Celery leaves are really, really bitter. I've always wondered what they taste like. I even asked my dad once if he ever tried them and he said no. Am I the only one who wondered what they tasted like? Last week at some point when I was chopping celery I finally decided to try it. I still don't think I have that bitter taste out of my mouth. If you haven't tried them and you've ever wondered about them...take my word for it. Not good.

Honesty is the best policy. One of my best friends was class president of our senior class and is trying to get a reunion together for this year. She texted me last week asking if I would be interested in doing this the Saturday after Thanksgiving. After a little bit of thought, I texted her back explaining that I really didn't want to see most of the people we went to high school with. I told her that I do not have a very high opinion of a lot of those people (her high school experience was a lot different than mine) and while I didn't want to let her down, I really didn't want to go to the reunion. She texted me back saying she didn't want to see most of them either, I've never let her down in her life, and as class president she has to make the effort. She's hoping there won't be enough interest and she will get out of it. :)

A weekend away with someone you love is so worth it. Brian and I took our camper to Raystown this weekend and had the nicest time together. We both just unplugged and paid attention to only each other all weekend. We laughed and cried, hiked and biked, enjoyed mixed drinks and just being together. I'm not kidding about that crying part. Which leads me to my next point...

We both still miss Sammy like crazy. Life goes on. Time heals some of the sadness. Eventually you have new things to focus on and you can't allow yourself to mourn the loss of something forever, even if it is a beloved pet. But when you have the time to sit down, stare into a fire and talk to the only other person in this world who understands what it's like to have had this dog and then lost her, when you think of all the memories and how much she meant to both of us, you laugh, and you cry, and you laugh again, tears streaming down your face. We both know we will carry her in our hearts forever, which is a comforting thought, but it doesn't stop us from wishing she was still  here.

Don't try to navigate a curb on your bike unless you're absolutely sure you know what you're doing. Because it ends with your bike sliding out from under you and you falling squarely on your knee while traffic is steaming up and down a busy nearby road. Or at least that's how it ended for me. Be careful out there, kids. And wear a helmet.

I kind of understood my mom this weekend. Still gimping around with my sore knee and back spasms which were also a result of the spill on the bike, I felt bad that I was holding Brian back, even for a few seconds while I waited for my back to stop with the spasms. He was merely walking into the visitor's center and I asked him to wait for a second. While he was waiting, I thought about all the times my mom said she wasn't comfortable going somewhere or felt bad about wanting to go because she didn't want to hold everyone back. I felt bad about every time I impatiently made her feel like she was holding me back. I'm sorry about that, Mom.

Help someone if you can, even if you don't really know what to do, exactly. I'm sure most of you saw the posts on my facebook page about Molly the missing dog and how I spent a weekend on foot, on my bike and in my car looking for her. Honestly, I didn't know what the hell I was doing or how to find this dog. I felt so goofy with milk bones and a dog leash in my bike basket as I cruised through the streets, stopping to walk around bushes and ditches to see if she was hiding in there. I knew nothing about looking for lost dogs and had to look up what to do on the internet. And in the end I didn't find the dog, some random person traveling on the highway did, and thankfully, she was returned to her owner. But the point, for me, was to do something her owners couldn't do for themselves. At their age, they surely couldn't walk or bike around looking for her. And even though I was pretty sure I wasn't going to find her, I wanted to make sure they knew I was out there looking and hope that was a source of comfort to them in the days they went without their dog. I told them on the phone that I've known a lot of people who have lost their dogs and never once have I heard a story where the owners didn't get them back. I knew they would be no different from any one of those owners and in the end, they certainly and thankfully weren't.

You can't lose friends. This much is true. If someone walks out of your life or you walk out of theirs for whatever reason, that person was not really a friend. As someone who has lost several people who once really mattered to me, I believe this is true. If a person doesn't respect you, doesn't care about you, questions your motives, accuses you of something negative instead of understanding you and giving you the benefit of the doubt, that person is not your friend and it is best not to allow them to remain very close with you. My list of friends may not be the longest in the world, but I love the people in my life, and I believe they love me back.
And those are some random things I've learned these past few weeks. Some of them serious, some of them fun, some of them mindless or silly, just like life itself.

Have a great week everyone!

A Sad Goodbye to One of the Sweetest Dogs Ever

Most of you already know about our dog, Sammy, how she came to be our dog, and that we have to put her down on Monday. But what a lot of people don't know is the story of the last six months of her life, and I would like to share that story with anyone who wants to read this.
In early December of last year, my husband saw a non-business post at work where someone was looking for a home for Sammy. Her owners were pregnant with twins and were going to put Sammy to sleep, but when they took her in the vet said there was nothing wrong with her and they weren't going to put her to sleep. There was a time when I was so upset by what the owners were going to do, but I have realized between then and now how much work Sammy is and how difficult it would be to give her adequate care and take care of twins at the same time. As it happened, time was winding down for her. The mother-in-law was coming the very same weekend we got Sammy and was going to have her put to sleep. Luckily, LuAnne from a rescue agency in Hollidaysburg heard about her and was desperately trying to find a home for her so she wouldn't be put to sleep.
Brian kept looking at these pictures of her on the non-business post at work. He asked me what I thought, and I was open to the idea. He said, "I don't know what it is, but looking at these pictures, this dog has my heart. There is just something about her." I told him I would call LuAnne and just see if by chance anyone else had called about her. As it turned out, no one had, and after little discussion, Brian and I decided for the first time in our lives together, we would have a dog.
We went shopping at all the pet stores and bought her a pet bed that was way too small and eventually went to Jackson. We bought her all kinds of food and treats, dog dishes, toys and that soft red blanket she's on in this picture. I bought her a pillow and insisted she have a pink collar because she was going to be my baby girl. We bought her a wagon in case we would have her on a walk and she would get tired in the middle of it. We scoped out places to walk her in the winter where the snow would be shoveled. We wanted her to see spoiled like she never saw spoiled in her life.
When LuAnne brought her to our house in December, she told us we were getting the sweetest little girl. One look at her and we knew that was in fact the truth. There was something about her face and demeanor that was just so sweet and we both fell in love with her immediately. LuAnne stayed long enough to make sure my cats weren't going to have a problem with her. For the most part, that went OK mostly because Sammy didn't even notice the cats, including all the times Bandit would swat at her as she walked by whatever chair he was sitting on. I remember before she left, LuAnne told Sammy that Christmas came early for her this year.
Christmas came early for us too. It wasn't long before I found myself coming home every day excited to see Sammy. There were limitations with what we could do with a dog her age but we found things to do. One of the things she loved was getting in the truck with us and going to look at Christmas lights. Honest to God she would get excited and light up when we pulled up to a house with a lot of lights. Her breath was ridiculously smelly but we sat there in the fully enclosed truck, taking turns on different nights with Sammy on our laps, breathing in our faces and on occasion licking us, sweet kisses combined with that awful breath. Of course she was so endearing that we didn't care.
In December we would walk her every day, no matter what the weather was like. We would pull the leash out of the closet and she would take it in her mouth and start bucking around with so much excitement that she was going to a walk. Walks were the only thing our severely overweight dog liked more than food. We had her up to 2+ blocks a day at one point and were determined to try to get some weight off of her to ease the pains in her joints.
I don't even think Sammy barked once in the entire month of December. We thought we had a dog that would never bark no matter what, but one day we realized that she would in fact bark if she found it absolutely necessary, which was when she was ready to come in and no one was at the door letting her in. To this day, that is the only occasion the dog would ever bark. But if she barked once, you'd better be there or you were going to hear about it every 15 seconds until you let her in.
At least she knew where her home was, and by the end of that first month, we could tell she stopped missing her original owners so much and accepted us as her new family. All through the winter she would lay on the deck near us every time we were in the hot tub. She looked so peaceful and pretty looking out over the back yard every night in the winter months.
Spring was probably the first time we started to notice a physical decline in our dog. Instead of walking 2 blocks she was down to a half-block and it took her 20 minutes to complete that. I would still take her every night, sometimes impatiently pulling her along, but mostly just trying to let her enjoy the walk and "getting messages" by sniffing every spot there was to sniff where any other dog had ever been. Eventually I learned to take my smart phone with me on our walks so I would have something to do while she lolly-gagged through the streets of Hollidaysburg.
In early June it became clear to us that something was wrong with Sammy. She was having issues with urine leaking and we thought we were going to have to put her down. It was a sad day when Brian took her to the vet because we thought for sure he wasn't coming home with her. When he got back from the vet that day, I met him on the porch ready to hug him and console him over losing our dog. But when he opened the door, there she was. I started crying and said, "You came home!" and Brian carried her to me so I could get big smelly kissing all over my face.
We had her on meds to control the leaking but she still wasn't eating and she had started shaking even when she was just laying there. We knew something was still wrong so we took her back to the vet. This time the news wasn't so good. Sammy's kidneys were shutting down, the numbers were off the charts, and the vet said there was nothing we could do. Essentially she can't get rid of the toxins in her blood and her body is slowly poisoning itself. The vet told us we don't want to ride this out to the end, and we would need to make a decision about when we want to put her down.
We both sat at Chipolte's yesterday crying while we tried to decide what we were going to do. Brian said he wanted one last weekend with her and he would make an appointment to take her in on Monday. One last weekend has been the hardest weekend of my life. I can't spend enough time with her but yet I can't look at her without crying. I know she can sense the sadness in my soul and she keeps trying to comfort me with her big smelly kisses and by sitting near me.
We had her out for a walk last night and told our neighbors we had to put her down next week. They've only ever seen this sweet little girl out walking with us but still came over crying and wanting to say goodbye to her. That is just how sweet of a dog she is.
I've never been one to like the winter as so many of my friends know with the constant talk of moving somewhere warmer every time winter starts to rear its ugly head. June is one of my favorite times of the year every year. But in the June of 2012, all I can think to myself is that I want December back. I want December, where Sammy would run around the house playing with us when we gave her treats. I want December, where she could get excited about walks and walk her little heart out with us. I want December, before she was too old and shaky to get in the truck with us for a ride.
I would settle for May, when I could still pull her along on a little walk, answering work emails and checking Facebook while she ever so slowly made her way around the neighborhood.
Despite the heartbreak and the constant stream of tears and tissues, I wouldn't trade having this dog in our lives for the six months that we had her. Our goal was for Sammy to be put to sleep when it was the right time for Sammy, not when it was convenient for Sammy's owners. We will be meeting that goal on Monday and it's the best thing for the dog.
I just can't believe how much I'm going to miss her. She truly lit up my world over the last six months, and I'm thankful we had the opportunity to love such a special being.
Thank you, Sammy, for everything you are, and for lighting up our days in the short amount of time you had with us.You were a bright spot on dark winter days and a joy in our lives every day. Our love for you will live on long after your final breath on Monday. We love you, Sweet Samari!

Proceed With Caution: You May Mean More to People Than You Think (What I Learned This Week)

I've known my step-daughter, Isabella, since she was a year and a half old. The very first time I met her, we were at Brian's house and she was too young to form an entire sentence but smart enough to get her point across. I had just walked in the door and was sitting on the couch and she brought my shoes to me, dropped them in front of me and said, "Bye bye." For the next few weeks, every time Brian would pick me up when she was already in the car she would cry and cry, clearly not wanting to share her daddy with some stranger.

Eventually she warmed up to me. And as much as I loved this kid, I always knew that no matter what, I would always be second to her. I was not her mother and never tried to be. She would never have the love and affection for me that she had for her dad, and I understood that and accepted my role as always being second.

Brian and I don't see Isabella all that often, but every time she invites us to a dance or a play she's performing in, we always try to go. Over the years I don't think we have ever missed one performance she asked us to attend. Every time we sat through to the end and it was time for Isabella to come see us after it was over, I knew the importance involved in her seeing her dad, and I felt entitled by association to tell her how proud I was of her and how beautiful she is. I couldn't imagine how proud her parents must be. Every time I see her, all I see is a shining star.

Recently she mentioned her sixth grade recognition ceremony was coming up but didn't know the exact date. Brian asked her to call and let us know when she knew the date, which she did, but unfortunately, she didn't call until two hours before the performance. When she called Brian he told her that there was no way he could make it on such short notice. Then she called me.

I had just gotten out of work and was sitting about 15 minutes from my house when she called and asked me if I could come to the ceremony. At first I wasn't quite sure why she was calling me and wondered if she hadn't been able to get a hold of Brian. I asked her if she talked to her dad and she said, yes, and he said he couldn't make it. Then she asked me if I wanted to go. I told her I would love to go. She told me to be there a little before 6:00 and her mom would meet me in the lobby with my ticket.

So I rushed home to let the dog out, grab a bite to eat and change clothes, then rushed back out to go to the ceremony. I was at the school at ten till 6 and waited for her mother to give me my ticket. Her mother never showed up, and I wasn't sure what the miscommunication was, but it made me feel a little awkward. I felt like maybe I shouldn't be there if Brian wasn't going to be there. I even thought about leaving, but instead, about a minute before the ceremony started, I explained to the person at the table with the tickets what happened and she told me to go ahead in.

I sat all the way in the back where I was sure she couldn't see me. I watched the whole thing and texted Brian about how amazing his daughter is the whole time. She was called on stage for almost every award, including the award for academic excellence, which was only given to one boy and one girl in the entire class. I listened to her solo in the Green Day song the kids sang and noticed how graceful and poised she looked, presumably from years of dance class. I even cried when they showed baby pictures of every kid in the class playing the song "You're Gonna Miss This" in the background.

When it was over, once again I felt awkward. I knew that Isabella didn't even know I was there, and I felt really weird about going to try to find her without Brian with me. They announced that the kids would have five minutes with their parents and then they were going to a party they set up for the kids. I knew there was no way I was going to see her in those five minutes, so as everyone stood all around me hugging and talking to their kids, I sat in the back row, digging my keys out of my purse, telling myself that I would just text or call Isabella and let her know I was there.

Except when I looked up from getting my keys, she was standing there. How did she even know I was there? She hugged me and thanked me for coming, then asked if I heard her solo in the Green Day song. I told her how proud I was, how I was texting her dad the whole time and how sorry he was that he couldn't be there. I took a picture of her and thanked her for inviting me, asking her to come see us sometime soon. On my way out the door, she said, "I love you, Kelly." I said, "I love you too. See you soon."

As I walked back to my car, tears welled up in my eyes. I drove a few blocks trying to stop crying before I called Brian. The little girl completely overwhelmed me that night. All these years, I really thought I was nobody to her. And then I realized I was somebody. Not just her dad's other half. Not just someone she sees incidentally when she visits with her dad. I myself am someone she cares about.

How could I go 12 years without knowing that? And how many other people have I treated carelessly just because I don't realize that I really do mean something to them?

It's a process, but I'm trying to learn to treat people like they really matter. Because the truth is that they do.

Love the Ones You're With (What I Learned This Week)

The unexpected death of a co-worker this past week brought about a lot of emotions and reflection about the things that are good, bad and indifferent about life. From the time I heard of his death up until now, there were so many things I thought about and observed as everyone processed the news. Here is what I learned:

• Your last encounter with that person doesn't define who you were to that person. Granted, I was not best friends with this particular co-worker, but it didn't stop me from feeling bad about the last encounter I had with him a few days before his death. I was in a hurry to get to my car and start my long weekend and I saw Mark on the sidewalk coming back from servicing a computer at a nearby doctor's office. He seemed to want to talk for what I thought was way too long but really only amounted to maybe a minute. I rushed the conversation along and wrapped it up so I could get home and forget about work and enjoy the vacation days I had taken to enjoy my birthday. When I heard of his death upon my return to work on Monday, at some point during the day I mentioned to another co-worker that I felt bad about my last encounter with Mark. My co-worker said, "He knew you were a good person. And you knew he was a good person. Not stopping to talk for too long when you're on your way home doesn't change that." Immediately I felt better because I knew he was right. It seems like when someone dies, we all think back to the last time we saw that person and judge the entire relationship on that last encounter. If you knew it was going to be the last time you saw that person, of course you would have acted a little differently. And that's OK. When you think about the relationship you had with someone who passes on suddenly, you should think of the entire relationship and not give more weight to the last encounter than to the entire relationship. Was your relationship with that person generally good? Did that person know you were a good person? Did you know that person was a good person? If the answer to all the questions is yes, then there is nothing to feel bad about.
• Let the people you love know that you love them. Losing a co-worker is a lot different than losing someone you love. When you see a person day in and day out it's human nature to take for granted the fact that you will continue to see them every day for years to come. The problem is that this fact is not really a fact. The reality is that without exception, from the moment we are born into this world, we all have to die. We're all going to die someday. And you should treat the people you care about like you care about them. You should love the people you love and make sure they know you love them. Let go of ego and pride that can create issues in relationships. Love people with your whole heart and appreciate them for what they are, even if they aren't exactly what you want them to be. If you don't do it today, you may regret it tomorrow.
• Find peace within yourself. You can't control what other people are going to think or do. Not everyone is going to like you. Sometimes you are misunderstood and sometimes you run into people who just don't like you for whatever reason. Friendships end. People change. It's nothing personal. Learn not to harbor negative feelings over things like this and instead accept the fact that people aren't always going to act the way you would like them to toward you. Sometimes there is nothing you can do about it. Learn when beyond your scope to fix it and let it be. Find your own peace, wish them well in your heart and move on.
• Stop skipping the good stuff. Make time to do the things you really want to do today. Learn how to dance, even if you're clumsy and have no rhythm. Follow your dreams, even if you don't know where to start. Walk your dog every day, even if she's a hundred years old and it takes her 20 minutes to do a half-block around the neighborhood. Push your cat in a stroller, even if you know everyone is going to make fun of you for it. Smile kindly at every person you encounter, even if they don't smile back. Take another bite of that chocolate cheesecake, even though summer is here and you still want to lose that five extra pounds. Learn how to swing a golf club with your husband, even if you know you're never going to get it right. Enjoy the sunshine. Enjoy the rain. Enjoy life!

Do it today. You never know where there's not going to be a tomorrow.

That, my friends, is what I learned this week.