Man, woman, birth, death, infinity. What is this business of living, anyway? Isn’t this existence just a total mystery? If things are totally clear to you, congratulations, for I have to admit, I’m sure having a heckfire of a time figuring things out.

Why didn’t I die during my drinking days? How did I make it through the Vietnam era without suffering a bloody, painful death in a jungle a million miles away from home? How did I luck out with a mere kidney stone, having been diagnosed with bladder cancer by two doctors one night in the emergency room? How have I made it through my depressing times of relationship and job loss?

I may be living in a state of grace, but I am still having problems figuring out why I am here. Is life totally about love and work? Is that what we’re all really here for? Do those things sum up our existence? Are they reasons enough to be born?

Surely, for love, I suspect that is the case. I fell in love with and, in my heart, “adopted” three young people (my significant-other’s kids) during the course of a years-long relationship that I have referred to in other essays here. One of those kids, two years ago, on January 9, 2004, had a child of her own. I had an incredible “first” (for me) of holding this infant at the age of six hours. This was a totally-wonderful experience, and something, at age 56, I was not ever expecting I’d have the opportunity to do. I was enchanted, enthralled, delighted, thrilled, and even a little scared. I was immediately drawn to this little one named Grace. Grace’s second birthday is coming up and I’ll not be there, now being separated from her grandmother for some months now—and no longer a part of the family circle.

I miss Grace, her mom, her uncles, and her grandmother. Even absent from them, I love them all, and send them light and love across the miles from where I reside here in Portland.

Birth. Life. Living. Loving.

Grace.

Amazing.