Image via WikipediaI posted this post to my old blog, regarding a song by Joni Mitchell and the thoughts it inspired in me about growing older. Rather than bring it over, I'll just link to it, as it contains some relevant links.This is basically why I'm here.
I'm a middle-aged man, though considering the state of my physique, I'm probably more towards the end than the middle. So be it.
But I have young children, 12 and 16, which means that in dog years I really ought to be like Tony Soprano at the start of the series. He was I think 38, when Meadow and Anthony Jr. were about the ages of my kids.
So I ask yez, when you look at the life expectancy of a Mafia boss, and it seems better than yours, where does that leave you?
My thoughts are therefore somewhat bogged down in mortality. All the more because I lost a son.
I married first at 19, spare me your retrospective advice. Daniel was born on September 11, and in this post I explain how that wasn't a problem for long.
He died, terribly.
That's all I will ever say about it, but it informs everything I say. In the same way that a person with kids can never really get across to a person without kids what it's all about, so it is with loss. Those who know, know. Those who don't know, may it please your god that you never find out.
So that's me. There'll be stuff that appears not to match this profile. That's me, too.
Here's Joni singing the song that gave this blog its name:
