Happy. About Jack's bright future.

I could be unhappy. Every day. Because there are things and thoughts that could easily make me unhappy. Instead, I refuse to let stuff bother me. Even the fact that my son is dying. I deal with it. In positive ways. Such as assuming that Jack will be moving on to a better life. In a spiritual realm. In that sense, death ain’t so bad. It’s like being born again. That’s what I’m telling Jack. And he’s buying into it.  Of course, he wants to stick around for a while longer. So that he has the opportunity to watch one more Super Bowl. This Sunday. I hope that Jack is granted his last wish. Though there may be better things to watch. Where Jack is going. Makes me happy. About Jack’s bright future.  --Jim Broede

Give me unhinged perfection.

Look at it this way. I’m as powerful as god. In that I don’t allow loved ones to die. I take it upon myself. To relegate everyone – not only loved ones but everyone – to a spiritual realm. There’s no discrimination. Everyone goes there. Even Hitler. Everyone has a chance for redemption. And forgiveness. And to live out their spiritual life. In a state of grace. Forever. In a spiritual dimension existing outside of time. This is god’s ultimate  act. Total redemption. Total forgiveness.  An utter state of blessed bliss.  Pure, pure love. Sure, you’ll tell me this is preposterous. A fairy tale. The work of an unhinged imagination. But hey, if I were god. I’d settle for nothing less than unhinged perfection. --Jim Broede

When it's not true.

I woke up this morning. At 4:15. Wondering. Wondering. What I could have done. To alter Jack’s life. Through some sort of intervention. To have made him a happier being. A better-adjusted son. Should I feel guilty? For allowing Jack to be Jack. Of course, I won’t allow myself. In the end.  To be held responsible. Jack made his choices. Free and clear. And I made my choices. Free and clear. To allow Jack to go down destructive courses. This makes me wonder about friend Julie. Maybe this is why I advocate intervention. For Julie. To save Julie. From herself. People around Julie. Friends and acquaintances. Allow Julie to self-destruct. To languish. As an alcoholic.  In a state of depression. And we watch and watch and watch. Endlessly. And when Julie ends up dying  A tragic death some day. We’ll all walk off. Scott free. And get on with our lives. Without any qualms of conscience. Because we all did everything we humanly could.  When it’s not true. --Jim Broede

Even better than the Super Bowl.

My son Jack. Has a reason. A desire. To live for at least one more week. So that he can watch the Super Bowl. On TV. For one last time. Jack has been sent home. From the  hospital. To die. It’s just a matter of time.  Jack has lung cancer. And it’s spread to other parts of his weakened and frail body. He can barely speak. He whispers. He’s off medications. Except for pain. I’m impressed. By the way Jack is dying. He’s still focused. On life. The stuff he enjoys. Football. The Super Bowl. To Jack. Nothing is trivial. Everything is meaningful. During his waning days in the physical world. Jack seems happy and contented. I tell him he ain’t really dying.  He’s about to transition. To the spiritual realm. Believe it, believe it, dear Jack. It’ll even be better and more exciting than the Super Bowl. --Jim Broede

Reason for celebration.

Death. It used to be the real downer. In my life. I didn’t like dealing with death. With the loss of friends and loved ones and my pet cats.  And I’d just as soon not have to deal with my own inevitable demise. I didn’t even like to use the term ‘death.’ That is, until I learned to redefine death. As not really meaning end of life. Or entry into absolute nothingness. So to feel better about the whole thing, I began to imagine. Living forever. In a non-physical form. As spirit. It made sense. To assume that anything I could imagine. Could become real. True as true can be. A thousand years ago, it would have been very difficult. To imagine landing on the moon. Or sending space ships beyond our solar system. But it’s all happening. And more. Therefore, why can’t there be other dimensions?  A spiritual realm. To be discovered. Upon one’s physical death. That means my dear sweet Jeanne still lives.  In the great beyond. Soon to be joined. By our dear son Jack. Reason for celebration. No lamenting. No mourning. No grieving. --Jim Broede

He's ascending. To a better life.

I lament. I mourn. I grieve. Over my dying son. I will go. And see him. To tell him. He’s loved. But I wonder. If that’s enough. I hate death. Because I momentarily fret. And protest. That I’m being robbed of a loved one.  But upon reflection. I know better.  I am not losing Jack. He’ll still be very much alive. Inside me. In spirit. And I have an abiding faith, that Jack will live and thrive. In the spiritual realm. Where he will be united with his dear mother. Anyway, it’s more evidence. That I’m a romantic idealist. And a spiritual free-thinker. I believe what I want to believe. Jack really isn’t dying. He’s ascending. To a better life. --Jim Broede

Time for a return to the loony bin.

These are crazy people. Lunatics. But harmless, I suppose. Escapees from an insane asylum, perhaps. And they all have the same thing in mind. They want to run for public office. Actually, president of the United States of America. Yes, it’s sheer lunacy. They look and sound crazy. Very weird. One even claims to be a brain surgeon. Another wants to build a silly wall along the U.S.-Mexican border. To keep out undesirables. Another is a fat, roly-poly fellow.  Claiming to be the governor of New Jersey. What next?  Maybe Napoleon lives. That could be the stone-faced guy touting himself as a Harvard-educated political genius.  Ready to conquer not only the USA. But the entire world. Crazy. Crazy. Crazy stuff. Makes one wonder. If the men in white coats will be here soon. To take everyone back to the loony bin. --Jim Broede