It's one of those nights where the moon is yellow and it's nipping of Fall.

My daughter just completed her Tarzan swing practice off the bed of Papa's truck thanks to an overgrown willow tree.

My son is 95% on the mend and embarking on some reading.

I've got a sheppard's pie in the oven and the smells of potato and meat are wafting through the house.

My husband is happily tinkering with his Rx7 - a fixer upper he bought when he sold a fancier SUV for something more practical. (Thank GOD.)

While I sit and count my blessings, my ex-husband rests in a hospital with an inoperable tumor in his brain. He can't talk. His FaceBook updates are mostly gibberish.

We're not really in touch much anymore, save a few holiday greetings and arms length email exchanges. It was nothing personal, we just weren't a match. When I was 21, I wouldn't have been a match for Prince Charming.

His mother has kept in touch all these years, so I was shocked to say the least when she emailed me last month to tell me that Jim had just fainted and was in the hospital. What appeared to be a stroke, upon deeper investigation, turned out to be an aggressive cancer the surgeon could not remove. Jim has maybe a year to live, but likely much less.

He is 41 and will leave behind an 8 year old boy.

I married this man during a very confusing time of my life. It wasn't just my fault - it takes two to get pregnant - but I lived with the regrets of this forced union and quickie divorce for the past 20 years. 

To be honest, I was relieved when, at 4 months along all those years ago, the baby inside me didn't make it. I didn't abort, and I saw this as a second chance at freedom. I'd forever be more careful.

Jim is not so lucky with his life right now. I never grieved that child inside of me. I can't say the same for Jim's parents who are going to have to say goodbye to him in as little as a few weeks.

It kind of puts T.S. into perspective, my friends.

Hang tight and kiss your tickers today.
 


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