Yesterday I had a chance to catch up with Adam’s mom and chat about the documentary.
Our conversation was beautiful and perfect and I continue to be inspired by her strength. This woman lost her first son when he was 23 and she still manages to find the capacity to give a lot of fucks about me and my life. I don’t know that I could do the same in a similar situation. I’d like to think I could, but you never know.
You think I’m positive and can reframe anything into a positive? This woman knows no limits.
Speaking with her is always an uplifting and spiritual experience, and I have been moving so quickly lately that it was nice to slow down and give myself the space to miss him yesterday.
I remember his spirit of “fuck it, let’s go for it” and remind myself that I took a bit of his courage when he left us.
I remember his reminders about health and wellness and I think he’d be pretty fucking stoked for how I’m managing this disease. He had Crohn’s disease and I would have loved to have him around when I got my diagnosis. He would have lept straight into HELPER mode, and would have sent me links and recipes and books and doctors and documentaries and and and and.
And I remember that the good truly do die young. In the documentary, I speak about how losing Adam and facing mortality in that way prepared me for diabetes and how to process this diagnosis. I think a lot about legacy, the mark I’m making on this world, and how much life I’m living.
This is morbid, but with everything going well for me right now, coupled with my aversion to ease, I wonder when the other shoe will drop. I struggle to believe that I am worthy of what is happening in my world sometimes. I wonder which tragedy will come next to put me back in my comfort zone of struggle and uncertainty.
Adam’s last post on social media before he died was a quote by Mae West: “You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.” I agree. And I’m on a mission to live the SHIT out of this life.