Yesterday I was going to write a post in honor of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month and talk about all the ways boobs are great and why we should look out for them.
Finally, a blog post more in the spirit of Sue: funny, lighthearted, and forthright, but with a purpose. I was going to call it “Boobs.” Instead I was detoured by an unexpected booby trap.
Granted, I am not an “Apple person,” and frankly, I knew very little about the man. That’s why, after picking Szaba up from the sitter, I was shocked to find myself sitting in the car crying.
My heart split open all over again. It all came back to me like it was yesterday. The fear and anger in Sue’s eyes those last days. The way everyone felt like it happened so “quickly” despite the reality that she endured years upon years of invasive treatments and unthinkable pain. And of course, her veiled personal struggles with that persistent party crasher waiting in the corner: Death.
Then, of course, there was that ugly army of questions that’s been trampling through my heart ever since her departure:
What difference did Sue’s life make? What difference did Steve Jobs’ life make? A thousand years from now, what will be the point of their lives? What is the point of life? What are we suppose to give to it? What are we suppose to get from it? Do we work our butts off to add our little grain of sand to the pile of stuff left behind, or we do we simply sit back, observe, and enjoy everything we can because everything—no matter how significant or mundane—is going to blink out of existence?
And before you go and answer religion, I’m talking about something beyond that. Assuming that we’re not merely daemons created to fulfill the goals and flights of fancy of another, what is the grand vision of our own souls? Would the Id and the Ego agree with each other on that point? Or are they fighting for vision supremacy, thus conjuring up this question army? If that’s the case, whatever is the ultimate answer, it will always be wrong … and it will always be right.