Time passes, both good and bad, but we have to hang in

"If you live long enough, you will lose everyone you ever loved."

I don't know exactly when I first heard those words, but I do remember the first time they meant something to me. It was Thanksgiving 2008, a very"circle of life" year in my life.

In January I lost my job after 29 years in journalism. I probably deserved it, but my employer had sold out in 1999, and the next eight years were spent working for people I would never have chosen to be my bosses.

My parents in 2006

In March I lost my dad, who died at 82 after years of fighting various illnesses and medical conditions. When we buried him at Arlington National Cemetery, it was only the fourth family funeral I had attended -- two grandparents, a young nephew and my dad.

In September the wheel started turning when my first grandchild, Madison Nicole Kastner, was born in Beijing. And at Thanksgiving in Southern California, I learned that the oldest living American -- an Indiana woman -- had just died at the age of 115.

Six years later, I have forgotten her name, but I remember some of the facts. She lived in three different centuries -- the 19th, 20th and 21st. She was married once. Her husband died of a heart attack when she was only 38 and she never remarried. Seventy-seven years alone.


By the time she died in November 2008, she had outlived all her children and all her grandchildren. She had great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren, but that was it. I remember looking at baby Madison, just two months old and thinking if I were to live to the age of 115, this infant would be 57 years old.

Madison and Lexington

As I write this, Madison is 6 years old. Her brother Lexington will be 3 next month. Their little sister Albanie is supposed to arrive before the end of the month.

They bring me so much joy, but not nearly as much as my two children have brought me in the 22 years since I became their dad.

Still, even as we await little Albanie, the wheel is turning in other ways. My wife is suffering through all sorts of ailments, but my closest friend in the world is battling to come to terms with a terrible part of his life.

In Boston, my mother is battling her way back from a fractured pelvis, and in Los Angeles, my late father's lifelong friend since college days -- the best friend he ever had -- is going into hospice care.

I will be 65 in December, and while I have hardly lost everyone I ever loved, I definitely seem to have reached a point where life takes back more than it gives.

Two of the most serious situations involve my wife and my friend.

Together?

No, that was my first wife.

With your friend?

No, but pretty much with everyone else.

Anyway, my current wife and my curran friend are both suffering. With her we're trying to find out exactly what's wrong and with him, we're dealing with things that happened many years ago but shaped his entire life since.

It isn't easy. When I think of all that is going on with friends and family, it is a rare day that I don't find myself with tears in my eyes or a lump in my throat at least once.

Sometimes, I cry.

Some lessons take longer to learn than others. When my mother dies, I will mourn her death. But she has lived long enough to hold great-grandchildren in her arms and all five of her children are still live. I doubt she'll feel cheated.

Laura and Michael, 1956

And neither will I. I want to outlive my mother, because I don't want her to know the pain of having one of her children predecease her.

Beyond that, I don't want to cause any pain and I don't want to be a burden. I dread the thought of not being able to take care of myself.

I think all that really matters at this point is to do what I can to help those who need help, and to make the most of whatever years I have left.

I do believe this is just a step on the way to something better, although I have no idea how many steps there are between here and the end of the journey. To steal a phrase from a wonderful campaign aimed at gay and lesbian teenagers, it gets better.

And there will come a point, to use another famous phrase, when all these trials will be over.

We just have to keep plugging away. That 6-year-old boy in the picture, with his 4-year-old sister, knew he had a long road to travel.

He had his trials, and he didn't pass all of them, but he never gave up.