Pride

I was watching "Pride of the Yankees" over the weekend and, of course, stayed with it to the end with Lou Gehrig saying he'd been given a bad break, but "Today, I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth."

Though I won't claim to have that kind of courage, I will say I understand what he meant.

Sure, Deb dying was the worst thing that has ever, and is likely ever, to happen to me. And I may never truly recover from it.

But for the briefest of moments, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I was supposed to be her husband, her friend, her caretaker, her patient, her lover, her love.

How many people can truly say they were in the right place at the right time? I can.

I'm a lucky bastard.