Going home

Every so often, we all could use a good smack upside the perspective. I've been reading my friend and colleague Mark Curnutte's blog lately and if you haven't, you should. He writes with eloquent pain about returning home to Illinois to visit his dying mother, quite possibly for the last time. The tears flow from the keyboard to the screen.

We'll all be orphans, sooner or later. Those of us who are middle-aged and remain blessed with two healthy parents must take the time to appreciate that. Life is a prelude to eternity's symphony. We need to dance while we can.

I'm going home today. I call it home even though I've never lived there. My parents live in Bradenton, Fla., an hour south of Tampa. They moved there in 1982, three years after I graduated from college. Home is a state of mind.

My dad's 74, my mother a year younger. Each has had his share of health issues, but nothing to provoke much floor-pacing at 3 a.m. They're healthy, vital people and today, I will wrap each in hugs and familiarity. I will take none of it for granted. What an absolute blessing. Thanks, Mark, for giving me pause to celebrate what I have.

Live big. Joyfully.