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Letter to my Friend who Lost His Son 25 Years Ago to a Drunk Driver

Seems a lifetime ago we met, Phil, and a day I'll always remember. Your ability to love was deeper than death and stronger than pain. Still is. I myself don't know how to go on and I also don't know how to quit. I remember a cop telling me I should have been fried in the electric chair after hearing me speak. A school superintendent once called me an idiot after hearing me speak. I have so many stories I could tell about such comments, but a wise woman who lost her son told me (after I said her pain was so much worse than mine), that "Grief ain't a contest." God, she, you, Sharon GD & Sharon B. and many others helped lend me the strength to carry on, One Day At A Time (one second at a time for the first 8 years of speaking). Serenity to accept things we cannot change is a collective miracle that we experience both alone and together. Phillip's pin that you gave me the day we met is never far from me in my home office. Neither is the Bible I cried on for years in my personal monastery (prison). The collective miracle is the cumulative impact we make upon society. Audiences ingest 'time release' pills that take years to digest (sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly). Leaving indelible impressions upon human hearts is no easy task CULTURALLY. But as I said before, knowing how to quit or carry on is a mystery. Metaphorically speaking, 'Losing our Speaking Notes' is invaluable when expressing our innermost power.