Like an uncontrollable stutter the images replay in my mind.  That day, the plane ride to New York, the car ride from Stewart. Like the ultimate bad dream it keeps recurring again and again.  I just want to erase it, to push the Delete key and have it disappear.  Not to undo what happened, but just that those memories at least.  But I cannot undo that day, I cannot erase it, I cannot delete it.  I must live with it, accept it, and find a way to move forward.  And I do.  A little bit each day.

Today I got on a plane, another first since October 2.  I was terrified to do it, but I decided to push on and I managed to get through the flight reasonably well.  Another small accomplishment to be grateful for. It is a family trip, a family of three now, all seated in one row together, a new arrangement to get used to.

Last night Elise and I spoke at a benefit concert at Marist College. The students in the choral program decided to make their annual Valentine’s Day concert  a benefit for the Maya Gold Foundation.  As if that wasn’t enough of a generous gesture, they thanked us for the opportunity.  They told us that we changed their lives!  It is just too much to understand sometimes.  Many of them had first hand experience of suicide, all of them had not long ago emerged from their own teenage years.  It was clear after talking with several of them that Maya’s death struck a deep chord for many.  I feel like we are unearthing a world that lies hidden just beneath the surface, barely covered, a world of so much suffering and pain.  I never knew. What else will we learn on this path?

We land in Mexico City in an hour.  A first for this family, Maya’s absence is palpable.  We had planned this trip together, we were all looking forward to being there together.

And now all that has changed. I am teaching a class.  I wonder, will the students “know”? Is the word out this far away, through some circle of acquaintances I am not yet aware of?  My dear friend Al reminded me, again yesterday, “one day at a time.” Yes Mathew, one day at a time.  Some days I smile.  For that simple pleasure I hold deep gratitude.

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