Some of you know my friend Dr. Lee Lipsenthal. I wrote about him here and he wrote an article for Owning Pink here. A physician, author, and workshop leader who spent most of his career working with Dr. Dean Ornish and teaching physicians how to find balance in a medical life, Lee has inspired hundreds of thousands of people with his work.

In the year 2007, a total of six people in my life died. Beyond people living in war torn countries, who knows anyone for whom six loved ones departed this good green Earth in a typical year? It was intense. I realized as I walking my dog yesterday that there are few to whom I’ve talked about that experience. Three of my loved ones died from brain tumors from various cancers. Two more were utterly freak accidents. The final passing was from complications of diabetes.  My kind and compassionate business partners and close friends knew; but it became almost embarrassing. It was like: “Another one? Really? Your poor family!” I caught myself wondering if those that knew would think I was making things up like some sort of whacko attention-getting ploy.  I grew to loathe the phone ringing because all too often I would hang up with a sinking, shock-like feeling realizing, while whirling, that I still had to keep it together to move through life. Ironically, 2007 was also the year I plunged into co-ownership of Balance Restored Center for Integrative Medicine in Mill Valley, which is the site for my acupuncture practice and which I love. When it rains it pours it seems.

My five year old daughter Siena fell in love recently. It was with another girl - a five year old princess named Vivien, who lives in a castle in Chicago and is the daughter of my best friend Katsy.

Siena and Vivien have known each other since they were three months old, but they haven’t actually seen each other since. They’ve only heard stories. Siena has heard great tales of Princess Vivien, and Vivien has heard the wondrous stories of Siena and her fairy magic.

"Hey, Dad!"

My father looks at me with empty eyes, and then says, "Hey, eh Sylvia." He remembers my name now, but at the rate his Alzheimers is progressing, I bet it won't take long before the disease takes that away too.

He doesn't notice anymore how that effects my mom, but it does. She just does her job in taking care of him, but it takes out it's toll on her. I am happy that she finally sees what it does to her, and that she has reached out to ask for help in caring for him. 

All this has made me wonder: how can you be your authentic self as you see your parents deteriorate? How do you keep your light shining bright despite your sadness?