Frederic Reamer

Those of us who have been blessed with long-term marriages or partners often wonder what life will be like if we outlive our mate.  Will I ever know happiness again? Can I survive on my own, without those all-too-familiar glances, comforting words, and embraces?  Might life lose its meaning?  Somehow, some way, most people manage to cope.  The gifted writer Anne Lamott put it so beautifully: "You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news.

Perhaps it sounds trite to say that health crises produce much needed wake-up calls for those of us who need to make significant lifestyle adjustments.  But for many, this is a truism; there's nothing like awakening in an intensive care unit – surrounded by loved ones and scurrying professionals – to send that compelling and poignant message.  Dodging the proverbial health care bullet means that some of us get a second chance, often with a renewed sense of purpose.

It's hard to know which metaphor to use to describe the daily onslaught of news.  Our radios, smartphones, smart speakers, televisions, laptops, and, yes, newspapers bring us an avalanche of gripping headlines and sordid details. Or is it a vortex, a deluge, or a whipsaw?  Perhaps it's all beginning to sound like a cliché.  The reality, of course, is that so many of us are drawn in, perhaps with some reluctance, because we feel compelled to know, to be informed, and, perhaps, to be entertained by what may seem at times to be political and journalistic theatrics.

No doubt you've noticed the proliferation of companies that offer us the opportunity to trace our genealogical roots. This burgeoning phenomenon seems to tap into a fundamental wish that so many of us have to understand our ethnic, racial, religious, and geographical origins. 

It may seem all too hackneyed to say that death is a mysterious, often anxiety-producing, subject. The truth, of course, is that so many of us struggle to wrap our hearts and minds around the meaning of dying and death. When will I die?  How will I die?  Will I have the opportunity to choose to die on my terms? Some of us are able to confront these questions. Others of us shy away from them, whether for psychological, cultural, or spiritual reasons. Dr.

Today we feature two Rhode Islanders whose paths crossed by happenstance years ago and who have forged a remarkable relationship.  Rommy Morel spent his early years in the Dominican Republic, grew up in Providence, and now attends Rhode Island College.  Thomas Verdi is a 30-year veteran of the Providence Police Department, which he currently serves as Deputy Chief and Commander.  

One of life's painful certainties is that we will lose our parents.  It is part of the natural order of existence.  Many of our parents leave us when they are deep into old age, the result of their bodies' inevitable decline.  But too often, parents leave us prematurely, following an unbidden and untimely illness or, perhaps, grim tragedy. 

Words matter.  They matter a lot.  We string words together in myriad ways.  Sentences filled with compelling prose.  Catchy phrases that inspire us.  One-word exclamations, some of which are unprintable and can't be said on the air.  And then there's poetry: the exquisitely careful, often delicate, assemblage of words that linger together artfully in ways that are sometimes hard to anticipate when we try out their juxtaposition.  Robert Frost wrote, "I have never started a poem yet whose end I knew.

No doubt you have noticed how our lives ebb and flow, much like the seasons.  Both literally and figuratively we get to experience the wonder of stunningly beautiful spring days and the bitter assault delivered by the occasional winter blizzard.  Such is life.  Indeed, seasons seem to be able to teach us so much about coping with life's inevitable ups and downs, including its bittersweet moments.

Several years ago, political scientist Robert Putnam wrote a compelling book with the intriguing title Bowling Alone. Based on tens of thousands of interviews, Putnam astutely argued that over the last quarter century Americans have begun living much more fragmented lives.

Rhode Islanders think of themselves as residents of the Ocean State for good reason.  We're surrounded.  Maybe not literally surrounded at every border, but certainly by any objective measure water pervades our rich culture.

Paying attention.  Two words.  Five syllables.  It sounds so simple.  But if we're completely honest with ourselves, how many of us would have a hard time raising our hands claiming that we're good at paying attention, really paying attention, as we march through our lives?  Are we staring at our smartphone screens in lieu of connecting with the people we really care about?  Are we racing from Point A to Point B without noticing the remarkable moon hanging right above us or the tree blossoms unfolding right in front of our eyes?

So many moments in life call for courage and grit. Managing a bad medical diagnosis. Absorbing the unexpected news that you’ve just been laid off from the job you've loved for years. Having your romantic fantasies dashed by the startling text message informing you that your partner has decided it's best to part ways.

Life is full of mundane and not-so-mundane things that many of us get quite used to and, over time, take for granted.

We've all been there: Those times when the people we care most about need us badly, perhaps in the face of dreadful news.  Of course, the tables sometimes turn, and we need others to provide succor and solace.  Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, "A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature."  But being present in these difficult, sometimes overwhelming moments, isn't always easy.  Tears, trauma, and anguish can be hard to bear.  Yet sometimes simply being there is all we can offer, and might even be all that's needed, as we hear from Patricia Liberty.