It hurts, sometimes.  Remembering those you've lost, those who died too soon or lingered too long in pain.  Thinking of them in better times helps on occasion.  Fingering photographs, listening to their favorite songs and hugging the shirt that still faintly holds their scent.  Sure, it's been years, but in your mind - in your heart - the aroma is as yesterday.  That's all that matters, after all.  You close your eyes and they're walking through the door, smiling and laughingly reaching for you.  Your mother, your father, your sibling ... your husband or your wife ... your child.

It hurts, sometimes.  Knowing you'll be lost, too soon to make the difference you dreamed of as a youngster but begging not to linger too long.  Not too much pain, please, you've had enough.  Thinking of better times helps on occasion.  The beach, the woods, the beauty of the world with the ones you've loved.  The simple postcard from long ago, when you missed your Dad.  The phone call that still echoes in your ear from yesterday ... or last year?  No matter, it will all go with you when it's time.

It hurts, sometimes.  Understanding that you've done the best that you can - all that you can, and then some more.  But your loved one is sick and you're helpless.  Your body is weak, your mind is suffering.  There is no one who can afford to help, even though your family has sold everything and your friends are crying with you.  It's your love, laying in that bed, that counts.  You go to work, you pay your taxes as you always have.  You wish for better medical care while you wade through the tide of bills.  Never ending, all consuming.  Well, not really.  What consumes you is the knowledge that your love is dying - and so are you.  Slowly, consistantly ... quietly.  And all you want to do is scream.

It hurts, sometimes.

So scream, people.  Don't stop, don't ever stop.  But don't just scream into the deafness of the atmosphere - make your voice heard.  The slightest whisper can be heard if others are forced to listen.  You know about the single-payer healthcare rally in DC a week from Thursday (July 30).  Donate.  Please.  I beg of you, if you can't go yourself donate what you can to send others in your stead.  For all of those we've loved and lost ... and all of those that can be saved.  Scream.

http://tpmcafe.talkingpointsmemo.com/talk/blogs/lbrillante/2009/07/healthcare-rally-update---payi.php

Okay.  If nobody cares about my blog it works for me, there's always next time.  No skin off my nose -  no harm, no foul.

But pushed down the reader list by idiotic spam?  Five loan "posts"?  Come on TPM - how many times must we go through this?  These are not the first, tonight is not their virgin foray into TPMCafe waters.

I know you're trying, and I understand you can't be all-seeing and all-encompassing.  I know that these types of spam are gnats.  But is it possible to not only delete them when discovered - but to resurrect the blogs that are lost within their used time frame?  Possibly, probably not.

But I'm still royally pissed off.

Social Security.  Medicaid.  Both taken out of your paycheck, no choice or questions asked.  They are government programs decided upon by our lawmakers long before anyone thought to call it socialistic.  Or then again, maybe they did.  Do you really care?  Nope, me either. 

In North Carolina, at my pay scale (which I wish were grand enough to encourage distain), FICA is approximately the same amount as my state income tax.  Of course, I'm likely to not see a penny of it when I reach retirement age - which keeps getting farther and farther away.  But I pay into it each and every week.

Medicaid is a smaller percentage of my gross, less noticeable.  Yet it is a thorn in my side.  I honestly would not mind nearly as much if I were paying towards Medicare.  I might even embrace it with a big hug and a smooch.  Simply because Medicare helps everyone of a certain age and above who needs it and is a simple, straightforward form of government insurance.  Debatable, I know.  But if you're looking for a debate, let's move on to Medicaid.

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