The World Wasn’t Built for You

I’ve been doing a lot of introspection lately. I’m looking at the world with new eyes. I feel like the worst has already happened to me. Anything short of that… that’s small stuff. And yet there is some real problems in this world.

If you’re 5’3” with decent health, 2.3 kids, a steady job, and a 401k, you likely don’t think about the problems of the world. “1 in 9 people are starving? That’s horrible! I’ll definitely put that on Facebook. Speaking of food, does anyone have plans for lunch? I’m thinking something foreign.”

If there’s something wrong in the world, does he or she even have time to do anything about it? Can they stand in a picket line (if that’s even effective) when they have to go to a job 8 hours per day? Remember Occupy Wall Street? Is the 99% better off now? No. The answer is no.

Pollution. Health Care. Poverty. You can say that’s pretty messed up and go on with you life. If you’re touched by something bad, you see how broken the system is. Before something bad goes wrong in your life, you assume that the system is there for the disadvantaged. It’s not. We have each other and we have friends. Choose wisely.

So what do you do? Hey, I’m shrugging my shoulders like the rest of you. We’ll just have to leave it to politicians, and you know they aren’t going to do anything.

Americans are in the business to charge other Americans too much money. Corporations know. They took all their business overseas where it’s cheaper. Even if stuff is “made in the USA” there’s something made overseas. You’d be very hard pressed to have anything exclusive to the states—soup to nuts.

That’s really dark. Humans don’t like dark. “Is anybody else hungry for lunch?”


Death Is A Tragedy

Death is a Tragedy. It comes in many forms.
If a child died before his or her time.
If a person dies from an illness.
If a person died in an accident.
If a person dies of old age.
If a person dies in war.
For any reason, death has a wide effect, and in all cases, it is tragic.

We will all die. It is the human condition to both accept the fact and ignore it at the same time. It won’t happen to me. Not yet.

Think of your closest friends and relatives. People you never want to see hurting. At some point, you will mourn at their funeral, or they will mourn at yours.

I don’t say this to be a downer. I speak only the truth, after all. Since we do not know when they time will be ours, or someone else we hold dear, we shouldn’t hold back. If there’s something to be said, say it. If there is something to be done, do it. You don’t know how much time is left.

Love on those around you–those you care about. After all is gone, your love will live on. When someone we love passes, we remember the love–us for they and they for us. Leave something for others to remember you with love.

I love all of you. If you read this, smile. You are loved.


London Grey McCabe

This post is put by me, but the words are all Matt’s from his memorial to London.  I hope you find them as perfect as I do.

I understand now.

Adults with autism don’t want to be called “Autistic.” That’s not how they self-identify. They are individuals who have autistic traits. Some are good and some are hard. I could never understand why their convictions were so strong.

Now I understand.

London had autism. It was pronounced, and his symptoms were unmistakable. But you got past that. You gave him grace. You didn’t focus on his limitations. Underneath all of that was a happy, loving boy. Besides being beautiful to behold—blue eyes and blonde hair—he was beautiful on the inside.

He laughed and jumped and played. Where all of his other autistic traits were pronounced, he always gave deep, penetrating looks (many people with autism avoid direct eye contact).

He didn’t like what he didn’t like, but what he did like, he took to with great gusto. When he was hungry and eating food that he liked, he cooed. The air was full of “mmmm”s and “yumm”s. He couldn’t talk, but he was always verbalizing. His almost-words were nicknamed his “Ewok Language.”

He adored physical contact with those he loved. He liked to be held and tossed, and he always slept pressed up against me at night.

The story of his life is LOVE personified. London personified love.

You and I can honor his memory best by loving each other. Love your children. Love your parents. Love your friends. Love those you meet.

Love with great gusto.

Matt McCabe, Father