Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

This month I returned to the theater with my friend Cheryl to see the musical Rent.

We went to Theater Charlotte, a local community group that puts on several shows a year. It was amazing.

The theater itself is adorable. It only holds a small crowd and is a casual atmosphere. It felt like the performers were singing right to us.

Rent is about a lot of things: Love, friendship, poverty, AIDS. Most importantly, rent is about life and death. How do you live your best life? What does your life mean? How does your life impact others?

I don't think I am spoiling anything by saying one of the friends in the group, Angel, dies of AIDS. Angel, full of life and love, leaves behind a grieving, fractured group of friends who have to decide how to carry on and make the most of their lives.

This show made me laugh and made me cry. It is a bit provocative.

An interesting thing about the musical Rent is that it's writer Jonathan Larson died of a sudden heart attack before the show hit Broadway. So, how do you measure a life?

I do my best thinking by writing

Editor's Note: Once again, this has nothing to do with my resolution. But I lost my Nana last week, so this is something I have a therapeutic need to share.

Nana died on Tuesday, April 26. This is the eulogy I delivered on Thursday, April 27 at her grave site.

At Granddaddy’s funeral, almost nine years ago, I stood in front of most of you to talk just like I am doing today. I remember sitting in the pew, thinking there was no way I could talk in front of all those people. I was scared, just like I am today. Nana held my hand and told me that I could do it. Before I knew what was happening, I was standing up there, in front of everyone reading the words I’d written. Nana gave me courage.

Over the last 29 years, Nana held my hand a lot. When we went for walks. When she picked me up from school. When Granddaddy was in the hospital after his heart attack.

About eight years ago, Nana asked me if I would speak today. Even though she’s not here, I can almost feel her holding my hand and telling me I can do this.

Nana loved a lot of things. She loved her flowers. She loved coffee. She loved to cook. She loved naming the birds that flew in and out of her yard. But more than anything, she loved Willie. Nine years ago Nana’s heart was broken. The man that always held her hand and gave her courage was gone. A few weeks ago, she held my hand for the last time and told me that she would give anything in the world to feel Granddaddy’s arms around her again.

53 years is a very long time to hold someone’s hand. And nine years was a long time for her to live without him. She never really felt complete.

Nana used to tell me that when they were dating, Granddaddy would come and pick her up, against Grandma Parker’s wishes, and say, “Baby, let’s go.”

I believe that early Tuesday morning, finally, Willie stuck out that hand that she knew and loved so well and said, “Come on baby, let’s go.”