2 funerals in 2 days.  One for one of my favorite uncles & the other for my Dad's friend of over 30 years."Horizon is only the limit of what our eyes can see", are the words of our family Priest at my Uncle's funeral, in attempting to explain something that in our human form  we cannot possibly understand.  "Where do we go after we die?"  His words sat heavy with me- peaceful and comforting yet in some way unnerving.Professionally, I'm comfortable discussing topics like death & dying. I can't explain how I'm able to sit with others through grief, only that I am.  I'm certain in some way it's more God's doing than my own.Dealing with my own grief issues, a totally different story.  Not unique for therapists.  I maintain we, therapists, are the WORST clients.  I just kept thinking "I'm fine.  I'm fine.  I need to be strong for everyone else."So, out for a much needed run with a friend, I began relaying the information about my Uncle and friend, much in the manner of relaying a "to do" list.  Not because it didn't hurt, not because I wasn't going to miss them, but because like all humans, I have developed skillful coping techniques (some may say I've built up "walls" but let's go with "coping skills) as a way to get through painful circumstances in life.All of a sudden, a dove (not just any bird, but the epitome of "peace") is hit by a car and thrashing in front of us in an effort to still fly away.  Instinctively, we quickly tried to think of a way to help the dove.  Were we going to carry it the mile home we still had to run?  Were we going to get someone to take it in their car? Knock on someone's door early in the morning to help us help the dove?We started to approach the dove in the road when all of a sudden.  Poof!  A truck appeared to speed up and hit the dove again- sending feathers- and any chance of the dove surviving into the air.Any other day, I'd be sad.  I mean who wouldn't be?  But I BURST into tears.  Near hysterics.  My poor friend, for what a vision I'm sure I was crying over this gigantic black cloud I felt was over me.Crying is cathartic.  The rest of the run I rambled on about some memories of both of them, and thankfully Kristi was there to listen.  (It would've looked worse if I had just been talking to myself, right?)My uncle was one of the funniest men I'd ever met.  He had his little banter with everyone, unique and equally witty.  My husband and my Uncle would bicker about "who was Grandma and Grandpa Polcyn's favorite"- both claiming to be.  To our oldest son, he would tease that he loved to eat worms.  Jacob would giggle.  Still smiles from ear to ear when we bring it up.  For me, his "go to" statements were "Have you always been this short?" and "are you shrinking?"..... When I got ready for the funeral, as I was putting on my heels for the day, a part of me sank thinking Uncle Bob would never say that to me again.  But one day, my time on earth will come to an end.  And I'm almost certain, somewhere over the horizon, far from where my human form can see now, there will be my Uncle Bob.... waiting to comment on my vertically challenged earthly body, wondering if I am indeed, still shrinking.  and I will smile, knowing he always said it with love.My Dad's friend was a larger than life person.  Even as a kid, I knew not everyone had a friend who drove a red Rolls Royce (that I got to drive too!), or who trained professional boxers (fighters, not dogs) like Tommy Hearns, Lenox Lewis, Oscar De La Hoya, etc.  I knew that not everyone was able to sit ring side at fights, or go into the locker room to meet the fighters.  And while all of that was always exciting, that is not what I found most endearing about him.   He was charming, engaging, and gracious.  His ability to tell a story of his far away and fantastic stories was enthralling.  I will remember him making bbq ribs for the party when we met my Dad's bone marrow donor- choosing to be just another guest rather than the celebrity that in his other life he really was.  But most of all, I will remember the way he made a person feel when he was in your presence.  Special.  A gift.   To most people in the world, he was "Emanuel Steward!" To my family, he was just "friend.""Horizon is only the limit of what your eyes can see"......I'm no more certain of where Heaven actually is or where we go after we die, other than what my faith leads me to believe.  Sometimes it's resolute, while other times, it's weak and full of questions.  Questions that really have no concrete answers.  But what I do know, without hesitation, the world is better for having known Robert Szajnecki and Emanuel Steward.  In their little ways, they made the lives of so many people better.Quote to end, by one of my favorite people of all time, "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." Mother Teresa.Keeping my eyes on the horizons, and remembering the gifts I've been given by all those who have gone on before me, and hoping to honor them with the small things, I attempt to do, with great love, each day.Peace.....