In episode 3 of season 2 I discussed the difficult topic of death and what that means in regards to living life on your own terms and also allowing others around you to live life on their own terms regardless of whether

we agree with it or not.

This episode above all things is a lesson on living.

So I hope you guys enjoy episode 3 of season 2 passing through New Orleans.

Someone else crying when I'm crying never does anything for me

and a hug usually made it worse.

So I fought back tears, married my sweaty palms, and avoided eye contact.

I've learned it's not terribly difficult to revisit a rose garden of memories and pluck the sweetest sounding words to remember the dead.

But what words do we pick for the dying? In front of me

stood a man fighting desperately to live. His cancer a ruthless disease

deteriorating his bones, stripping him of his health, career, and what doctors

deemed his future.

He already fought to outlive the first terminal sentence, but the sentence was still the same.

Terminal.

When I was younger, probably around seven or eight, my mom would tiptoe on squeaky wooden floors to my room,

tucked the covers tightly around my body, and kissed me good night.

Leave the door open just a little, I would beg.

She'd ease the door to her near clothes, leaving me a dull slice of light from the living room.

I'd eavesdrop listening to my mom and dad, chat about their day and make plans for tomorrow.

I found an addictive comfort in their conversation.

Plans for tomorrow meant they'd still be here.

Shortly after they retired to their bedrooms, I'd start crying,

...