Peace (2nd try)

peace noun \pes\

1. a state of tranquility or quiet
2. freedom from disquieting or oppressive thoughts or emotions
3. a pact or agreement to end hostilities between those who have been at war or state of enmity

 --Or, In Italian, the language I most want to learn first

s. pace; trattato di pace; (Dir) ordine pubblico, queite pubblica; armonia concordia; traquillita, serenita

For some reason, this word has been going through my head these last few days. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, so bear with me if you will, while I noodle this one out.

Peace. The word echoes in my head when I drive to work, it interrupts the song on the radio on the way home, it repeats itself in Italian to me while I'm cleaning the pan after dinner. Peace while I'm brushing my teeth. Peace while I wait for my glass to fill with water out of the magic hole in the refrigerator door. 

Peace. 

It's a simple word for something that carries such a huge impact. I'm not sure why this word is sticking to me right now. It's not obnoxious like that dang song I can never get out of my mind (Carly Rae, I'm not going to call you. No offense, but quit asking). It's more like a quiet word born from a deep voice that really isn't my own. Maybe because the word is too important to be mine. 

Peace. Is this what I'm striving for? To quiet the thoughts that creep in when I see a picture of Seth on my phone scroll by on the little tile? To calm my nerves when I'm frustrated because I didn't realize that being an analyst was synonymous with being a fire fighter? You know, I think that may be the easy answer. I don't think of this word in times of stress, I think of it in the quiet times in between.

But the frequency lately makes me wonder, have I been at war with myself? We've all been our own worst enemy at times and I almost think that my psyche is tired of it. I'm tired of wondering how life will turn out, if I'm doing the right thing for myself, for my family. Am I making the right decisions in my career - or should I bail on my career for that matter and do something else? Something less stressful or something terrifying - like risking it all. I feel I have been at war; my practical side battling my whimsy, both suffering casualties. I'm tired of war. 

I think I crave peace. This must go back to the "be present today" feeling I've been having. I don't feel like worrying so much. I want to have a good day. I want to be at peace. What would it feel like if I just enjoyed my circumstances such as they are? And not just for a few hours, what if I enjoyed the entire day? I'm pausing now as I write this. I'm trying to think of days where I didn't worry or think about the future once. I'm finding it creepy that I can't think of one. Wow. I'm honestly not sure I'm capable of it, but perhaps it's time to give it a better - or conscious - try. 

So, let's look at two definitions for this word that has been echoing in my head:

 " A pact or agreement to end hostilities between those who have been at war or in a state of enmity". Let's start there. Why do I feel the urge to beat the present over the head with my stick from the future? Time to care for the present. The future can take care of itself. I can't control it or guarantee one darn thing in it, or even that it will happen for that matter. It's time to not obsess over it any more - or at least not nearly as much. Live today. Kiss my husband now, not later. Listen to my kids now, not when I'm less tired. Feel now, not when it's convenient. If I can work on that, then maybe - just maybe - I'll achieve the first part of the definition: "a state of tranquility or quiet". 

Don't get me wrong, I have no illusions that my life will be like a Japanese garden, but if I can quiet just a couple of the voices in my head, that would be nice. I've got a few in mind that can take a hike. The perfectly slim woman in the power suit is first to go, she annoys me the most. Next is the eighty year old critic who's lower lip sticks out further than the top one. He is closely followed by the hipster. All those voices can leave me alone and let me enjoy my now, have some tranquility in my day. But that voice that belongs to the girl that likes to be adventurous? I might keep her around. I kind of like her...

An Intentional Life

I've said before than I tend to be a very impatient person. Not with people mind you, but with my direction. Part of this, I believe, is that I'm always looking forward. The future is fascinating to me, rich with possibilities and dreams. The future holds the key to what I should be doing now. If I can see the end result, I can better prepare and take necessary steps today. Simple.

It's impatience that plagues me when I don't have the answers to the future. I don't have the plan, the thing I know I should be striving for. The what and the why. With the death of my mother, I thought I had a fairly clear picture of where I should head. It hadn't changed much from before her death, and if anything it got a hair clearer. The death of our Grandson, however, muddied my waters and nothing was clear. Perhaps that's one of the reasons I was searching so hard for answers, for meaning. I needed that path so I could direct my energy forward. Present was not pleasant, so to speak.

I've had so many questions, and I don't really think I've found many answers, but I've had some thoughts that feel right. Nothing can change what has happened or change how sad Seth's death makes us feel. However there's always one thing within our control: how we respond to events in our lives. This is the one thing that any of us has the power to choose.

I have little idea now what my future holds for me, or what direction I should take. Do I keep writing my novel, in one form or another, or is there something else that I should be doing? They say that grief sometimes makes you face your own mortality, makes you take inventory of your life. I believe this is what is happening inside of me. The one thing I absolutely know is this: I want to make a difference, I want to make it count.

I feel that the time is right to take a step to the side from the forward looking practice and look at the present day instead. To live with intention. What if I decided to challenge myself to seize opportunities to do something good each day? For example, today I've been thinking about a professor I had a few years ago when I took a Stress Management class. While most of the things that were taught were common sense, there were some things that I learned that helped me a great deal, mostly concerning how different types of people communicate. This one man changed the way I perceived myself and the world around me. Wouldn't it be nice if he knew that? If I were a teacher, I'd appreciate it.

So, this is what I'm going to do: I'm going to send him an email and let him know the impact he had on my life. This one thing, this small thing that will take me all of probably 15-30 minutes of my day at most, could possibly make his day. I don't expect anything in return, I don't need to strike up an ongoing conversation, but this one thing is a good thing to do. And I like that.

Which makes me wonder, what might be the good thing I do tomorrow? I'm not sure. I know my work day is going to be crazy busy and I may feel drained by the end of it. But perhaps, somewhere in the middle of it, a few kind words spoken at a time I'd normally stay quiet and keep my nose to the grindstone might be the ticket. Perhaps it's being more present with my family that evening instead of being wrapped up in my own head. Maybe I'll push some shopping carts into the corral on my way into the store. I'm not sure. I'm not even sure that I can remember to take opportunities every day.

But maybe part of the point is to try.

So, that's what I'm going to do. To try. To see life now as an opportunity. It's a precious gift and not one to be squandered and taken for granted. I want to lean another language. What's stopping me from doing that? I want to let people know how much they mean to me, what's stopping me from doing that? I want to spread some good in this world. What's stopping me from doing that? Usually the answer is "I don't have time, I have other things I have to do". Well, how long does it take to learn one word a day? How long does it take to buy a bag of pretzels out of the vending machine and leave it in some random cubicle with a note that says "enjoy"? Not long, I think. So I believe I should try.

Speaking of which, I have an email to write...

Finding Some Good

My last post related a lot of questions I had surrounding Seth's passing. I realize I may never get to know some of the answers. I've had a few people say that none of us will fully know and understand until it's our time to pass. I tend to be a little impatient, so that doesn't sit very well with me, but what can I do?

I think that one thing I can do is attempt to point out the good that has come from this. While many can argue that no good can possibly come from such a small and innocent soul from leaving us all too soon, I have to disagree. Finding the good in things is in my nature, it helps me to cope, to understand. This trait of mine sometimes drives my kids nuts. I can't tell you how many times I've tried to talk to them when they're upset only to get a look that clearly says, "Shut up." My son has told me more than once that sometimes he just wants me to say "I'm sorry, that totally sucks and is not right". It's a confirmation and understanding that he needs. I catch myself and repeat that phrase back to him, then explain that finding the good is the thing that helps me to get through stuff I don't understand. When a stranger is rude to me, it helps me to not take it personal. When I make a mistake, it helps me to learn. When I feel hurt, it helps me to put it into perspective. 

Seth's passing is still really fresh, so I feel my perspective is short sighted, but I can't help but try to find some good. It may not bring answers, but it does help me to feel at least a little better about the day I'm experiencing. And maybe finding the good is like finding some answers. Maybe. I know there is much more than what I'm listing here, but these are the things that are occurring to me today:

1. My Daughter's Strength. I relayed my feelings about this to a dear friend of mine this morning and as I wrote it, I couldn't help but be grateful and humble to be a part of her life. I talked to my daughter the day after Seth's passing and asked her that when she finds herself struggling and feeling lost that she remembers moments of incredible strength she has at her core. When she realized that Seth was trapped underneath the fallen dresser, she acted. She lifted the heavy oak dresser with a strength like probably came from adrenaline and immediately began CPR. Though she never took official lessons, she remembered what she saw on House and did her best. She paused only to call 911 and continued with the compressions while on the phone until the paramedics came. She told me later she was was relieved to see them giving Seth CPR the same way she had been. I can't begin to fathom what that was like, but am so in awe at how she reacted as there are so many other ways she could have. She could have panicked, froze, been to distraught to act, or not tried to give CPR because she didn't know how. But the strength that resides in her core allowed her to focus through her panic. This is just one moment I've witnessed from her in the days since this happened. I watched her in the hospital expressing concern for her fiancé and family members. I watched her set aside her anguish and fear to hold her dying son in her arms, to curl up with him in bed. I watched her and her fiancé move through wave after wave of emotions and both trying so hard to be understanding and respectful of each other and those around them. I watched them walk around the reception hall yesterday after the service, making sure to talk to all the friends and families that came. It would have been easy to avoid, to hide, but their courage and character is stronger than that. I know that they both have very hard days, weeks, months and years ahead. Days when the pain and sorrow will feel larger than I can conceive. My hope is that they remember the moments of strength that they possess in their core. That this memory helps to see them through.

2. The Love of People Connected to Us. I've written on my Facebook page my gratitude for all those who have poured their love, understanding and support for our family during this time, but it really does bear repeating. It is so appreciated and is definitely something that can be categorized as "good". It's something that touches my heart any time I see people band together for a common good. I think about 9/11 and remember how differently people acted on that day. Even in busy San Diego, all the way across the country, I witnessed people being uncommonly courteous to each other. It was a moment in time that petty thoughts were pushed aside and we thought of our nation as a family. While what has occurred to us is small and personal and not comparable to the tragedy of 9/11, I still feel that a sense of family and community was felt during this time. People that I didn't know, that my daughter didn't know, were praying and pulling for us. I don't think I'm wrong in believing that there were a few more hugs and words of love and appreciation to their own families. In my book, that's always a good thing.

3. The Amazing Strangers. I may never know God's plan, but I have to believe that he placed the exact right people in place to help my daughter's family, to help all of us. I normally don't like to discuss God, as I feel my relationship with him is very personal and doesn't necessarily follow the "rules" that others believe, but I feel it's important to acknowledge my beliefs here. I am a proponent of "everything happens for a reason" and I trust that he has some overarching plan here. I don't know all or possibly any of what that is, but based on the professionals and people that came into play during this time, I have to believe that he placed them here to help. My daughter has told me that the detectives that came to their apartment that day have been so caring. They've been in contact with her a few times since, checking in on her, they speak to her like she is their friend. The nurses and doctors at Sacred Heart were amazing, but I really was touched by the night nurse. She was both caring and sensitive as she was strong and firm. The Child Life Specialists were gentle and helpful, providing various copies of Seth's hand and footprints, providing emotional support and strength as well as some physical reminders to hold on to. The funeral director was so open and kind, taking in and guiding my daughter and her fiancé as if they were his own kids, connecting with them on a personal level. They met with the pastor who resided over the service a few days prior to it and connected with him as well, deeply moved by his compassion for them. I am so thankful all these people were in place. It would have been so much harder if even one of the individuals were uncaring or too business like. But they all helped. And that is a good. I hope one day I can be a good stranger to someone.

4. Seth's Gift of Life. This is also something that I posted on my Facebook page, but I can't discount it here simply because I said it there. This is definitely something that's not just good, it's amazing. The thought that three children have a new chance at life because of Seth fills my heart with hope. The women representing the organ donating organization (boy, I'm sure there's a real name for it, but I don't know what it is) stated that less than1% of people who want to be organ donors actually can. It depends on timing, what has occurred and how. This is a piece of the puzzle that makes be believe in the larger plan. It's a tangible thing that can be grasped. This goes beyond good.

5. Deepening Family Relationships. As with the love of people connected to us, I feel a deepening in my personal relationship with my immediate family. I do not want to discount the love of my parents and my siblings, my extended family of aunts, uncles and cousins. Their support has been incredible and I feel that without it my life would hold far less meaning. I am in special gratitude to my parents and siblings - in blood and by marriage - they make me proud to be a part of this family. What I want to  point out here is my relationship with my husband and our kids. I find myself wanting to reach out more than usual, to accept more than usual, to show appreciation when I can step aside from myself long enough to do so. I feel in the last week I've been fairly self indulgent in my grief - and some would say that is normal and ok - but part of me wishes that I had been stronger, that my heart and my mind would have worked more harmoniously, that I could have been more of a pillar than a pile of sand. Regardless, my husband and kids showed wonderful respect and grace, even as they were going through their own long list of emotions and reactions. This last week I have grown to love them even more than I already had. And that is definitely a good. 

I know there are far more things I could list, but I already feel like I'm babbling. But I guess if I have to babble, maybe it's a good thing to want to babble on the positive side rather than the dark side. After all,  the babble brings attention and power to the good. And I would rather send it there than to the sad.

Questions

We lost our Grandson on February 7th. I was at work when my daughter called. She was frantic and on the way to the hospital, where her 1 1/2 year old son was being taken. He was stable but unable to breathe on his own. A senseless and horrific accident rendered his body still, kept going only by machines that worked tirelessly to pump air in and out of his lungs, to circulate blood everywhere except to his brain, where it simply could not find passage. That was Wednesday the 6th. Within a few hours, we knew the outcome was inevitable and irreversible. It became the waiting game. The "lets make sure game". In a way, that was a blessing. As each piece of medical equipment and tubing was gradually removed from Seth, more acceptance was allowed to take place. Time was given to my daughter to curl up in his hospital crib, to sleep beside him one last time.

I remember one of the nurses asking me if I had any questions. The look on my face must have made her revise her question: "Do you have any questions I can answer?". She was right. There weren't many questions I had that she could answer. A few she could. I have a million she can't.

I have a question going through my head this morning, and at this moment. Why do I feel the need to write this in my blog? Why do I want to put this out in cyber space, instead of keeping it private. Why not write it in a journal? Like all of my questions, I don't have answers for these, except that this is what I'm compelled to do at this moment. Will this help someone? Will it make them uncomfortable? Angry, disgusted or sad? I don't know. Will it cause more hurt than has already occurred? I hope not. I don't know why I feel the need to do this, but am trusting there is some reason. Some stupid reason.

I'm finding the questions don't stop, and maybe that's because there are no answers. One question leads to the next and the next and I feel I'm constantly turning in circles with no way to step out. Why us? Why in the world did God pick us, our family, Seth, for whatever it is he has planned. And if he felt the need to do this, which he obviously did, why can't he be good enough to at least tell us why? Perhaps he has, that's entirely possible, and we are still too dumb struck to see it. Or is it that we have some answers but our grief makes us crave for more justification? Sometimes, I feel that might be at least partly true. Seth is an organ donor, and three children have a new opportunity and life because of him. I know this is part of the answer, and that is is an honor that we were chosen - that Seth was chosen - but I can't help wanting more. I am not angry at God, I trust in him and I believe in him, but right now I don't feel like talking to him. I simply don't know what to say. I trust that he understands and is listening to the words my heart speaks which my lips cannot.

Why am I feeling so fragile? I am a strong person, despite the common knowledge that I am very sensitive. I think it's my sensitivity that helps me to be strong. But this week I have felt such a fracture. I have a portion of me that is sane and logical, that is whispering in my ear that what I am feeling and how I am reacting is fine. That quiet voice, not unlike the one that comes from the main character in my story, is attempting to keep me grounded. If I could describe that fracture, it would call it a slice that starts at my left temple. It arches over my eyebrow and jags its way down my face and into my shoulder, stopping just before it reaches my armpit. That smaller part is where the logic lies. It lets one eye see happiness and appreciate beauty, lets me half smile, gives me one arm - my right arm - to do the things that need to be done. That part of me does things and experiences things with real joy and happiness. The lower section, the one where my sadness, anger and confusion lie, is ruled by a part of my heart that has already been hurt. That part that still suffers the loss of my Mom.

Even as I write this, I know that I will not be fractured forever. The jagged slice will start to mend, probably starting with my armpit, and will work it's way up through my collar bone, through my smile, through my eyebrow. I have a feeling that I may have a scar, but I will be whole - smiling and crying with both parts of me in harmony. I don't believe I will look on that scar with disgust or anguish, but rather with nurturing and respect. My hope is that I will run my fingers over the skin that has mended and remember. Maybe if I do that, instead of covering it up with band-aids and scarves, I can help someone else mend. I don't know.

I called my sister the other day, crying. I had tried to go to work and found that I not only couldn't give a shit about what my clients needed or thought, but that it actually made me angry. How am I supposed to care about energy budgets? How can I empathize and care if someone's natural gas figures are X% off from prior year? My daughter is trying to plan a funeral for her infant while working so hard to keep her family together. Why should I care about Corporate America when my daughter is trying to find a way to tell her three year old son that Seth isn't going to come home? How is that family, who is so dear to me, going to survive? And why am I not with them? I question that even now as I sit here writing this. Why am I not with her now? Is it avoidance? Self preservation? How long does this last? Why can't I at least have a road map, a guide book, something that says "Sheila, this is what you need to do right now", so I don't have to figure it out? So I don't have to wonder if I'm doing the right thing or if I'm being a complete idiot. Why am I sitting here writing this now? I feel so unsettled.

The outpouring of love and support has been tremendous. Why can't I find it in me to thank each person? I really want to. I want to either sit them down or write them a personal note and tell them how much this means to me. Why can't I do this? I try to tell some, but feel I have failed to tell others. It's not that I think these people do not understand my silence, it's more that I feel I am cheating them.

Why am I taking this so personal? Am I that narcissistic? This is not my child that died, I feel I should be stronger than I am. Why do I have thoughts that circle around "what am I supposed to do with this"? What didn't I get right when Mom passed that I have to go through this again? Why did this happen on my birthday? What am I doing wrong? It's not that I feel I'm being punished, it's more that I feel I'm being pushed. Where? Why? Will I ever know? What's going to happen if I don't do what I'm supposed to? Who else has to die? What other loss are people going to have to suffer because I didn't get the message? That logical side of me is whispering to me now, trying to calm me down and speak reason, but that larger half is covering her ears and shaking her head like a child. Part of me needs to be self absorbed. Part of me chastises myself for feeling that need. It's ridiculous.

Now I feel like I've taken up too much of the morning. I have to go, I have to be with my daughter and her family. I need to help. I've sat here debating if I should post this. Should I copy it and place it somewhere private? I don't know. Should I post it? I'm worried that it's going to make people sad or worry about me. That's not my intent. I truly believe that I am going to be ok. That my daughter and her family will move through this, that we will all gain strength. Perhaps I have more answers than I thought I did. But what if some of my questions are similar to someone else's? Will reading mine help someone? I hope it does, though I don't know how it will.

And maybe it's ok not to know.

Two Books? Again?

I've been trying to figure out some of the root reasons why I can't seem to eek out more than a few pages at a time. Yes, it's been a heck of a winter, but I can't help but feel like I should be a bit more fired up - or at least enjoying myself more when I write. Instead, I've been riddled with doubt and angst. Which may be completely normal, but I'm not going to lie, these feelings are not my favorite.

I sat down yesterday morning to do my Morning Pages (something of which I have been incredibly sporadic with) and posed the question: why am I not having fun anymore? And really, it came down to the question of when was the last time I had fun, period? I've had happy times for sure, don't get me wrong, but I had to think about the fun part. It's a depressing thing when you realize (again) how much of a fuddy-duddy adult you've become. I need to learn how to play more. Stinkin' responsibilities making me old ....

Anyway, some good came out of the session. I think part of my angst about laboring out each page is that I have so much to say for this section of the story that I've been feeling conflicted about how I was going to handle it. There is so much to explain, situations that need to be brought up. I was worried as the page numbers and word count was starting to increase and barely a foundation was being created for this part that I was going to do one of two things: either rush it to a close by not including what I felt needed to be included or have one massive manuscript that I would have to take a machete to later. It dawned on me yet again that it's possible I have two books on my hands. Yeah, again.

Suddenly, I'm excited. My perspective about what I'm doing has taken a hard right and I feel like I'm back on track. I've compiled my manuscript up to the point where I would cut it off for the first book and pulled it out to PDF form. It weighs in at about 60,600 words as is, which is fairly slight for a novel. My plan now is to print that baby up (hello Kinkos!) and sit down with it, pen and notepad at the ready. I need to see what I have, where it makes sense and where it can be strengthened. I really feel that if that first part isn't full of fluff and the components that are there are necessary, it would be best to separate it and treat the second half with the respect that story line deserves.

So, adding pages is officially on hold while I edit the first half. This isn't a tedious spell check/grammar edit, but a broad-sweeping brush edit. And now, I'm excited again. Hallelujah!

The Pact

Four years ago, I made a pact with my mom: The two of us would finally get off our butts and write. Both of us had put it off for too long and it was time to stop thinking about it and start doing it. The timing was perfect. She was turning 65 and I was turning 40 - good milestone years. We decided that we would start February 1st, on her birthday, and each of us would write and encourage the other. A writing group of two.

I took the day off of work and drove up to Kettle Falls on that first day of February, armed with paper and pencils, coffee and dessert, and a mind on fire with a story to write. We sat and talked, exchanged ideas. We were feeding off each other's energy and I'm not going to lie, I was exhausted by the end of the day. But it was a good, satisfied kind of exhausted.

Each of us got off to a great start, but like many things that we start with our fires blazing, it burns hot for a while and then peters out. Both of us got discouraged for different reasons, both of us had things blocking us, both internal and external. Mom ended up writing a small book, made up of mini stories from her childhood. She had it printed at the local copy shop and gave a copy to each of her loved ones for Christmas that year, which was received with "mixed reviews". I was proud of her for finishing, proud of her for putting it out there. It's not an easy thing to do. I think she mostly just wanted people to understand her. And really, don't we all want that at times?

My story gained some ground, the beginning of a novel that made a hard left to the ridiculous. I shelved it, so to speak. That was novel number 2 that was started and not finished. Number three came a few months later and was less of a start than it's predecessors. The age old issue of family/work life balance won out over this solitary activity so I stopped. And just like that, I broke our pact.

Mom was never upset, she totally got me. She said that she knew I'd write someday, when I was ready. She said that she didn't care if I ever got published, as long as I was doing what I loved. She's cool that way. When I started laying down words this last April, little bits here and there, she was really excited. She was really excited that I started this novel. This is the first time that I didn't feed her bits or let her read any of it. I wanted to wait until it was done. One of the last conversations we had was about this book. She was asking me when she was ever going to get to read any of it. And for that matter, when was she going to get to find out what happened in the first novel that I had started so long ago. One thing that bums me out is that she's not going to get to read any of what I write anymore. And if, by chance anything I write ever becomes published, I'm not going to get to call her. I actually pictured that in my head. The screaming, the jumping up and down.

Today's her birthday. I'm not going to lie, I'm feeling it today. My loss of her. Ever since the day of that pact, I've taken a day off at our birthdays and drove up to Kettle Falls to spend the day deep in conversation, laughter and tears. This week has been hard. I knew her birthday was coming, but I thought I could breeze through it.

Not so much.

After the third time of stopping myself from crying at work - which is an awful place to cry - I decided to throw in the towel. I could have stuffed it in again, could have gotten myself lost in spreadsheets for another few hours. But really? Maybe stuffing again and again is not the best solution. I decided I would indulge and let myself feel what was coming to the surface this time. I respectfully asked to take the rest of the day off and headed up to mom's house. I should have known this was coming, but I guess a half day spent at mom's is better than none.

I picked up a sub, a gorgeous bag of plain Lay's potato chips, and a single serving of mom's favorite birthday dessert - strawberry shortcake. I sat in her living room, eating my sub and smacking on my chips. Those Lay's are my stress food. If I'm feeling sad or stressed, I turn to Lay's. Not alcohol, not tobacco, it's all about the Lay's. Anyway, the conversation was extremely one-sided so I spent the afternoon looking through her photo albums and memory books. Unfortunately, the strawberry shortcake was super gross, so that was tossed. Sorry Mom.

I know I'm rambling on this post, but the truth is this: I simply miss her. And our birthdays for the last four years have been spent together, spurred on by the common desire to write. I wish I could say that I had that burning desire to work on my novel, but honestly? I'm feeling bummed. I'm not doubting I will finish, I absolutely know that I will not abandon yet another novel, especially when I am so far in, but I feel like I'm running in mud here. I'm sure so much of this has to do with just dealing with mom's passing. And it's winter. Blue skies and warm skin is a scarce commodity these days. I wish I could just turn that fire in me on, like the one in mom's living room today. Flip the switch and the orange and yellow flames ignite and capture your attention. Maybe that switch is coming. Or maybe it's something that I will simply have to keep tossing on logs and kindling. I don't know. But, one thing I do know, I'm glad I let myself feel today. There can never be healing unless you feel first.

Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you!