Evaporate

It’s been twenty-seven days. Twenty-seven. Days. Since you passed, somehow, twenty-seven days have passed. I still don’t believe it. Not possible. No way. As backwards as this sounds for the way life typically unfolds, I would’ve bet money you’d outlive me.

Me? Don’t ask about me. It’s been one thing after the next. It started with my eyes. Wait no. It started back in early December 2022 with the early signs of a flare. My first in almost two years– the longest I’ve gone without a flare since diagnosis twelve and a half years ago. Success in my medical history book. But it snuck up as it always does with stress. You know, right? You’ve seen – witnessed – up close and personal alongside me – for six and a half years how this beast operates. Fire up that stove, Mama. Break out the stock pot. It’s time to stew.

Yes, for me, everything now, started then. Fast forward. The eyes. Wait. No again. It was the occasional joint pain. I tried to keep up the physical well being, and the mental health, with the exercise. Fell in love with my body and feeling fit again. Strong. But as my fortune would have it, that was made hard to accomplish. Go ahead and throw that in the pot too. It all matters.

Now the eye. Yes, the eye. The right one. A day or two before you left, it began. Not certain yet what’s happening there…

But WHAM! Hit by the freight train hurdling down the track towards us that we didn’t even know was on the track to leave the station that fateful January day. You were here and then in a moment, a tiny instance, you weren’t. You were gone. Gone. Just plain gone. Like a dream. Fleeting. You were real but you weren’t. Evaporated into thin air. Not possible. I say again. Not possible. Glue doesn’t just stop sticking one day. …Or does it? When does the glue stop sticking? It must stop at some point, one day, too, …right?

How do we throw you in the pot? You’re too big. You don’t fit. It’s too big. It’s wrong. You’re the backbone. The BACKBONE. The backbone doesn’t belong in there. We need that. Plus we can’t possibly cut you into bitesize pieces, can we?

Funeral home. Decisions. No answers. None. We get to live in confusion. With questions. Questions. And more questions. Zero answers. And it will stay that way. Because you are supposed to be here. Not there.

Wait! Stop! No. Turn the heat down. Starting to boil over. Blisters. The eye. It’s blisters. And it’s now two eyes. What is this? And why was it added? The body. The pain— the muscles, the joints, the bones, the headaches— what is happening? It all hurts and yet, is added anyway.

What exactly are we making? I don’t want it. 

And there it is. That flare that was already real is now really real. Infection. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Doctors. Medicines. More doctors. More medicines. Must. Keep. Going. Why? No break. No rest. There’s too much. Why did we use this monstrous stock pot?  It holds too many things.

OH! And the things. All the things. Stuff on top of stuff. All. The. Stuff. It’s caving in on top. It’s too much. Overwhelming. It must get out. Go. It has to go. How did you do it? How did you live with all of the things on top of things. On top of you. So much to do. Piles. 

Savory. There has to be some savory. Flowers. Cards. Words. Tears. Salty tears. Pouring. Not one received card, even twenty-seven days later, has gone read without salty tears. Careful though. No crying— what about the eye meds? I want to cry though. How am I to get through this with no tears?

There’s been an alter to this –recipe? Is that what we call it? It’s going in a pot, soup? I guess? I’m in SO MUCH PAIN. My eyes, my gut, my bones, my entire being. This recipe. This disastrous recipe. It’s awful. But it’s all I have. And I don’t have enough spoons or a big enough spoon to consume it. I’m trying. So hard. Crawling, no grasping, at anything I’m able to lap up. Morsels. I’ll devour it if I have to. I’m starving. It all hurts. Crippling pain beyond anything I’ve experienced before. I no longer care how disgusting it is. Just give it to me —I’ll ingest it. Somehow. I need to. For so many reasons. Filling. Relief. Acceptance.

The physical pain must stop. For you. So I can grieve you. All I want to do is cry and my own eyes refuse me because they need their medicine to heal. There’s no time to cry right now.

I don’t know, Mom. Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Can I eat it all? I really don’t want to. It’s a massive pot. Overwhelming. It’s a lot thrown in. I think we haphazardly ran into the kitchen and dumped everything from the cupboards and pantry in. I’ll never know why. It’s bitter enough alone, without all the things. With them, it’s almost inedible. Which now reminds me of a quote I heard on a show recently that is the same quote a friend also gave me in a frame after being hospitalized in 2019: How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. So that’s what I’m trying to do one-tough-fucking-piece at a time.

But it’s not about me. It’s not supposed to be. It’s supposed to be about you. It’s supposed to be sadness, memories, crying, grieving, laughter, new moments, coping. All the things death brings. And yet, here it is — my body — being extra. Being so much more. The disabilities are out. And now I do it all without the one who knew me best. The one who helped me best. My backbone is gone. I’m fully exposed.

I don’t know what’s next. I’ll find out soon I suppose. There’s more to come. There always is. Because that’s what happens, isn’t it? Time keeps moving regardless of what’s going on. It doesn’t care. Time’s single purpose is to keep propelling forward. We are the ones that work around it and have to “just figure it out” “make it work” even when it doesn’t. Life. Hard. Bittersweet. Beautiful. Brutal. Brutiful. A one shot kind of deal.

It’s been twenty-seven days. Twenty-seven days. The measuring cup and spoon you ate your last oatmeal breakfast from still sit dirty by the sink along with your last morning coffee in your mug on the Keurig. We’ve moved so many things. So. Many. Things. But without moving those. We keeping moving around those. The last moments of you. We keep moving around the last moments of you. Oh, but that coffee inside the mug. Did you know coffee evaporates, too?

*written 2.7.2023

Fragments

I’ve been sitting on this picture and these words for some time now. Slowly pondering. Slowly writing.

While on my couch, I happened to look over at my glass of water and found it lovely. Immediately I felt words stirring inside me, and have been waiting for them to fully form. I snapped the picture and have revisited the image daily. Not even certain I captured what I was actually seeing that day, at that moment. The stirring in my belly arises every time I look at it. It feels…poignant. After all, it IS a glass with water in it and all those sayings that go with that. So perspective and stuff, right? Full, empty, fill the cup, etc.

Not to mention what water symbolizes: life, birth, fertility, refreshment, purification, regeneration and healing to name a few. Water is called a universal solvent because it is capable of dissolving more substances than any other liquid. Water also floods, drowns and destroys.

Then you have the glass which symbolizes: change, transformation, rebirth, eternity and more. Glass is a dual property because it represents fragility and strength. Glass also contains, cuts and isn’t typically fixed once broken.

The last engaging piece of this image is the sunlight which symbolizes: energy, clarity, confidence, growth and the list could go on. Sunlight is scattered and filtered through Earth’s atmosphere. Sunlight also damages, burns and causes disease.

There feels to be a lot of meaning and depth in all of that. It’s heavy. And all of these thoughts from glancing at a simple glass of water at just the right time of day. Heavy. I need to lay some down. So that leaves me here, at the crossroads of construction and destruction. And that crossroads is where I have felt planted metaphorically for some time now. Perhaps that’s why I kept feeling an inner rumbling with this image.

For a year and a half we’ve lived in a pandemic. One aspect of this pandemic, if you’re like me, has provided you with further insight of who you are individually. It’s possibly made you rethink how you’re investing yourself in work, loved ones, life, time, etc. Maybe it’s made you reevaluate and/or dive deeper into your thoughts, feelings, likes, dislikes, values, beliefs, and so on. We’ve all spent so much more time with our minds.

This pandemic has also shown us who we are collectively, and collectively we are a fragmented society. Rather than coming together, we’ve sectioned off. We’ve become more concerned with our individual sections than the whole. Everything in our lives, down to the literal breaths we take, has become political agendas.

Something that became blatantly obvious to me about myself over this last year and a half is: I care passionately about humanity, but I struggle with people. It’s absurd to me that we argue about humanity, health, help, safety, education and religion. And it always astonishes me that there are women in today’s world who choose to ignore the oppression of others and of themselves. Due to these factors, I have been in heated discussions, come to dead ends in conversations, and ultimately been unfriended/unfollowed on social media outlets (at this point, not even sure who will see this to read it). I’ve come close to typing up a final ‘soapbox’ and removing myself from the social media world completely. That’s still on the table.

I want to live in a progressive world because I believe in moving forward and evolving, and I strongly dissent when issues feel regressive. I cannot fathom why we are not constantly and consistently educating, challenging and actively pursuing to do and be better both individually and collectively. Instead we point fingers, place blame, and only listen to respond which leaves no one heard no matter how much is said. We all should start abiding by that “two ears, one mouth” saying.

There is always an answer though. It’s painful and messy and brutal at times. Other times it’s comforting and caring and beautiful. It’s love. And in moments that you’re unable to feel compassion or empathy, err on the side of love. When you take a stance on an issue ask yourself is this what love would do? When you form an answer ask if that answer loves all involved and affected. And when you think you’re done accounting for love, cross check one more time to see if by chance you’ve left love out of your response in any way.

If we start responding with love, then destruction won’t be devastating. Now I feel the need to recognize that love can mean different things to different people, and that could be more thoughts for another day. For these thoughts let’s agree that love at its very basic and raw form, means to see and to be seen. Love can turn destruction into construction. A love response will weed out what’s not working, and will create something that will work. Collectively we must each choose love. And there it is. The forever irony in life. Life itself is an oxymoron. It will take each of us individually making a choice to be a healthy collective whole. It can’t be one sided or just certain sections. We all have to do it individually. Destructing leaves room to construct better. Showing vulnerability reveals strength. Sorrow is the only way to know real joy. It’s brutal and it’s beautiful.

So get your sip of water, roll up your sleeves, and let’s do the hard thing rather than continuing to whine in our fragmented sections. Or don’t and feel free to go ahead and unfriend me. (I mean it. It’s fine.)

Meanwhile…

I’m not sure how ‘religious’ I consider myself…but I am spiritual. I enjoy reading about God and self discovery. After all, isn’t evolving what propels us forward? This morning, while listening to a video on the story of Joseph a phrase struck me: With God, there is always a meanwhile.

This was being said in the sense that as Joseph endured thirteen years of hardship, God was still as work. The years of hardship is ultimately what places Joseph in his more fruitful place in the future, but surely his life took turns and looked nothing like he’d originally thought.

I started thinking about my own life and how the last bit of it, I’ve caught myself saying – even as recently as yesterday – that I’m ready for a break. I need a little peace for a while in my life where it doesn’t feel like life is constantly blowing up in my face. The last almost eleven years have endured: disease, death, disease, divorce, disease, doubt, disease, disgruntled-ness, disease, decisions, disease and grief…an endless cycle of grieving. It’s easy to lose the sight of the meanwhile in all of that.

I haven’t been living solely in the world of cynicism and most days I see the silver lining. In all of those damned D words I’ve learned to really take in the ‘good’ days as well as really ‘learn’ from the bad. I know I can do hard things. I know how to love hard and experience cherished moments with a little extra appreciation. I also know how to laugh, even in the dark moments- that dark humor really gets you through sometimes. I’ve learned that joy and grief live on the same coin, and both are necessary to fully experience and understand life.

But even in all of that, I can still lose sight of the meanwhile…

That probably comes from the uncertainty of the outcome. The once this is all said and done. Simply because we don’t know where we’ll end up once the storm clears. I believe it’s what makes that final stage of grief sometimes the hardest to get to: acceptance.

I’ve accepted quite a bit in my life and most of the twists and turns it’s taken, I find I’m really okay with. I see the valuable lessons learned. I see the benefit of the change. I feel and know I’m better for most of them. One I consistently struggle with and find myself cycling and recycling through the grief process with is my chronic illness. It’s no fun unpredictability going from up to down and it interferes with so much.

It makes it hard to see the meanwhile, the lesson, the purpose.

The verse that went with this video that provoked my thoughts was, Psalm 119:45 “I will walk in freedom”. If we live in the truth that there is always a meanwhile, then we can walk in freedom. The entire chapter of 119 mentions knowing God’s precepts, meditating on truths, and because of those things, we can live free trusting the meanwhile.

At the end of the day, that is where life is lived…for the moment, for the present, for the time being…meanwhile. So, when shit’s about to go down (or all ready is going down), remember the best is yet to be and work is being done in the meanwhile.

Song: Graham Nash – Wounded Bird

I’ve watched you go through changes
That no man should face alone
Take to heel or tame the horse
The choice is still your own
But arm yourself against the pain
A wounded bird can give
And in the end remember
It’s with you you have to live
And in the end remember
It’s with you you have to live
Stand your ground I think you’ve got
The guts it takes to win
But you must learn to turn the keys
Before she’ll let you in
And understand the problems of the girl you want
So near or you’ll wear the coat of questions `til the
Answer hat is here
You’ll wear the coat of questions `til the
Answer hat is here
Serenade your angel with a love song from your eyes
Grow a little taller even though your age defies
Feel a little smaller
And in stature you will rise
A hobo or a poet must kill dragons for a bride;
And humble pie is always hard to swallow
With your pride

Little Umbrellas

“Mushrooms grow in damp places. That’s why they are shaped like umbrellas.” 

If I were to give 2020 a symbol, it’d be the mushroom. 

-grows in the dark 

-a fungus

-seems to manifest overnight and doesn’t stop

-no one wants them in their yard

-can prove fatal

We now sit on the cusp of decisions and change. It’s time. Perhaps that’s where the mushroom also comes in handy. Mushrooms decompose the matter below the earth that could become a problem if it continues to pile up. We won’t thrive how we’ve always been. 

What if this year is for more? A lesson of all lessons, yes, but more. It’s the year that wants to decompose what’s beneath- to decay and clear out.

Decisions will have to be made. A new way must be accepted. An awakening. There has to be the realization that much is learned in the damp and the dark. It’s usually where the deepest and hardest work happens and where the most magical things come from. 

Personally, my life has felt like one long transformation for the last 10 years. And I have more to do. It’s blatantly apparent here at the end of this wild year. There is a more magnificent way to live. We just have to allow it. We have to dig into the damp and decompose. #carrieblessons #wecandohardthings

Capture by #pugmanjrw

#carriebcaptures

REalize 2020

Has anyone else been doing a ton of thinking lately? Or maybe REthinking? (That word is truly more in line with where I’m going with this)…

Hindsight is understanding occurring after the fact. The prefix ‘re’ means back or again. This caused me to begin thinking of words that start with ‘re’: REfuse, REcurring, REvert, REcede, REject, REgret, REpeat, REvise, REguard, REstructure, REbuild, REdefine, REalign, REflect, RElate, REfrain, REverse, REview, REwrite, REgenerate, REpurpose, REcycle, REprise, REjoin, REturn, REpay, REjoice, REcreate, REmind, RElive. That’s not nearly all of them and they REally got me contemplating those life questions even deeper than I all ready have been. Which I seem to be doing frequently as of late. I know I’m not alone here, right?? How many more can you REcall?

Here we are in the year 2020, living during an unprecedented moment of time. We have been forced to slow down, almost to a screeching halt. As a globe we have literally been REquired to RE-evalute this thing called life and how we are all doing it. It is all happening, now, here, during the year of ‘perfect’ or ‘normal’ vision, 2020. The old adage goes: “Hindsight is 20/20.” But we’re doing a hella amount of RE-ing during 2020. Ironic?

As I’m listing the ‘re’ words that come to mind, I noticed a song playing in the background, Death Bed by Powfu. One line in particular struck me as I journaled my thoughts: “I don’t wanna fall asleep, I don’t wanna pass away.” Enter Year 2020 stage left, and those lyrics speak literally and figuratively now more than ever. I feel as if the universe is screaming at us, “Wake up! What don’t you REalize??”

In REsearching stories about hope, I come across the Jewish holiday, Purim. It REvolves around the story of Esther. Long story short: the attractive Queen Esther risks her life by approaching King Xerxes (she could be executed by going to the King if he hasn’t called on her) to discuss the plans of the evil villain, Haman, to kill the Jews. Luckily, the King is pleased by her presence so he listens and they form a plan to prevent the massacre. Now, there are a whole host of oppression issues embedded in Esther’s story, but despite this, she REmained brave. So brave, in fact, that a whole Jewish holiday came because of it.

Purim is celebrated the 14th and 15th days of Adar, which are the days that Haman had selected to execute the Jews, but Esther REscued them. Purim takes place in March, the 12th month of the Jewish calendar, synonymous with joy (heart smile) because March is perceived as a month of hope and good fortune for the Jews. This year, it was celebrated March 9th and 10th. (Was the name of Esther’s city Corona??) Today, to honor the holiday after a brief fast, they eat, drink and be merry; they send gifts of money, food and drink, charity and baskets made of sweets, cookies, bagels, wine, notes, fruits and pastries. According to Talmud, the Jewish ceremonial law, “a person is REquired to drink until they cannot tell the difference between ‘cursed be Haman’ and ‘blessed be Mordecai’ (I haven’t looked into why it’s not ‘blessed be Esther, but that is for another time), though opinions differ as to exactly how drunk that is.” Gosh, sounds a lot like quarantine things.

Where do we go from here? Eager to get back to normal? I hope not.

To paraphrase a popular Esther verse, 4:14, “…born for such a time as this.” We have been taught world and life lessons during this time. What will you do with it? Celebrate it or forget it? I certainly do not want to REvisit or have a REdo of this (and by this I mean: lack of preparedness for humanity with how to REspond to an unknown virus, unnecessary risking of lives, loss of jobs, fear of inability to get basic needs met, etc) nor do I want to REturn to the REgular way (that way no longer serves us). I want better. More of us pulling together as the human race: giving to one another, caring for one another, helping one another, looking out for one another, understanding one another and ourselves; finding our REal passions, purposes and places of happy; taking care of and supporting our world. As the great Maya Angelou said, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” We now know better. When ‘normal’ threatens to REturn, we must REmember and put into action and do better. How will you do better? What is it you want to take from this experience?

I saw this quote, not sure who it is by, but it is powerful, especially now: “At the end of life, what really matters is not what we bought but what we built; not what we got but what we shared; not our competence but our significance (shew! REad that last one again). Live a life that matters. Live a life of love.”

If hindsight is 20/20, we’ve been granted a gift. We have REceived our hindsight right here in our very present. Let’s not REgift it. Instead, let’s REalize it and REpresent.

20/20 Vision, 20/20 Hindsight, 2020 Unprecedented Year – coincidence? irony? Those who know me well, know my feelings on those two funny words. Besides, irony is simply the opposite of wrinkly, right? 😉

Learn more about the Purim holiday.

Listen to Death Bed by Powfu.

And That’s Not All, My Friend

Recently, I posted this on Facebook.

Scarily, it sums up the last few years perfectly. And the words for 2018 are exact (for me). 2018 was a big year for me – I feel like I’ve been through a lot. I definitely went through more in 2016 and 2017 that was physical and life altering, but for some reason 2018 has felt big. Perhaps it’s because there was a lot going on internally this year. The other years felt very external – a lot happening to me. This year was a lot of me happening to myself. Is that…growth? I feel more me than I have ever felt. I feel comfortable with me. I like me. Hope you do too 😉

There is a song I wanted to share that feels extremely appropriate to close out this particular year. Their songs are amazing, but it’s always their words that always hit me. Mixed with their music, well, that just makes it so much more. I could sit an analyze the words for you because I feel like I emotionally lived every inch of this entire song this year, but it’s not really necessary. It simply sums up 2018 for me. And I’m sure there are others out there who need the same encouragement. Please take this as a big ole hug from me to you.

We’ve got this. We can do all the hard things. And still find joy and peace. She believed she could, so she did. 2019 is sure to be one hell of a new year because that’s not all, my friend ❤

Let It Fall – Over the Rhine (song)

LYRICS:

Have you been trying too hard
Have you been holding too tight
Have you been worrying too much lately
All night
Whatever we’ve lost
I think we’re gonna let it go
Let it fall
Like snow

‘Cause rain and leaves
And snow and tears and stars
And that’s not all my friend
They all fall with confidence and grace
So let it fall, let it fall

Have you been carin’ too much
How this one ends
Y’know it’s not the kind of fight
That you lose or win
When you’re down so low
You feel the imprint of the ground
On skin
Look around
Breathe in

 

Small Acts of Love

Is it just me or did the colors of fall come late this year? Back in early November when this area typically sees fall in all its glory, I was sure fall wouldn’t be noteworthy. However, over the last couple of weeks it’s been beautiful. This tree caught my attention today at the park. It lifted my spirit.

I’ve been fighting a bit of a cold and have been a tad ‘Ba-humbug’ this past week. The cold conquered my voice and not having a voice is challenging (to put it nicely) as the parent of an eight year old. He’s a lucky soul that he listens…mostly 😉

It’s hard to believe it’s the first of December. The start of advent season is here. Having grown up in church, I’ve always heard about advent, but frankly, never really thought more about it. For me, it was just part of the season, part of the holiday. A candle that was lit each Sunday until Christmas. The actual definition of advent is, the arrival of a notable person, thing or event. Well, that does sum of the days leading up to Christmas fairly well. Advent, the days that lead up to the coming of love. A love like no other. A love this world needs – desperately.

At home, we’re doing an advent chain. There are mini bags for each day hanging in our kitchen window. To start, someone will place a small token in the day’s bag that makes them think of someone else in the house and then that person gets the token that day. The next day, the person who got the gift the day before is responsible for selecting the token for another person. Simple, small acts of love.

Small acts of love and kindness. Very important things this world is in so much need for. Today, I had taken my son along with a couple of his friends to play at the park. When we got there the playground was fairly empty of youngsters running about. As our time at the park progressed, I watched families and kids come and go. It got fairly busy at one point. During this time something else caught my attention and lifted my spirit: the children. I found them incredibly amazing.

I was most intrigued with this apparatus that is much like a modern day merry-go-round.   It stayed consistently filled with gaggles of kids and they each took a turn to push. I did not witness one argument between any of the kids that would come and go. It didn’t matter the age, ability or the appearance of the children that visited the ride. At one time, there wasn’t an open spot available on the merry-go-round. As it would glide around in circles, there was a cycle forming each time someone new taking their turn: leap off, push, hop on, laugh, squeal, lather, rinse, repeat. From the smallest to the tallest and the youngest to the oldest it was simply joyful to watch.

At one moment, a very young girl toppled off and let out a cry. The entire gang stopped the wheel figured out if she was okay, helped her back on and then proceeded to spin. Talk about small acts of love. Talk about kindness. Talk about compassion. Talk about gathering around someone in their moment of need. This is how the world should be. We shouldn’t stop working together. We shouldn’t stop caring. Not because of age, or gender, or race, or ability, or beliefs.

I love the purity of children. The way there is a genuine and authentic acceptance of others, whether they look like them or not. The pact of children is how love and the world should work in the most simplest of terms: if you’re kind, willing to play, take your fair turn in the work, and look after others – you’re in. It starts there. Nothing else matters. That is what’s born in us, that is what’s natural to us. It’s society that teaches us what it feels matters and so many times, what it’s telling us is unnatural to us. Our hearts know different.

It’s the whole reason for advent – the gift at the end of this season is love: undeniable, unconditional, uncompromising love. For all of us. Not just some of us. It was given to all of us. It stands for all of us. It sacrificed for all of us. It’s fine to enjoy your turn on the ride, but also be willing to take your turn to push; and when someone falls, we all must stop and help lift them back up.

The Cliff

There is a moment. I don’t really know how long this moment is. I’m in this place I’ve never been before. It feels peaceful, but it doesn’t at the same time. I feel the wet sand between my toes as I’m sitting at the edge of the sea on a beach. I scrunch my toes up letting the grit mush between my toes. It feels nice. I close my eyes and listen to the water lap the shore. It sounds nice.

I look around and take it all in. There is expanse. If I glance to the right the view is breathtaking. The deep gray-blue sea meets the horizon. It looks like twilight. The sea is calm, bay-like. The sky is amazing filled with purple, orange and pink. The purple is deep and turns deeper as I run the panoramic image with my eyes. The space feels large, but it also doesn’t. There is a cliff across the sea from where I sit. I could stand and walk around the beach to it. It wouldn’t be a far walk. But I don’t want to. It look ominous. It’s dark gray and has lots of sharpness to it. The juts in and out of the cliff almost appear scale-like. It is not overly inviting.

It’s then I feel another presence. I look to my side and there he sits. Tears spring to my eyes. It’s been a while. He doesn’t visit often. In fact, I can only recall a handful of times over the last seven years I’ve received a visit. He puts his long arm around me and I lean into him. My head rests on his shoulder. The sobs pour out of me suddenly, uncontrollably. A needed release. I let go.

Time passes, I’m not sure how much. We are simply together. Sitting. Quietly. I begin to hear a low rumble in the distance. I look out above the cliff and understand why the sky was a deep purple. Another storm is coming. Another. That is my realization. Another. Not a storm is coming, but another. I turn and look at my father tears still spilling down the sides of my face. I’m scared. He knows. I see all the understanding of the world in his eyes. His eyes ache for me, yet are filled with an understanding of peace I am not yet privileged to know.

I feel the hand of his arm around me tighten on my shoulder. A sense of dread begins to swell in the pit of my stomach. Without a word, he raises his other arm and points to the cliff. My eyes follow his hand. I bow my head shaking it at the same time. No, I try to communicate to him. He keeps is gaze forward. I feel his grip loosen on my shoulder as his hand drops. I inhale closing my eyes. I want to stay. Here. With him. I want to continue to feel his big arms around me engulfing me as they always did when I was a little girl. It is safe there.

I am angry. I can’t look back over at him. His message saddens me. I feel my heartbreak all over again. I’m not done. This battle isn’t over yet. I stand. The water rushes at my feet covering my ankles. I sink a little into the sand. If I stay in that position too long, my feet won’t be able to move the deeper they sink into the wet sand. I take a moment to look down at my dad still seated in the sand. He nods. I sigh.

I begin walking along the shore to the cliff. The cliff seems to grow before me. It’s going to be one hell of a climb. And with a storm brewing no less. You can feel the electricity in the air. The dread in my stomach grows into a dull ache. Halfway, I stop and glance back at my father. His cheeks are glistening, but his eyes are so certain. I mouth I love you to him. He smiles. He knows this already.

I continue forward. I reach the cliff. Taking in a deep breath, I place my hands on its rocky surface and begin to climb…

 

Secondary Grace

As I wrap up this season of giving & receiving, I find myself contemplating my favorite little ‘P’ word, Perspective. It wasn’t but a couple of years ago that word never passed my lips without my infamous eye roll (I was told quite recently ago, I’d perfected the eye roll. I snidely responded it was good to know your strengths, finishing with a smirk and my roll; I’m sure leaving a lasting impression). Perspective…’a particular attitude’…I remember in college learning that perception is reality, though reality is rarely perception. That’s a scary thought. Does anyone have a grasp on what’s real then?

I know what’s real to me and you know what’s real to you. How can two people experience the exact same thing having two completely different perspectives. Therefore creating two different realities. What, in all of that, is actually real? I’ve experienced this firsthand: living same life experiences with someone and having two completely different realities. Our perspectives were devastatingly opposite. Not an easy feat, and we lost.

I thought Christmas might be hard this year, considering the loss. Surprisingly, I’ve had a good season. Quite the opposite of hard actually, I’ve been told (a couple of times) I have a glow about me. I was also asked “How did you get so strong?” the other day. Crazy, it’s all a matter of perspective. Truth is, my life is an utter mess right now. And don’t you dare ask about my future plans. You’re likely to get an eye roll (I have no damn idea). Future = murky, so don’t ask. But in all this ugly mess, I realized the other day what it is I feel, joy. Yes, in all that chaos you just read, while living the epitome of ‘I don’t have a damn clue what’s happening in my life’ and in the midst of experiencing a huge life disappointment, I feel joy.

In all of this, there is gratefulness in my heart. Each day I notice things, usually little things. It’s those little things that make me smile. They keep me grateful. And I’ve found as long as I keep grateful in my heart, it’s hard not to feel joy. Even in dark, difficult, nasty moments (and I have plenty of those too) because I keep grateful & joy close by, dark, difficult & nasty find it hard to stay around for very long. Perspective. It’s the light switch in life. There are really only two choices with perspective. On or off.

One of my favorite gifts this year is a mantra bracelet given to me by the one who is the right to my left. This woman brings sincerity and sarcasm to my tribe. And I adore every ounce of her compassionate soul. After all life has decided to throw my way over the last 6 years, she nailed it. My perspective: She believed she could, so she did ❤

And I do. Everyday. It’s a choice. And Dark still visits. I welcome him. Invite him in for a spell, sit with him, embrace him, but then I tell him when he’s overstayed his welcome. There is no easy in any of this. It’s all very, very tough.

After finishing Christmas with my most favorite human to ever exist, I went and saw Collateral Beauty. Let me tell you now, if you haven’t seen it yet (believe it only opened a week ago so not sure why you haven’t seen it yet), but you absolutely MUST see it as soon as you can get your rear end in a movie theater seat. There are so many layers to the story. And without ruining much, three of the most important characters play roles in our everyday lives: Love, Time & Death. Life is the most exquisite tragedy of all time. We will all experience joys and sorrows along the way. The ultimate definition of bittersweet. And how you feel it, experience it, and live it is all a matter of your perspective.

So…are you on or are you off? It usually doesn’t happen in a grand, defining moment. It’s after-the-fact, like a slow awakening. It’s in the little things. The collateral beauty, many times the less obvious, a secondary grace. The things that are undoubtedly harder to see in the tragic moments, but they’re also undeniably difficult to un-see once you begin to realize them…

Grace was given for us and to us. Secondary grace is what we choose to give ourselves. And you’re worth it. Know it. Believe it. Do it. And ‘Keep Pounding’ doesn’t hurt either 😉

Glowing Great+Full

As I opened my blinds this Thanksgiving morning, the freshly-wet-from-rain, brown-orange-golden view made me pause. Millions of leaves lay disarray covering the ground in their final resting place. A few still clung to their branches, the trees almost appeared to be aching for them to finally let go. Each piece prepping for dark and stillness. Until next year…

The scape was simply stunning. The leaves going out with a bang. The scene made me recall a quote I had come across recently: “What are you going to do with all that dark?” “Find a way to glow in it.”

This year has been a life altering year. Having been put in situations I would have never dreamed of, there have been some dark moments. It’s been a time of crumbling, a time of changing, a time of letting go of a tree I was so deeply rooted in. Much of this year I have felt like a withered fall leaf floating, bouncing around controlled by a strong wind, trying desperately to find the ground – someplace firm to land – to finally rest.

Sipping my morning tea while trying to enjoy my favorite coffee cake and the view, I feel a sigh escape my body. In no way do things remotely resemble how I imagined them to be. It saddens my heart. I feel full. Full as in ‘that’s enough, please no more’. I need a breather. Can someone else tag in for a bit?

As those feelings are toying with me, I glance down. My wrist reminder pulls me back. ‘Athas’ the Irish word for ‘Joy’. A token from a trip I took this year. A reminder. A saving grace. A word I fell in love with years ago. That word makes me crack a smile. I love when I see it pop up in life. It always makes me pause and take another look.

So I look again and when I look this time, instead of full I see great. My beautiful view. My little boy. My favorite coffee cake. A beautiful fall. The smell of a turkey smoking. My family. Pictures I adore that make my heart smile. A sweet four-legged little girl. The amazing ladies I work with. Trips with fun and fabulous people. Laughing. On point memes. The sun shining. My favorite tea in a mug that warms my heart. The massive amounts of texts of love and support I receive daily. My tribe. My fierce tribe. I am greatly full.

The year has been a harder one. Autumn is not an easy season as it is for my family. And where I am ‘full’ things are still ‘great’. My current state may be floating aimlessly through the dark in an uncontrollable wind, but there is still spark and color. I see it. I feel it. And I will find a way to glow in it. So many ‘great+full’ moments still ❤