Aunties, Vikings and Mom

Several things draw me to the Hawaiian culture; the Aloha spirit (the actual word meanings of “Aloha”), the beauty of the natural setting and people, the way their islands produce a “laid back”-ness, but one thing I love most? No matter what the color of your skin, you immediately become known as “Auntie” to any child with which you come into contact. And with that simple little word comes all these huge emotions within me. All of a sudden, I feel instantly connected, instantly recognized as someone of value, instantly honored, instantly responsible for playing a role or part in that child’s life, even if it’s just a few moments of interaction. And any time I hear that word… “Auntie”… I am brought into the love I have for my own aunts, my own nieces and nephews, the ones who have helped shape and helped guide me, who continue to do so. Just like the word Aloha, and all Hawaiian words, there is a layering of meaning and not just meaning, but EMOTION under every word, every syllable. Intentional, like Sanskrit words. And that intentional flow holds energetic power and grace.

I spoke with my mom last night. I’m pretty sure I woke her up so maybe she felt a bit more disoriented than usual. She has struggled with pain most of her life and I’ve often wondered if that genetic link is part of my own cross to bear. During our conversation, she started describing her left arm, her left hand, and couldn’t remember what was “wrong” and why it is crippled up the way it is. I reminded her of Dupuytren’s Contracture… that darned ole “Viking’s Disease” that has made residence in her body. I’ve learned a valuable lesson from my stepdad, that somehow being light about heavy and dark things brings about more space for acceptance, healing, understanding… it brings joy into sorrow and light into darkness. So I played my humor card and made mom giggle at her own ailment. And through the laughing, we stumbled on a thought; maybe she was predestined to host that disease… a disease that can be traced back in time, a disease that only certain people with a certain blood line contract… maybe she has that disease because through her and through her experience, our family tree is being “healed”. Let me explain further; part of my training in Lomi Lomi has included the recognition that as healers we are challenged to be a bridge not just for other people, but for our own families, sending prayers of healing, energy and love into our heritages to cleanse and heal and make whole. Mom had the “eureka moment” of feeling THAT was why she suffered, why her body suffered; for the benefit of those who went before, for those who will come in the future, a physical manifestation of a way to purify. Then she laughed and said something like, “if that’s not the reason, at least it makes me feel better about it.” That way of thinking seems so simply profound to me and so hope filled.

So what do the two have in common? Being called “Auntie” and being called to heal our families? While meditating on both this morning, I find myself linked into the feeling of complete connection. We make a difference. Our choices, even the choices we make of how to spend our time THINKING (are we thinking on things that bring peace and love into the world or are we caught up in tangled up strings of panic, confusion, frustration, disappointment, etc?), our choices deeply affect one another. Our thoughts deeply affect one another. And I’m starting to see that we not only influence one another during this time and place, but we affect those in our past and those in our future. Oprah once quoted I think someone else… and I love this quote, “Take responsibility for the energy you bring into this space”. When being called Auntie by other people’s children who are trusting you with that name given, when caring for a mother and trying to gently be present and supportive, when contemplating whether we can make huge changes not only in the present but beyond, life’s energy - God’s love - encompasses me, sings to me, breathes new life and freedom into me. And I hope somehow I can take that gift given and pay it forward.

 Aloha kakou.

Pixie Dust and Fairy Wings

My mom has never discouraged me from letting my imagination soar. Something for which I am so grateful.

 I was thinking this morning that I used to really truly believe in fairies, leprechauns, magic, little people, invisible people…. angels. I would take walks through the trees, searching for their hiding places, would feel someone with me even when I was all alone. I used to think they left gifts for me because I would sing them my made up songs or the songs I loved. (Yes, son. Your mother has always been a tree hugging hippy at heart.) I would have a butterfly land on my shoulder. I’d find a certain type of shiny stone or a flower that had been dropped by a bird, or see a squirrel staring at me, eye to eye and thank the fairies.

It’s funny, the more we age the more we sometimes return to those things that made us up as a kid. It dawned on me this morning that sometimes I think I was trained in the way of the pixies. Sprinkle a little part of your soul (dust) on others. Leave some little thing behind, even if it’s a silent and whispered prayer. Try to make the world a slightly better place just because you flew through.

We all go through such traumatic events; physical ailments, pain, heart break, disappointment in life, no job, not enough money, homelessness, emptiness. And then a door seems to magically open and all of the sudden your life has been added to, expanded …. through someone’s grace, someone’s smile, someone’s touch. I’ve been the recipient. I’ve been the giver. Both impact life in a way that I think ripples so far beyond what we can see.

I’m challenging myself with new resolve to believe again. In the magic that softly falls and dances and coats a lonely world.

I like to think that while hurricanes tear apart and destroy, while the earth quakes and quivers with its need to keep changing and forming and re-shaping itself, that there will be those who continue to sprinkle light particles into the dark, who shine a little path through the darkest places in order to bring about transformation unlike we as humans have ever known.

Hope

“Hope reflects belief.

Hope believes in the better, in the higher, in the possibilities. Hope rejects criticism. People with a higher level of hope believe that though events may not work out, they will not be defeated. Hope is the dream of a soul awake.”   (author unknown)

I’ve been struggling with so many things the past few weeks. Doing my usual questioning, my normal carrying of grief and sorrow for things that seem to be slipping away. Struggling with what I’ve allowed, what I’ve believed in that hasn’t served me as much or as beautifully as supportive situations and people would have. But I have honored the discovery and uncovering. Felt somehow comforted that I’m becoming “more aware” or something, even though often times that process seems so painful and uncomfortable.

Several months ago, my granddaughter’s little dog got hit by a car, fought for six weeks before a vet figured out her insides had been all shoved up into her rib cage, causing so much stress on her lungs that only five percent of one lung was functioning. Somehow she stayed alive long enough for corrective surgery. I firmly believe it was my granddaughter’s touch, her love and her blind faith that kept Bella alive during that period of time. Surgery was a success and our little soul was back to bouncing and being her full-of-life self again within another six week time frame. But a few days ago, the outcome changed drastically and our tiny fighter’s health plummeted. Seizures. Loss of muscle control. No explanation. Test results that expected a liver disorder or damage came out “normal”.

When everyone else was suggesting we spare her, put her to sleep, I’ve fiercely held on again. Part of me believing that I need to adopt my granddaughter’s determination, will and absolute knowing/faith.  I keep thinking, surely if she came out of it once, she’ll come out of this. Day after day the vets and staff have diligently tried, they’ve listened, planned and advised.

Last night I brought her home and realized how much she has been suffering, how much she is no longer “present”. After holding her all night, watching her in her misery, we allowed her to "go" this morning. Letting go of that little Yorkie opened up floodgates inside but I can’t help remembering all the blessings she gave to us all, the smiles and giggles, the orneriness and puppy breath in your face moments, kisses on the nose… As I was taking her to the vet this morning, it occurred to me that now her energy will be more free to move and maybe part of that movement will be a surrounding of my granddaughter that will serve Emaleigh better from another place, another dimension. Surely it’s that easy.

Yesterday as I was holding Bella; petting her, talking to her, it dawned on me that I am projecting everything into this situation. I’m transferring all sorrow for my mother’s stroke, for her aging process that I cannot control; for what it means to me as a granddaughter and daughter of women who suffered from Alzheimer’s. I’ve been placing the sorrow I feel towards things I can’t control with my sons… past hurts, past experiences with seizures, surgeries, past moments of panic when I was afraid I was losing one son or another for one reason or another. Lost love, lost home, lost livelihood. Things that have been lacking. Relationships that shattered and dissolved and disappeared without my complete understanding. The fear of not knowing where time is taking us all. Everything seemingly negative – all wrapped up in a little furry bundle that no longer was able to be her real self anymore.

Maybe we're all just supposed to experience the moment. Allow cleansing tears and questioning so it’s easier to live inside a new day. Surrender to whatever is present and right in front you. Maybe hope doesn’t equate a blind faith. Maybe it’s simply the ability to step outside, feel the sunshine on your face, drive your car down the street and order a large chai tea latte with extra chai.

When Life Circles Back Around....

I just tucked my mother into bed.

I also just spent the past little while cleaning and scrubbing and tending and taking care of her after she became unexpectedly and suddenly ill.

All the time it’s been taking place, she has been teary-eyed and apologizing, saying she’s sorry.

I keep reminding her I’ve seen worse, dealt with worse. But it doesn’t ease her mind.

While she’s sleeping, I’m spinning thoughts through my brain. While I can, while my mind is whole. I'll never take that for granted...

I can’t help feeling like somewhere along the way, I became mother and she became daughter. Or maybe, life affords us the advantage of switching things around periodically. So we more fully understand what words like “sacrifice”, “respect”, “dedication”, “commitment”, “honor” and “caring” really mean.

I haven’t seen her for several months now. And coming “home” to her presence has ignited internal conflict that I wasn’t prepared to greet.

I have the comparison of seeing my nieces and nephews, three months later; three months older; three months changed. It’s funny how we see children maturing and we welcome and embrace the leaps made. Why is it so much different then, to see changes in someone who is aging, getting older? There is a certain beauty to be found. A kind of elegance I see in her that quietly states, “No matter how scary it is, no matter how hard it is to walk or to talk or to remember moments past, I am alive and I am present and I continue to care.” I sense she is more in touch with how to let go. In touch with how to love. And how to just blurt out what needs to be said. There is some kind of strength and some kind of grace that seems to be gaining momentum within her; maybe it's simply a return to complete innocence.

But it doesn’t make it easy to accept that time keeps marching forward, with or without memory. With or without reasoning. With or without rationalization. With or without logic. With or without control.

I’m watching her sleep. Wondering how many times in my early childhood she did the same thing… Stood and lovingly watched me with my eyes closed, soft breathing that let her know I was all right.

I keep thinking life is a process of letting go and receiving in. Both being so difficult at times, so easy during other times. And I keep thinking how life feels like it is circling back on itself somehow. Where the child cares for the parent. Yet there is a lingering, long-ago-and-hard-to-reach-back-for memory of the parent caring for the child. Folding in on itself until it’s hard to know who is the child and who is the parent.

I don’t understand it.

I can’t.

I can’t even try.

All I can do is experience and move through the circle….

Harmony and Balance

I took a walk this morning and noticed how all the plants, bushes and trees are suffering because of the heat and lack of rain. I remembered that even though the grass and flowers die and turn brown, their roots go deep into the soil and eventually, when the rains come again, they will return as beautiful as ever - if not more magnificent.

Recently I learned there are scientists who think they have made the discovery with the necessary proof that there is a perfect dimension that co-exists within our world. That we are the two dimensional image, living in an “unreal” place. We’re a reflection of something better, something more, something without the flaws that we make for ourselves.

As a body worker who constantly observes and notices and sees imbalances in human forms, I immediately start making all kinds of connections. When a person’s physical body is in perfect alignment, they are able to be fluid, to go through life and daily events with good health and a stronger ability to do what their passions and longings guide them to do. When we send out roots deeply into the spirit of creation that surrounds and resides in us, which supports our feet, no matter what adversity or hardship comes along, we find a way back to proper alignment, we eventually receive the water we need to nourish and correct our “posture”. I had an “Aha” moment this morning. I believe some people are incredibly successful and happy because they live their lives in perfect alignment with that perfect dimension. And the rest of us who struggle and feel tormented do so because we’re still trying to find the way, the path that brings about “lokahi”, alignment. We feel it calling us, we get glimpses, but for us it’s more difficult to keep our structure straight and tall – maybe because life or past lives have worn away at us and whittled away bits and pieces that are difficult to replace or regrow.

I’m thanking my mother this morning. For planting seeds in me that have carried me this far in life. For giving me roots that go so far sometimes it feels they reach the very center of the earth and the furthest corners of the universes. She placed inside of my heart the place in which I can always return, even when she isn’t present. Belief? Love? Passion? God? It can’t really be defined in words.

I’m finally learning how to listen to the voice inside of me. The one that tells me to stand with my shoulders back, my heart, eyes and ears open. The voice that says “get help from someone who knows” whenever I feel a shift happening that is taking me away from where I need to be.

Some moments, like this morning, I feel I’m swimming inside of “enlightenment”, inside that parallel dimension of the perfect us.

So grateful.

Thank you, mom.

Depression and the Damage Inflicted

You’re angry with me

Because I am me, not what you want me to be

Lashing out at something you can’t even place your finger on

But I know what it is you feel

What you see

In me.

You.

I pull the covers over my head

Shut out the light

Please someone just make the pain go away

I’m angry with you, too

Because you’re you, not who I wish you could be

Me.

Inside myself so completely I can’t come out and face the world

Where I feel I’ve never belonged

Tuck myself more into my cocoon

Of blanket tangled up and twisted

Keeping me unable to rise and get myself up and out.

I know what you’re angry at

My inability to function in a life full of dysfunction

My inability to make you feel my arms wrapped around you while you hit and bite and push me away.

Maybe I’m the same.

Maybe I need to be held, to be loved, too.

Like you.

Even when I lash out and shout and push you away.

You think I run

From what is hard to take, hard to place, hard to feel, hard to fake.

You couldn’t see me slowly dying.

You can’t see me now, struggling for life, for love, warmth and safety.

All your eyes know is that I have always been removed from you.

Abandoning you.

When all I’ve really tried doing is figuring out which door to open and walk through in order to keep putting one foot in front of the other. So the shell of me at least can be here, supporting you however I am allowed.

The only way I can.

Being me.

Breathing one breath after another breath.

I’m so caught up inside of me

Under my covers unable to rise.

How can I find strength to carry you

When I can’t even carry me into the next room?

I’m angry too.

And understand so much more than you can ever imagine.

Maybe you’re supposed to hurl your disappointment into my chest

Maybe in some way, like the blankets wound around my ankles

That will make me push

Through

And back

To you.

Inside Out and Outside In

I’ve spent my entire life wondering why bad things happen. If there is this wonderful loving God up in the sky or buried inside our cells, or swirling and surrounding everything everywhere all the time, why would He allow the things that go on that are so destructive, so unkind, so opposite of what those who blindly “know” Him profess? I’ve spent countless hours trying to figure it all out. Why do beautiful people die ugly, painful deaths from cancer? Why do we break one another’s hearts? Why does the earth shake, quake and bake innocent beings, both human and all other. Why is there this constant tearing down of everything? Why does Life have its own Death wish? Why does anger permeate and rip out and tug at our feelings of positive-ness? Why does hate seem so much stronger than any force encompassed by a woman’s heart? Why is there greed, neglect, war, rape, murder?

And then a day like today comes along. A day when I’m scared, feeling completely lost. Feeling alone. Wishing I could somehow fix everything broken in those I love and within my own body and soul. Then quietly entering into the dark comes one little beam of light after another. An “adopted” son’s text, reassuring me that everything will be fine. That he’s there, hundreds of miles away, but “there” sending love and positive energy. A friend’s phone call and a gentle voice reassuring me, adding fuel to my strength reserves. A re-aquaintance (long lost friend) letting me know thoughts circle around me. A niece giving me her laughter and her ideas and her passions. Sharing love. And standing here by the window, looking outside while choking down tears and fears, something stirs inside me and becomes perfectly clear. Even if it’s just for a singular moment that will fade away. For that instant I KNOW. I know that without the traumas and the disappointments and the discouraging, heart wrenching things that come hurling our way throughout this life experience, we wouldn’t feel the intensity of the small gifts presented today. Right now.

One of the things I’ve appreciated about mom and where she is in her aging process is how she seems to be able to let everything pass in and through without letting it stay too long inside of her. She’s more accepting. More detached, yet at the same time somehow more powerful in her ability to let things completely go, while letting everything else completely in. It’s been precious for me to observe.

I’m a little overwhelmed today, thinking I’m reaching even farther out on the end of the spectrum of emotions. Feeling an intensity of love and gratitude I haven’t yet felt before. It makes me actually a bit more thankful for the challenges… for the heart aches. I’ve been so focused on letting things go, I’ve not appreciated enough the impact and importance of letting things in….

Life. Death. Rebirth.

It is difficult, actually impossible for a woman to accurately describe the childbirth experience to anyone who hasn’t been through the process. The mind relinquishes itself to the body that somehow goes from resisting and fighting against to accepting and allowing. The lungs grasp for air in a way never fully known prior to that moment. The muscles begin reacting and moving seemingly without any prompting from the normal places in the brain. When you have a baby naturally, without the standardized epidural or pain relievers, you can’t shield yourself or protect yourself from the sensations of pressure, bones being forced apart, ripping, tearing and slicing. While at the same time a feeling of complete and total release. A letting go of everything known and familiar. Everything safe. I remember thinking it must be similar to dying; surrendering into some life force that we all own, we all respond to, we all come from and go back to and that circles us while we are awake and while we sleep. And that energy takes over and takes charge and there is nothing that you can do anymore; simply experience it.

A child letting go of a mother. Life. Death. Birth.

A mother letting go of a child. Life. Death. Birth.

A place where endurance is a must. Where strength has to be present because there is no other choice. A hovering between life’s first breath and life’s last. That sensation of absolute “not knowing”. I sometimes wonder if we don’t all walk death’s edge from experiences we go through. And through it all, one HAS to believe in something bigger. Someone greater. One has to believe it’s all leading to some kind of new life, even through tears and sometimes screaming out loud from the pain.

I’m glad I’m a daughter and I’m glad I’m a mother. From inside my heart I know what true love is. What can take it. What can break it. What can tie it up into knots.

And sometimes it's about stepping away, stepping back and allowing something else in.

I surrender.

Again and again.

The Human Condition of Always Wanting More and Not Seeing What We Have

A patient was waiting in the front area where my desk is this evening and we ended up talking “philosophy” more than we had ever talked with one another before. I’m always amazed at moments like that. Times that seem perfectly designed and dropped into my existence at just the right minute, bringing with it a feeling of "reason" or "purpose". Somehow I’m reminded, gently, to re-evaluate, re-think and re-establish.

Out of the blue this gentleman stated the obvious. “Have you ever noticed we always end up wanting more, even after we get what we thought we wanted? Ya gotta be careful what you wish for and appreciate what you have.” We dissected his statement back and forth for awhile, talking to one another, yet talking out loud (I’m certain) to ourselves. How often do we wish for, chase after, long for, push towards, pull, tug and twist trying to receive something or someone into our realities? Only to find after unwrapping the gift that is given that it doesn’t quite measure up to our expectations? And quite often leaves us emptier than before and once again seeking out the next, and the more perfect thing?

The conversation led me to a memory I have. One I can’t really shake, even though I’ve tried.

For three years I spent hour upon hour with my grandmother who had to be put into a nursing home against her will. I hated that she had to be there. And she reminded me over and over how much she hated it. One day I was particularly tired and she started speaking her familiar loop again. “Everyone I love is gone. Everyone who mattered is dead. They’ve all left me here all alone.” I felt like an invisible six year old, neglected and forgotten. Inside I was screaming, “But I’m here, grandma! Open your eyes and see ME. I matter. I love you. I’m here. I’ve never gone anywhere and I’m standing right beside you.” I would even sometimes give her a gentle nudge to think that direction. “Grandma,” I would say light heartedly, “Look! I’m here! Emaleigh’s here with us! You have so many people who care for you and come and visit you and take care of you.” But no matter how much I reminded or spoke to her, her own Alzheimer’s infected mind couldn’t see what I saw. Couldn’t experience those who surrounded her, who were there holding her hand and sharing her space and time. Present with her in her here and now. I remember talking myself out of being devastated and hurt by her lack of being able to see me for who I was and for what I offered and gave to her.

I’ve decided over the years we spend hours and hours, days and days training our brains how to think and how to connect with our emotions. And unfortunately, so many of us don’t really see. We don’t see the gifts that are right next to us, placed directly in front of us, so close we stumble over them.

I love that the patient at my office reminded me to stop. Breathe. Open my eyes and be thankful for all the people and things that completely enfold me, wrap me up in the arms of life. I would like to be more appreciative and less worried about whether or not I need to keep pouting to try to “get my way”.  Let go, Rhonda. Let go and trust the universe more. Just learn how to be and exist and open up spaces for what I already have that can add to my life the most if I simply take a peek a little deeper inside…

A Portion of Our Brain Power

I was hanging out with my niece last night, watching a movie together. Ended up talking most of the way through it instead.

She’s nine.

And when she was only a toddler her mother committed suicide while my (step) niece and nephew were in the other room. As an adult, I can barely find a way to process that entire situation. I don’t know how to explain it, how to rationalize, how to “be with”, how to accept the reality.

But here was this young child, sometimes seeming years older than she really is, telling me last night something that totally blew me out of the water.

She told me she has decided something and wondered if I wanted to hear.

She started talking about how we all only use ten percent of our brains. And in turn, we only use ten percent of our potential. She believes her mother, free from the restrictions of a human, physical form, a form that only actualizes ten percent of all potential during an eighty year lifespan, is now completely free to use all the potential that ever was and ever could be. Nothing holding her back. So she can give herself to Audrey in a way no one else can. She can do things that Audrey can’t “see” because her mom is “behind the scenes” and working beyond what she could have done trapped and locked in a body that was racked with pain and swallowed by addiction. Her best friend now protects and guides and helps her more than she could have if she were here. She ended her little speech by saying, "I really do think everything happens for a reason. Everything."

I’m impacted hugely every day by the family I’ve been gifted with. Amazed sometimes. Rendered speechless often.

Shaking Off a Little Dust

Today I found out someone I care a great deal about is losing her great grandmother.  I have watched all of my grandmothers leave this world, unable to cling onto the ones they love most... their granddaughters and grandsons, their own children.... their "familiar loves".  It breaks my heart, knowing now that I'm on the flip side, never going backwards to the place where unconditional, loving embraces wrap around, hold and protect and where life holds a certain untouchabe innocence.

I also know that I have several friends whose lives are at a crossroads.  And as much as I would LOVE to try diving in and rescuing them... I know they have to go through the fire, to a certain extent, alone.  Unable to hang on to any one else's securities.  Unable to hold onto hands to pull them out of the quagmire.  They have to somehow figure out where to go from "here".  Like we all do when life throws its curve balls and road blocks our way.

We can support and love and encourage each other, but basically, we each have our own paths to walk.

I remember once, I was so worried about one of my sons.  So I called my mom, asking for advice.  I'll never forget her saying that we are all on our own path, all of us walking our own journeys, even though we share the same space.  No matter how hard I try, I can't shelter my own flesh and blood from the frailties and the pitfalls of "life".  I can't keep them from experiencing pain or failure, trauma, disappointment.  I can try to soften the blows, lessen the punches.  But basically, there comes a point where I have to surrender and trust that they are strong enough, capable and very much able to  rise above.  We all come out on the other side.  Somehow.  Even when it feels like we'll never be able to inhale again without help of some kind.

I'm inspired daily.  By those who could easily stop trying.  By those who could choose to give up on life, on themselves, on love..... but they somehow manage to find a way to pull up their bootstraps and show the rest of us how to be brave.

I'm feeling blessed by life's tragedies and how they are sometimes the most powerful ways to find connection and common threads running through our lives.  Threads that tie us together, weave us into something better, more beautiful.

"Cheers" to a brighter day.  And may we all be lucky enough to recognize the pearls that can be dusted off through hardship and trial.

Complexities

I can’t imagine it.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass and think… “Who is this?  Who is SHE?” I don’t recognize her anymore. Tired eyes. Sagging skin. Eyes more dead than alive. Crow's feet. Thinning hair.

Age seems to be taking away rather than lending to. And I’m lost within myself, unable to find a way back out or at least “through”.

I can’t imagine it.

What my mother must feel. Waking up each morning and looking inside the mirror. Does she ask… “Where did she go? Where’s the young girl I used to be?” Does she recognize who she is or does she see beyond the image staring back?

I can’t imagine it. 

Twenty three years from where I am. Did she struggle as I continue to struggle? Did she walk precariously close to the ledge while contemplating what things time dragged her through? Did she wrestle with the demons who whispered in her ear, “Your good days are gone. So are the qualities once deemed pretty.” Youth… a shadow on the ground stretching out further and further, getting lost in murky shadows.

I can’t imagine it.

Knowing my own transition through the middle years. Is she fighting it all again, for the second time around? Or has she surrendered to grace? Has she accepted the beauty she emits in the here and now? 

Maybe it’s time to stop looking beyond what I see. Go deeper. Dig through the skin, the muscles and bones and to the very center…. Into the place that is real. That has always been real. The part that continues to stir my soul into action, into love. The part that keeps me placing one foot in front of the other. Maybe that holy of holies inside my mother’s soul is where she manages to remain intact, unchanged by changes. Far removed from the desire to be young and attractive again. 

I can’t imagine it.  But I try.

Falling From the Sky

I hate to admit, but in a way, I proudly admit it.  I sometimes want to jump off this carousel ride.  The logical me tries to remind myself of all the good.  The great friends.  My children.  My family.  Those who are constant reminders that life is so much more harsh to them than it is to me.  Who am I to whine?
Yet there I sit.  Alone in the dark, crying.  Wishing I could dive off a cliff or bridge and be done with a world that hardly ever makes sense to me.
I won't.  I know I won't.  But I admit I'm human and I have the thoughts.  But I also know I have the kind of love that somehow, mysteriously fell from the sky when it was least expected. 

In particular, I'm thinking about Little Miss Em, my very own Strawberry Shortcake.  Life was just going along being life when all of a sudden a new little person entered my world and made me aware that there are these incredible moments that happen throughout all the dips and curves and bumps we endure.  Within one day, life becomes something completely different than what you've known, what you could possibly imagine.
I was reminded, gently "nudged" today that quite often, people come into your life completely unexpectedly and feel like they've always been part of your make-up, like they just appear - falling seemingly from the sky.  Part of your bigger whole.  But nothing inside your brain cells ever gave warning that they were on their way in through your door and into your heart.
What a difference a day makes.
I've been so wrapped up in feeling alone over the holidays, without my kids, without my granddaughter, without my friends from back home...  I hope I learn someday how to master my darker thoughts.  How to ride them like waves of the ocean and then arrive safe and sound on dry land, seeing life with a bit more freedom, perspective and a lot more optimism.