Twenty Seven

Twenty seven has forever been a number I considered a good age to be. It sounds like a good age and it was a life-changing year for me. A year of beginning to make good decisions for myself and my family. 

I wrote these words and walked down memory lane for a while, to formulate the rest of what I had in my mind. Apparently I wrote everything I wanted to say before. I will attach those words rather than repeat them.

Today, is my youngest's 27th birthday. This is the last time I will celebrate this milestone year for any of my children. It will not be the last time I think of where my 28th year led.

My children, as individual as snowflakes. Each one's journey vastly different than the other's. 

My youngest has walked a walk I would have never predicted. Her personality has always been quiet and reflective. There is a lot going on underneath the surface. Just because she is quiet natured doesn't mean she doesn't have a lot to say.

It has take a lot of work to get to this age. Life has many more lessons in store. My wish for you, is no matter where life takes you, remember all you have learned along your way. Your foundation is being laid one block at a time. Start from where you are and build the life you most want to live.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life...

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Twenty Seven

Twenty seven always sounded like a good age to me. Twenty seven simply seemed like it was a 'perfect' age. Both in the years that preceded reaching that goal and the (almost) twenty seven years after attaining it.

If someone woke me from a deep, dark coma and asked me how old I was, there is a fairly good chance that my answer would be "twenty seven" because I felt that age for decades. I would be surprised to look at a document that had my age in black and white and it said "forty seven" for all the world (and me) to see. Forty seven?! I would be taken aback for a moment before I realized that the numbers did not correlate with my inner state of aging.

For me, twenty seven was a year of making good decisions. That is not to say it was a great year. It was a tough year. Within a month of turning that magical age, I left my marriage (for the third and final time) and my dad died. Within two months of that same birthday, I moved my family-of-three (me, along with my nine year and four month old sons) to a new province and found a new home, job and daycare.

The drama that unfolded during the first and second month of turning twenty seven was daunting. Ending a marriage can be a volatile time and place. Things got explosive. It got ugly. Hearts and vows were broken, never to be the same again. Sometimes, things have to get worse before they get better. This was one of those times.

It was frightening to start over in a brand new world. I had abandoned a secure and long-time job, friends who knew and supported me, a house that was no longer a home (and a pile of material possessions within it) and my mom and brother. I came to a city where I knew my aunt and uncle (and a handful of cousins who I knew by name only). It was scary and lonely. But it was necessary. That moved changed my life and quite likely saved it at the same time.

During my twenty eighth year, I rebuilt our home. No, I didn't build it from scratch. I built it from within. The collection of donations which furnished our new home became serviceable items to eat, sleep and sit on. My life had been stripped bare and it was so plain to see, all that really mattered were my children. We were tucked away in a safe and quiet oasis of 'starting over'. It was exactly where we needed to be.

That twenty eighth year was the foundation on which everything that followed has been built. It was solid. It was a year of making good decisions. The benefits were yet to be seen and there would be some more rocky times to follow. But the year of being twenty seven was the basis on which I was rebuilt. It will forever go down in my own personal history as being my most life-changing year.

When my Oldest Son turned twenty seven, he was just starting a course which rerouted his life. He learned a trade which enabled him (not only) to pay his own way while he went to school, but it resulted in a job which has provided him the lifestyle to which he has aspired towards (quite likely, ever since my twenty eighth year, when he lost all of his worldly possessions, friends, community and family when I uprooted him from a life which was killing-us-softly). Twenty seven was his turn-around year.

At the same time, my nephew (who turned twenty seven, five months before my son) was taking some of his first steps towards his own personal goal. He was pursuing his career in comedy. He has taken that ball and ran with it. He is my hero. Not due to his success and fame. Simply because he pursued his dream and made brave and bold decisions to keep pursuing it. I would say he has done pretty well (but then again, I am pretty biased). To me, success is in the pursuit of your dreams - not necessarily attaining them. He started to make this choice his reality in his twenty eighth year.

Yesterday was my Middle Son's twenty seventh birthday. He has had some pretty lofty hopes and dreams. He has gone boldly where he has never gone before. Time and time again. Before his twenty eighth year, he started his own company. He gleaned an education from that experience which I challenge any university to rival. There is nothing like Life Experience to teach you things you will never forget. He bought and (with the help and support of His Girlfriend of many, many years) has moved onto their farm. They are building a 'life' quite literally from the ground, up. He has picked himself up and carried on, despite the odds. He  has experienced more in his first twenty six years than a lot experience in a lifetime. Because he is not afraid to try.

My son is heading into his twenty eighth year with a lifetime full of his own experiences. These very experiences which have taught him so much, have also left him a little gun shy. He has made a few adjustments to his life-as-he-knows-it and is also on the precipice of restarting something new (from an old experience).

Even though My Son is in a vastly different place than I was (or his brother or his cousin) as he steps into his twenty eighth year, I have a good feeling about this. Especially as I recall my own twenty eighth year as the foundation on which the rest of my life that followed, was built.

In my humble opinion, age twenty seven is a very good place to start. Happy Foundation Building Year, My Son. I can't wait to watch your year unfold.

One of the Lucky Ones

I was talking with someone who was freshly on the other side of resigning from "the most toxic workplace" they had ever encountered. Ever.

They described the situation and I didn't sit deep into what they were saying until I had time to be alone and reflect. They were describing a situation I have lived, experienced and felt deeply. For years after the fact. Years.

It was a toxic workplace situation that far exceeded what I had experienced in an abusive marriage. At least in my marriage, I could identify my part of the equation. I was a partner to the situation that unraveled. The workplace abuse was by far harder to manage because I had done everything in my power to rectify the situation and nothing helped. Nothing.

I have had the good fortune to have had a lifetime of healthy work situations. There were a handful of experiences I needed to leave. But that one. The toxic one shook my foundation in a way nothing had before. 

I'm juggling two casual job positions at the moment. A conversation I had this week was very complimentary to one of my workplaces. My immediate response was, "This is the best place I've ever worked. Ever." 

The positivity starts at the top and trickles downhill. Lightheartedness, laughter, support and a team effort is the name of the game at this workplace. 

Unfortunately, the same can be said of a situation where negativity starts at the top and trickles down. There is little one can do when one becomes a victim where nothing they do changes the situation. The situation become toxic. Fast.

I am so very fortunate I am in a spot where I am not feeling persecuted, unsupported, ill-equipped and unheard. Thus, I can take my little spot in a big environment and simply focus on who is in front of me, who I work with and have an attitude that "everyone is doing the best they can do". 

The upsides of being a casual employee are plentiful. "Casual" is my favorite word to describe my work situation. I have control over my situation. I can work one day a week (or less) at my second job. I'm not dependent on the income. One day a week? I can walk in and out of the day and not become personally involved in the dramas unfolding within.

I am one of the lucky ones.

Recreating What Works

I had a routine and life style that worked well for me when I ran my daycare. I've been striving to find a way to recreate that-which-worked-best for me ever since. 

As I wrote my way through my morning pages this morning, I realized some of the key ingredients to my daycare days routine are finding their way back into my life.

Routine. Plain and simple, routine is where it is at for me. As much as I strived toward a routine during my bookkeeping days, I didn't have a firm schedule. I could work around getting my work done in a way that allowed flexibility. I appreciated and enjoyed that flexibility. I have missed it now that I have a work schedule and firm work hours to adhere to. Everything else has to work around that. And it does.

Meal planning, regular meal times and trying to work in all the food groups into the day was another positive about managing the appetites, nutrition requirements and needs of my daycare crowd. I'm doing much better providing myself some of the same benefits. I love making extra on the weekend so meals are a breeze throughout the week. I crave "real food" - homecooked verses frozen prepared entrees wins every time. If chocolate bars were considered a food group, I'd have it made in the shade. My diet isn't perfect but I'm eating better than I have for a very long time.

Writing. I started writing for myself (morning pages) three months ago. I started writing out loud just over a month ago. Writing rewires the way I process the world. I start creating stories within my thoughts as I think of how I could retell this in writing. I piece together little bits and pieces of life-as-I-see-it and I amuse myself with the absurdity of my little stories. My inner dialogue is much cheerier than it has been.

Noticing all that Mother Nature has to offer. During my daycare days, we marveled at watching ants, counting lady bugs, collecting stones, making wishes blowing the dandelion puff ... These were the little highlights that found their way into almost every day at daycare. I am entertained by nature's critters again. I love when the birds swoop by the patio doors and tempt me to look outside and watch the show. I miss the rabbits that used to hop by my city home. We have squirrels here instead. Their tracks in the snow confused and amused me throughout the winter. 

I do miss quiet time. Ninety minutes while my little ones slept and the older ones watched a movie. I lived for quiet time. I have yet to find a way to insert quiet time into the middle of my work day. An hour after lunch time to simply be still and quiet. I miss that time.

Walking is something that should be easy to add into my day. But I have not yet succeeded. Too cold. Too icy. Too hot. Too humid. If I was to succeed at a regular walk, first thing in the morning is where it is at for me. But then I have to go to work afterwards, so it's all about preserving the state of my hair. 

Little things. It's all about noticing the little things. Creating little stories as one watches the world go by. Rewiring one's thoughts into something that sparks a little joy.

Remember a time when life felt good. See what little piece of that life you can add back to recreate a little piece of what works best.

Clutter

My mind is full of clutter this morning. Most of it is related to tax reporting and filing. I have seven personal income taxes to file; two GST returns and one business. I am consumed with ensuring I do not find myself in this spot at this time next year.

One year ago, I was consumed with all of the above. And more. Three more businesses and three more personal taxes. I am beyond relieved I am not where I used to be. 

A year ago, after all deadlines were met with the government filings, I had one more end goal. To wind up all the financials of everything related to my bookkeeping job and hand it all over. And I did.

I am feeling a little PTSD as I wade through the tax season. Post traumatic stress. Yes, that says it all. 

The next few days, I will be taking a step back into the world I left behind. It is my hope to tend to all the business the first day. The positive thing about my old life is the people I worked for. I want to let the business go so I can simply enjoy the people part of the equation.

I have bemoaned the fact I don't love having to leave my home to earn my living. What I have not focused on, is the ability to separate home from work. I walk out the door at the end of my work day, come home and leave it all behind. 

Work has invaded home again. My little oasis on the prairie is under attack. I'm fighting back to regain what I worked so hard to achieve last year. A home that feels like a home. Not a work space.

The enemy has been identified. The mission is to conquer and remove it from my head and house. Clearing the clutter begins at home.

Let the spring cleaning begin!

The Best Holiday I Didn't Know I Needed

Have you ever taken a holiday without really feeling a great need to get away? When the ache to separate work and home isn't the driving force? When splurging on a little getaway feels like an indulgence and not a need?

I just returned from such a retreat. I wasn't running away from anything. I wasn't running anywhere. I was drawn towards a place I called home for 18 years. I had a yearning to stay at a little home-away-from-home at an AirBnB close to where I grew up. 

I ached for an independence and solitude you don't get when you stay with family or friends. Don't get me wrong! I love visiting and meeting up with people. I simply enjoy the feeling of having time alone to digest, absorb, reflect and fully inhale the day I am anticipating or have just lived.

I had a moment of angst at the end of my very first day. It was a day where I left my little oasis first thing in the morning, touched base at one point and was immediately off again, returning at dusk. I thought "Oh no!! When will I have time to savor the moments right here at my little 'home'?"

The very next day was all about those moments. I sat on the balcony, read a book, gazed upon the rooftops and yards of the neighborhood while awaiting my guests. One set of guests left and I gathered up more company for the duration of the day. It was marvelous.

I didn't have to rush home on check-out-day so I returned to the balcony, reopened my book and simply inhaled. A deep breath where everything felt good and right. A moment I knew I could recreate at home but I savored the fact that it was nestled within memories of relaxed and relaxing visits with people who mean the world to me. 

I drove home to the sound track of music of yester-year. Feelings of days when I didn't know what life had in store and my inner me was simply young and a little naïve. 

The innocence of my youth was seasoned generously throughout a vacation away from my day-to-day life. Though I had many visits of a serious nature, I was grounded in the sensation of "coming home".

I walked by Mom's house. It has changed. Life goes on.

I spotted several rabbits as I made my way through the days. The first crossed my path as I left after a visit with my brother's family. A second was spotted as I headed southward to walk the paths of my youth. Not a rabbit to be seen near or around Mom's. One more rabbit ran parallel to me on a busy road as I headed to visit my childhood friend. Not many rabbits, but I felt a significance in the timing of their appearance. 

It was the best holiday I didn't even know I needed. I highly recommend it. Don't put off those little retreats too long. They are best enjoyed when you are enjoying a version of your best self.

Some Things Never Change

On Feb 8, 2016 I wrote this: 

I remember the years I was living my dreams. People talked of "bucket lists", I scoffed and said, "I'm keeping my bucket list empty!"

They were adventurous years (for me). I tried new things (Zumba and Belly Fit), I was determined to become a Zumba instructor (and only missed the mark by one, final practicum assignment), I participated in a dance competition, I went on a cruise, I invited people into my world and it was a most incredible ride.

Yes, I kept my "bucket list" empty. Looking back on those glory years, seeing where I am now and looking ahead I have kept my promise to myself. My bucket list remains empty. It is a good thing and a bad thing all at the same time.

It is a sad and lonely place when you stop dreaming. Instead, I have filled up our home's bucket list. It contains dreams such as: new doors, new floors, new baseboards and door casings and a new paint job (inside and out). There is a very expensive domino effect that happens once you start home renovations, thus my paralysis in this regard for so many years.

I have no desire to travel, nor do I  have one pang of envy for those who are setting off and/or enjoying their winter vacation destinations. I am exactly where I want to be. I am at home, living my dream in my quiet and understated way. I've done all I want to do for now. It is time to centre myself and take care of my finances and our home.

Seven years later ...

My bucket list remains empty and I'm happy to announce our home's bucket list as of February, 2016 has been emptied as well.

The house's bucket list has been filled up (times 2, with the addition of a second place to call home) but my personal list of hopes and dreams remains static. I found myself saying these words just a short while ago and was rather pleased to find proof this has been my feeling prior to so very many life changing events over the past seven years. I've said it before and I'll say it again:

I'm glad I did what I did, when I did it. The time was right. It was a carefree and fun-filled time. I was the person I needed to be, to get the most enjoyment out of all of my little adventures. I have changed. The world around me has changed. I want and need to be close to home.

Recurring Thoughts

When I resigned from column writing, I wrote:

"... I need to write like no one is reading for a while. Some of this unfamiliar territory involves my family, so many of my musings and thoughts are not my story to tell. Most of this will turn into a great lesson one day..."

I had recently handed in my notice to my daycare parents and was taking (another) leap of faith into my future. A future, I didn't realize at the time, that would revolve around three seniors who have taught and continue to teach me life lessons.

Mom - a fiercely independent 88 year old (at the time) who modeled the person I most want to emulate as I move through the years ahead of me. She was a life long learner long before they coined the phrase. She was curious, interested and deeply invested in her family and those within her life.

My bookkeeping boss - still working at age 85, loving what she did and invested in teaching me enough to take over the ropes one day in the distant future. 

My aunt - a gracious, curious and light hearted soul who had lost her husband (my dad's brother) three years prior. She was in the beginning stages of dementia and would need some support systems in place to keep her independent for as long as possible. She graciously accepted the help she was offered and was/is so grateful for her children and all they did/do to support her.

I remember thinking of these widely diverse group of seniors and how I would like to adopt some of the qualities from each of them into the person I was becoming. Six years later? The person I most want to emulate is Mom. Perhaps that is true because she died within the year and memories of her are frozen in time, while my other senior friends have continued on and their story is still being written.

No one can predict the road ahead of us. We can look at our parents, grandparents, our gene pool and make some vague predictions. But we can never know what twists and turns will develop as modern medicine, preventative medicine and the vast sea of the unknowns change over time and impact our future.

I stopped writing before I knew the path I was on. I simply knew all I could think about was Mom and what she was going through. Not my story to tell. She has been gone six and a half years and my thoughts return to her often. Perhaps there is a story there ...

Going Home Again

I did it! I have finalized and tweaked my upcoming three-day-vacation plans. I have contacted those I hope to see and set up some tentative times to meet. And I've given myself the gift of one extra night.

During the last of my visits with Mom, I offered to leave Monday morning and she readily agreed to having someone in the house one more night. That bonus day became exactly that. One more day. One more night. One more visit. 

I would leave nice and early Monday morning and be home in time to make it to my bonus job. Every weekend felt like a long weekend when I tacked on that extra night.

As I mapped out my plans for my visit back in Mom's old neighborhood, I hoped I would be able to arrange visits with those I've missed seeing (so much!) since the pandemic changed our world. It has always been my intention to keep going back to visit family and friends after Mom died. The year 2020 changed all of that.

I have maintained relationships with those-at-a-distance since I moved away from my old neighborhood 35 years ago. I became a loyal customer to Canada Post, weekly letters to Mom, occasional letters to friends, birthdays, Christmas, thank you and thinking of you cards and notes were second nature to me. Long distance phone calls were a luxury back in those days, before discounted long distance calling and long distance phone deals were invented. That didn't deter me. I could write to anyone at any time of the day or night and know my letter in the mail would not be an interruption in their day. It would sit quietly on its own and would be opened in due time. I wasn't an inconvenience to anyone. I loved those days.

Then came email. Instant receipt of my long winded letters in emails. Once again, I was quietly assured that my email would only be read when the recipient had time. Emails don't require an instant response though the turnaround time to send and receive an email certainly trumped the postal system. 

I could send out a number of emails at one time. "Send and forget" was my motto. I was very brave issuing invitations because I could invite a number of people at one time and there was no score keeping. I didn't take a non-response as an insult. I cast a wide net and those who were inclined, were free to join in. No expectation. No disappointment. I lived my glory days via email. It was a good time.

Then ... came cell phones. I didn't have the ability to send or receive texts on my first phone. Nor did I want that feature. Cell phones are for emergencies or when you aren't near a landline. I didn't want people to have my cell number because I considered my phone a call-out-only convenience. If I wasn't home, I didn't want to be talking on the phone.

Well ... all of that has changed. When I finally updated my old cell phone, my new one came with a cell phone package that included texting. This was back in 2010. I was still new to texting and though it was a novelty and kind of fun to send and receive instant messages, I wasn't entirely sold on the idea as a way of life.

I don't know how it happened. But it has. The convenience of texting and receiving instant gratification more often than not, I ended up being "one of those people" who utilized their cell phone as a regular means of communication. Whether I was home or not. 

The expectation of receiving an immediate response has changed me. Much to my chagrin, I have started keeping score. I love that I have friends and family who are known for only reading and responding to messages when it is a good time for them. No slight intended. They have kept me grounded and saved me from myself. As much as I fall back into the "I wonder why I haven't heard back...", I can talk myself down. Perhaps my message wasn't received. No time to respond. Maybe they simply forgot to reply or hit the "Send" button after thinking they had responded (I've done this on more occasions than I can remember).

Long story short, I have talked myself into believing I may not even have friends in my old neighborhood who are all that interested in visiting with me when I'm out. Just how much of a friend have I been lately? I don't call. I don't write. I don't reach out. Would I want to be my friend? Maybe my wish for isolation was granted [be careful what you wish for].

I sat still with those thoughts until they had time to marinade a little. It was a good reminder for me to be more of the friend I want to be. So I started reaching out to those who I hoped to see. And they responded. They like me! They still like me!! Even after I took COVID restrictions to the max and isolated myself ever so much longer than necessary.

 I can go home again!! And I will ensure I do my best to keep that door open.

Anniversaries

Congratulations to all who have wedding anniversaries they are celebrating. 

Some couples are still united after a lifetime of creating a life together. Others have lost their life partner. Loss comes in so many forms. Death is the most final but divorce, dementia, deterioration of the relationship/body/mind/soul in a physical or psychological manner still result in loss of the life one may have dreamed of.

As I think of the wedding anniversaries I didn't celebrate due to divorce, a year doesn't pass when the date rolls around and reminds me of the life I thought I was going to have when I married over 44 years ago.

We were starry eyed and in love. We knew others didn't believe our marriage would last but we were determined to prove they were wrong. As we sat side-by-side on my husband's truck bench seat, we saw our future lives as two grey haired old souls still sitting side-by-side in any and all future vehicles we would own.

I remember how we laughed together. We spent a lot of time in that truck. Driving. Dreaming. Drive-In movies. Drinking. Dining at the A&W drive-in (insert vintage image of car hops with food trays that clipped onto the driver's window). Bush parties. Youthful shenanigans I never in a million years dreamed a nerdy girl like me would ever have.

Waiting for the phone to ring, back in the days when telephones were wired into a wall, before call display or answering machines. The anticipation of a call with a boy's voice on the other end of the line. My fearful attempts to call him. 

He drank too much. I thought it was just part of being young. There was one instance of foreshadowing our future while we were dating. It wasn't a huge deal but looking back, I now recognize the significance. 

We were young. We thought we could conquer our world together and tame the demons that seemed to rear their heads when alcohol was involved. 

The good times were incredible. Unfortunately the bad times matched the intensity of the good. Making up and the aftermath of the worst of times almost made it worth the pain involved to get to the other side. I was naïve and in love.

One of the most heartfelt gifts I gave my husband was a Zippo lighter - with a Lifetime Warranty. I promised I also came with a lifetime guarantee and would be around as long as the lighter. I thought if I could love him enough and reassure him of my unwavering commitment, he would become more of the person I fell in love with. [Foreshadowing moment I just realized - Zippo lighters come with a Limited Lifetime Warranty] Apparently my guarantee was also of a limited variety.

When we loved, we loved hard. When we hated, we hated with the same intensity. To say I loved him as much as I hated him at times, would be the truth. I knew the end had come when I simply felt indifference.

The young, starry eyed girl who fell head over heals with someone she thought she could heal by simply loving him wanted to honor those wedding vows "Til death do us part". But when a wave of consciousness of what that destiny would mean to two children raised in the-environment-that-was-our-marriage surfaced, I was done.

I doubt I would have seen the light if I was looking out for only myself. It was the vision of what our children would grow up believing was "normal" that bred the indifference I finally felt when I gathered up our children and left.

There was a deep sense of "knowing" I would die an early death within this marriage. By saving my children, I saved myself. And we (for the most part) lived happily ever after.

I missed being part of a couple. I loved being married. Being a wife. Building a future together. Looking towards the future and seeing "us" together until death parted us.

I raised our family. The scars our oldest carries due to his exposure to life-as-we-knew-it prior to the new life we created weighs on me. Our second-born child, an infant when we left, still had a less-than-ideal-childhood, but a childhood I can live with.

Yet, when wedding anniversaries become a topic of discussion, it is the memories of the life we truly believed we would build together that rises to the surface. Two people who believed their love could conquer all. I think of the toasted BLT sandwiches we made as we unloaded our groceries; the frozen fries I cooked in the oven while my husband ran out to buy KFC gravy to go with those fries so we could experience eating out on a budget; it is the times we watched movies together on our brand new VHS player; making up in the middle of the night and sharing a cup of tea. I remember how good it felt to be loved and to reciprocate that love in the only manner I knew. 

I believe he loved me as much as he was capable of loving. I loved him as much I could in return.

We were two young kids, believing we knew more than we did, drunk on love (whatever love is) and when life was good, it was very good indeed. We celebrated very few anniversaries together. Forever was not our destiny. But I never forgot the life we believed in. 

May your anniversaries carry the wisp of hope and vitality you brought into the forever-ness of  the future you believed in. Together or apart, those who have been important to us continue to live within us. Until death parts us. And beyond ...

It is Time ...

I have become the world's best procrastinator over the course of the past many years.

There are so very many things to be done. So much I would like to have done and behind me. But there are a list of little just-for-me things I would like to do.

Oh, to take the entirety of a weekend to sift through the boxes of memories I have amassed. On more than one occasion recently, I have been reminded of a few keepsakes I have saved over the years and it has ignited a desire to rifle through my memory box to see what I have forgotten.

I want to empty the shelf of photos, photo albums, loose pictures and organize them and amalgamate them into one whole cohesive collection including the pictures and albums I inherited from Mom.

I want to take the time to cull through Mom's boxes of memorabilia. Sort, organize and decide what is excess. When we were going through Mom's collection of belongings, I felt everything was important, a piece of history and a piece of Mom. Perhaps I don't need to keep two decades worth of her calendars to hold onto a few vital dates and notations.

This weekend I wish for will spill over into days. Days on end. Days where one photograph, notation or piece of paper will ignite thoughts I had forgotten. Thus, I don't want to rush the process.

I want to make the time. It is time ...

The Miracle of Life

As my sister-by-marriage and I were sitting waiting for Oprah to step on stage, our conversation was all over the map. We went from the inane to the serious and everything in between. Her brother had died just one day previous and he was never too far from our thoughts.

I retold a story she had heard before. The one about the time he borrowed $50.00 to buy me a birthday present and I ended up with a $5.00 pair of earrings. His explanation was that he had hoped to gamble with this money and pay back a larger previous loan, as well as get me a gift. I was lucky to end up with the earrings.

She nodded when I added "I think I have told you this before..." but I had one addition to the story I had not revealed previously. "I think that was the night our son was conceived...." I kept track of these things and according to my calculations, my birthday was the only "unsafe" day we took a chance on love. I thought this new information would add an upbeat spin to an old story as we rewound the years and talked of that which was light and easy during her brother's and my courtship and marriage.

Our conversation took off on a new direction and my story was soon forgotten.

Enter "Oprah!". Oprah is an incredible story teller and there is a reason behind every word she speaks. She talked about her existence and being born at the precise moment she was born, in the exact place she was born, to the parents who conceived her. The timing, the place, her mother and the way she was raised were all instrumental to Oprah becoming "Oprah!" - the celebrity who was up on the stage, talking about some of what she has learned by interviewing 37,000 people over the course of her television show.

Oprah then told us the odds of each and every one of us being born at the exact time, place and to the parents we have. There are so many factors to consider. The fact that our parents met at all. The fact that once meeting, all the stars were aligned at the precise moment in history they were, in order to make conceiving a child a remote possibility. Then you add in all the stuff one learns in science about the number of eggs and sperm and everything else involved in the technicalities of conception. Once conceived, so much can happen that could interfere with the chance of this baby ever being born.

There are millions of factors to consider and it is nothing short of a miracle that each and every one of us in existence due to all of these stars aligning. She gave us an exact statistic in the above equation. I didn't write it down but according to my Google sources, the odds of us being born at the exact time, place and circumstance we were born is about 1 in 400,000,000,000. We are ALL a miracle!!

I turned to my sister-in-law and simply said, "That was a pretty incredible birthday gift, wasn't it?"

So much in life is all in the way you look at it. I never once thought of the true gift I received that one fateful birthday ...

Choose Your Own Adventure

Does anyone remember the "Choose Your Own Adventure" books? Books where the story would take you to a fork in the road and you got to choose one of a few options, then turn to the page where that particular choice took you to the next story line. You would get to another place in the plot and choose again. I can't remember how many times you got to choose your own adventure but the fun was to go back and choose other options to see how the story would end when you chose a different path.

I woke up this morning feeling like I had just reached the end of my very own "choose your own adventure" book. I have been thinking and rehashing my marriage, the choices I made, the path I followed, the outcomes due to those choices, reflecting on where I am and grateful to be at the end of this path unscathed and with healthy family relationships in place.

I rewound the book of my life and think of how things may have gone if I had made the choice to stay within the confines of my marriage.

No matter which way I unfold the plot, I cannot find a happy ending. I see heart ache and pain. I feel severed relationships. I cannot fathom a better outcome than our present day existence. I have tried. But I can't see any better path than the one which I followed ... a path made clear when Dad died while I was on maternity leave from work and literally packing up and moving away from the scene of my past was a viable option which unfolded with ease.

I woke up this morning wondering if I had lived this life before and each time I learned what I needed to know, to take me to the exact spot I'm at right now. A place where I know I am exactly where I am meant to be. Harmonious relationships, a safe home, a solid foundation and nestled into a quietly comfortable life I wouldn't trade for all the tea in China (bad example - I don't like tea ... but you get my point).

I wouldn't trade this life for anything in the world. I am so sorry for relationships which were lost along the way. But I truly feel it had to happen this way to get to where we are today.

Today I'm standing on the other side of where I was before this particular adventure provided the fork in the road that led us to today. I am hopeful some relationships which were damaged along the way may be mended.

One fork in the road at a time, opting for a choice that may take you exactly where you are meant to be ... choose your own adventure and enjoy the ride.

Sisterhood

I'm off to see my sister through marriage today. As I reflect upon the history of that marriage, the good stuff is sifting to the top.

I was young and very alone when I married my husband. I secluded myself from the world around me because I was not comfortable within the world I suddenly found myself in. I was seventeen years old, pregnant and married.

Enter my new sister-in-law. She was elated to know she would be an aunt. I was so wrapped up within my own head at the time I didn't see the gift I received through marriage. A sister. A sister who not only was very close to my own age BUT she also lived in the same city.

This gift would be unwrapped very gradually. Each of us were busy living our own separate lives. At one point in time, we were both separated from our husbands at the same time. That is when I remember a bond starting to form.

We have both been through a lifetime of upheaval between then and now. There has been heart ache and sorrow. There was a time when it was too painful to be close. My sister-in-law's brother was breaking our hearts and she very bravely took a stand. "He's my brother. I'm sorry. I just can't be a part of this."

I have such respect for her for taking a stand and creating boundaries within the relationship we had. There was a time when we simply didn't speak of her brother but as time went on, I came to know her brother as the man she knew and I was able to share some insight of the man I once knew with her.

Her brother/my ex-husband, died yesterday.

My sister-through-marriage decided to go ahead with our original plan to see Oprah. I was honored to walk through this time with her.

I packed up our old wedding album to bring along with me. If I had only known who she would have become to me, she would have been standing at my side that day.

We may not be blood relatives but thanks to the children my husband and I had together, we share a blood bond through my boys. I not only gained two children thanks to my husband, I gained a sister. Better than that, I have a life long friend and we share a bond like no other.

Our marriage may not have been made in heaven but I certainly gained some earthly angels due to that union. And I am grateful.

Thoughts of the Past

Another day, another birthday. As the birth of my youngest son loomed on the horizon I had one small wish. I hoped it wouldn't land on today. Today is my ex-husband's birthday.

It was a foolish wish but it was granted none-the-less. My thoughts of the anniversary of today and yesterday's anniversary are wide and diverse. As are my thoughts this morning.

My ex-husband is not well. The details are not mine to share but there is a story behind those words. Our parting was messy, complicated and we could never quite come to terms with a life where we were friendly but not a couple. So we remained complete and separate entities from each other.

After reading a biography recently and watching interviews with the author, she advised everyone to write their own memoirs. Not necessarily to share with the world but simply to chronicle your life. I took this to mean that in the act of writing, she unravelled some of her own thoughts and feelings about a rather complicated upbringing.

This statement made me think about the relationship I shared with my ex-husband. We were polar opposite of each other and people often wonder what brought us together. I wish I had a clear answer. I often glaze over the memories of our courtship and marriage and wish I had an arsenal of good stories to pass along to our children.

Our separation was not pretty. Our relationship was unhealthy. I felt the need to protect our children and do my level best to raise them in a manner in which history did not repeat itself. Our oldest son retained the memories of living within the confines of our marriage. Our youngest son was three months old when we left. He grew up not knowing his father but I remember his innocent years when he would comment, "My dad could fix this..." if only he had one (were the words I heard but were never said aloud).

There are chapters which could fill the gap between "then" and "now". I was a third party to the attempts of communication during the missing years. I did my level best not to influence our children's thoughts about their father but instead let his actions speak for themselves.

The father/son relationships never happened. There doesn't appear to be a story book ending in sight. I am afraid time is running out but there is little hope of changing the ending.

My oldest son gave me some insight on how he felt when long term relationships ended. He once told me he had to either love her or hate her. There was no middle ground for him. I wonder if that is how his father felt...

I'm walking into uncharted territory here but I have one wish. I would like the opportunity to sit down and reminisce with my ex-husband so I could piece together his memories with mine and remember the good times. I would like to have the full story in my head when I think of the story of "us".

This is something I have wished for, for forever but I dared not cross the line drawn in the sand between us. Is it too little, too late? Or is it simply too late? I simply want to have memories that remember the reasons we married and kept reconciling. I want to have something light and easy for our children to remember when they think about "us".

Long ago, I came to terms with our past. I would often say that I didn't love him or hate him. I simply felt indifference. Indifference is the opposite of love.

I would like to amend my previous statement to read that I have a healthy acceptance of what was, what wasn't and that we tried, tried and tried again to make our relationship work. I have forgiven myself for being unable to make this work but more importantly, I have accepted the fact that it simply couldn't. For reasons out of our control.

The story of "us" is a part of my life. I wouldn't change it if I could. The story of who we were together forged a big part in the person and parent I became. I think the struggle was worth the result. No regrets.

We Had to Get Away

I have spent the past week immersed in Jeannette Walls' books (The Glass Castle and Half Broke Horses). I soaked up every word and watched numerous interviews with her on YouTube, yet I couldn't succinctly describe what it felt like to be wrapped up in her books until I came upon this quote:

“Mom, you have to leave Dad,” I said. 

She stopped doing her toe touches. “I can’t believe you would say that,” she said. “I can’t believe that you, of all people, would turn on your father.” 

I was Dad’s last defender, she continued, the only one who pretended to believe all his excuses and tales, and to have faith in his plans for the future. “He loves you so much,” Mom said. “How can you do this to him?” 

“I don’t blame Dad,” I said. And I didn’t. But Dad seemed hell-bent on destroying himself, and I was afraid he was going to pull us all down with him. “We’ve got to get away.” 
― Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle

I thoroughly enjoyed Jeannette's writing style and couldn't put my finger on the "why" of it until one interviewer marvelled at the fact that she retold her story without anger or resentment towards her father who was an alcoholic which led to a nomadic and unstable upbringing.

I walked away from a partner who encapsulated some of the personality traits of Rex Walls (Jeannette's father). As I drove my young family away from the cycle of the life that kept drawing me back time and time again, there was a knowing deep inside of me that we had to get away. Plain and simple. I was afraid he was going to pull us all down with him.

In one of her interviews, Jeannette Walls says everyone should write their own memoir. Not everyone should publish their memoir but everyone should write the story of their life. I began to wonder what I may come up with, if I was to unearth my memories.

My childhood was idyllic and in no way prepared me for my marriage. I question why I made some of the choices I did at the time but I do remember well the low self image I had of myself. That is quite likely at the crux of things.

I fell for a boy (I was 16; he was 18 when we met and we married one year later) who loved me out loud. I led a very safe life. He lived on the edge. I followed rules to the letter. He defied them. I grew up in a home where affection was not displayed openly. He held my hand. He hugged me. I felt unloveable. He loved me.

And the rest is history.

Our marriage was a roller coaster ride of the best of times and the worst of times. Our fights were loud and destructive. We brought out the best and the worst in each other. I can't think of a time in my life where I look back and criticize my actions as harshly as I do during our marriage. Yet ... the good times made up for everything.

Our marriage was so far from my normal that I didn't even want to be around my family. I couldn't be a part of something that felt so foreign to me. Yet when we separated for the last time I ran straight into the heart of everything that has grounded me. I moved back "home", nestled in among family I didn't know yet. It was the beginning of a time of good decision making for me.

I had to leave him. It was the only right answer. For me. For my children. For our future.

I look back on my previous life and while I remember our reality quite well, I choose to focus on the heart of a man who wanted to be so much more.

I believe I saw the best he had to give. His heart started out in the right place but too often, his intentions got lost somewhere in between his heart and his actions. But there were times when his actions reflected his intentions. It was the best of times ...

“I don’t blame him. But he seemed hell-bent on destroying himself, and I was afraid he was going to pull us all down with him. We had to get away.” 

I Needed to Know I Tried

I woke up with thoughts of an irreparable relationship on my mind.

I had recently made a half hearted attempt to step through the past and simply move forward from where we are today. It didn't work.

"I tried." Those were the words I wrote down before I fell asleep last night. I tried.

 When I awoke, those very words were still speaking to me. Had I tried hard enough before everything fell into a state of disrepair? I truly believe I did.

I have held onto an envelope full of "evidence" I have never looked at since this relationship fell apart the final time. This morning, for the first time since I tucked that written correspondence away, I am tempted to reread the contents.

That broken relationship runs through my mind a lot these days.

"There are two sides to every story", I remind people as I relate the tales of my past. I am accountable for my actions. There were two people involved. Both parties were hurt. Innocent parties were hurt. I walked away for the sake of my children and I know in my heart of hearts I did the right thing. I know this. I believe this. I did what I had to do.

But out there, lies someone who is terminally ill. Their days are numbered. I find myself wondering what is going through their mind as they live their final days. I don't profess to know much, if anything, about their life after "us", but I used to know this person well. I just wanted to remind him we made many happy memories together. I loved him as much as knew how at the time. His life made a difference.

It is something I think I would appreciate hearing as my days wound down to a close. I just wanted to "do unto others"...

Out there, is a family who is wounded. I can't begin to imagine the walk they are walking. Everyone handles their pain differently. I believe I am a stranger to their brand of hurt but as a parent, I can only imagine ...

I simply wanted to offer to sit still with them as they feel, live and walk through this time. I'm the last person in the world they want to see but I feel responsible for my part in the past and I had hoped to offer my presence.

I am the wrong person, at the wrong time. But I tried.

The energy of the world knew what I needed before I needed it. I was just about to come home from my day and sit still with my thoughts when another person from another relationship from another time called out and invited me to go for coffee.

This too, was a broken relationship from years gone by. Again, there are two sides to this story. I did my fair share of damage to this relationship. We parted ways but despite the hurt, anger and heart ache we stayed connected throughout the years.

There are two sides to every story.

I am grateful for a parallel story which reminds me that it does take two people to make or break a relationship. Before, during and after. I'm grateful for the reminder that although I am responsible for my side of what went wrong within "us", I'm just as responsible for what has gone right.

I needed to be reminded of this. I am grateful.

I needed to know I have tried. I did. It is time to set this free.

Renewed Standards

As I sit here in the aftermath of my rant about cat hair yesterday, I am now wondering. Is it less about the cat hair and more about becoming fussier?

I had a most wonderful weekend. It was a weekend of puttering. My goal was to deal with the excess of our upstairs, which had accumulated downstairs. A dose of income taxes. With a very nice sprinkling of family.

Saturday was my fun day. I talked with &/or emailed each one of my siblings. We have chosen a date to get together. Fun times ahead! I squeezed in some taxes and then my boys came for supper. The meal turned out well and afterwards, we watched an array of videos featuring each one of my sons. Ahhh. It was a good day!

Sunday was my reality day. I needed to do hard things. I had to start tackling the basement.

One small step at a time, this:

Became this:

I have a car full of recycling to drop off, two empty bookcases to sell or give away and a small box of give away items. I still have boxes of memorabilia, photos and other miscellaneous items to sort through. I need to create an office area to deal with all of the stationary items. But one weekend of puttering followed by another will take care of the rest.

I have overnight guests planning to come stay with us. I have been cooking meals. I have been cleaning and tidying our home on a daily basis. I stepped away from writing this to replenish my coffee and dusted the bathroom fluff, the mouldings on the kitchen cupboards and ran my new "duster" over the baseboards in the hallway.

I long for another day to simply putter away at things. I'm a putterer. It is the way I used to get big jobs done back in my more ambitious days. I simply pulled out a drawer here and there and dealt with the contents. One drawer at a time. One cupboard at a time.

I'm starting to do this again.

I have found a part of myself which has been lost for a very long time, somewhere in the rubble of this renovation. I had become the person I ranted about yesterday. I had become a person who overlooked the dirt, dust and excessive hair because everything underneath it was in dire need of maintenance.

Our renewed home is not fancy or overdone in any way, shape or form. As my oldest son put it when he walked in and saw all that had been done, "It was long overdue ..."

Having refurbished everything from floor to ceiling, it has raised my standards. "Good enough" no longer cuts it. I want to keep on top of things so I don't get so far down under the dirt, dust and cat hair that I stop caring again.

I wrote my rant about cat hair yesterday, visualising vacuuming the clean mop at regular intervals as I kept atop the cat hair upstairs. Then I started dealing with the basement. The process of emptying the upstairs began six weeks ago. Six weeks of cat hair balled up and amassed in, around and under all that had accumulated downstairs. Yesterday, I saw floor I hadn't seen in a very long time. I took the dry mop and captured all the cat hair which had come to rest while I wasn't looking.

When I looked at the mop after my light dusting, the mop was full of black cat hair. It was black. It never looks like that when I mop upstairs. Because the upstairs is ... clean!

Wafting cat hair or not, the upstairs has become a place which is actually clean. Thus, the stray cat hairs are a bother to me.

This renovation has done so much for me. It has shaken me up and awoken a part of me I thought was lost forever. The desire to clean, sort, organize and cull has sparked the part of me who likes inviting people into our home. Not only for a cup of coffee, but a meal with overnight accommodations available as needed.

I remember how delighted I was to find items which had been lost to me as we moved the upstairs, downstairs. Little did I know at the time, I would find myself and my old standards in amongst the excess as well.

Some things have been kept. Others have been discarded, recycled or given away. I think I'll keep my standards. I've missed this part of myself.

Home ... Is Where Your Story Begins

I am at the stage I could only wish for one short year ago.

The acuteness of "missing Mom" has been gradually replaced by a feeling of remembering not only Mom, but Dad as well, as life moves on in a forward direction.

I heard myself speak of Mom and Mom alone for a very long time after she died. I longed for the day when those thoughts of Mom would be interspersed generously with thoughts of both Mom and Dad.

Dad died 31 years ago. He suffered brain damage from a massive heart attack almost five years before he died. We lost Dad so gradually (even though in retrospect, I now realize we lost "Dad" the moment he had his heart attack) that I never experienced the acuteness of missing him.

When he had his heart attack, my marriage was falling into a state of disrepair. I remember Mom and I talking of my marriage over Dad as we wondered about his prognosis and waited for him to wake up. I shake my head at the thought of that memory. I was 22 years old. I didn't know better. I do now.

When Dad died, it was days after I walked away from my marriage for the third and final time. Our separation was nasty and thoughts of walking forward from there superseded any other thoughts. We had lost the essence of Dad five years prior so part of this is understandable.

The only time I felt the reality of losing Dad was while he was still living and breathing. But not "Dad" any more. It was a surreal way to feel the loss of a parent. I didn't learn what I needed to know about love and loss.

I never felt like I fully honored Dad in the way he deserved to be honored. As the years unfolded, I felt, thought and honored Dad in my own way.

Then came the time when facing Mom's mortality became a reality. Mom was a strong, hearty and healthy soul until a time came when her health started to change. She rebounded each and every time but in the middle of those times, my heart ached with the knowledge that she wasn't going to live forever.

I mourned the loss of Mom before she died. I knew I would want to know I had done all I could do and was who I needed to be when Mom's time came. I may have become hyper aware of this eventual reality as I unconsciously created a life where Mom was my main focus.

My world became smaller so when Mom died and eventually all the loose ends of her life were tied up, I didn't have a life beyond Mom waiting for me. Yes, I had a few jobs, my children, good friends and a good life. But my passion for living was gone.

I spoke of Mom incessantly after she died. I kept her alive and well in my day to day thoughts. I missed her, I missed going to see her, I missed who she was to me. I lost a huge part of my life when she died and it was so much harder than I expected it to be.

It was hard because I really didn't care if I moved out of and beyond that phase. It was a sad day when I missed missing her.

Life moved on and carried me along with it. Bit by bit, I started looking outside my small little bubble and tentatively stepped back into life as I once knew it. I did a little gallivanting and took flight to see friends and do new things. I knew I turned a corner when I made plans, followed through on them, found myself in a different province visiting an old friend and I was astounded when I heard myself say "I actually looked forward to this trip!"

It was a first step of several. I finally found my wings somewhere up in the sky as I flew off to here, there and another place. I was finding my way back.

Except "back" was still a rather illusive destination. All I knew for sure is that home was where my heart was. I moved forward from there.

Life has gotten a little bigger than it once was. I'm still a little stingy with my time and energy but I'm involved in living my life. This is a good thing.

This house renovation was a gift in so many ways.

Financially, it was a gift from Mom and Dad. Dad, who worked so hard and invested so wisely during his 58 years here on earth, that Mom not only never had to worry about her financial state of affairs BUT she had an excess left over at the end of her days. Dad's work, along with Mom's ability to live on these funds wisely left us with a final gift from both of them.

I found it very hard to spend this money. I did nothing in haste. I pretended these funds didn't exist and didn't change my way of life. Until I went floor shopping with my son...

That was the beginning. As this renovation took on a life of its own, I felt Mom and Dad's presence within me every step of the way. Not one or the other. Both.

I wish I could sit across the table and share my morning coffee with them, but I can't. What I can do, is honor their memory, carry a piece of them within me, be grateful for every gift they gave me and live a good, honorable and full life.

Thanks, Mom and Dad. You have given us the basis for a very good story.

January Blues

January is fast becoming my least favorite month of the year.

I thought I had circumvented the nastiness that January has to dole out by deciding "now" was a good time to take on a house renovation. I am knee deep in decisions at this very moment. I have talked to four people who are getting back to me with estimates. I simply want to make a decision and be done thinking. 

Moving the contents of our main floor into our basement sounds like a piece of cake compared to all of this decision making. 

My annual check up is behind me for another year. Apparently I've only gained half a pound since last year at this very same time. They told me I lost 10 cm around my waist. They are wrong. My waist measurement is holding steady. I feel at least ten pounds heavier. I believe there has been a redistribution of weight happening. My body is undergoing its own renovations. I would like to talk to the contractor. I don't like how this new look feels on me.

My head was bouncing all over the map thinking all these inconsequential thoughts. Meanwhile, out there are people dealing with life altering news. This seems to be the time of year when that happens. At least to some of the people who touch my world.

I want to move our belongings downstairs, hire someone to make all the decisions, do the work and call me when its over.

Deciding on flooring, paint colors and "the best painter for the job" is a walk in the park compared to the decisions others are facing ...

My Life According to My Blog Archive

"How am I doing with my promise to write daily?" was (one of) my early morning thoughts:

Well? All things considered, it looks like 2018 will outrank 2017 when it comes to the frequency of posts. But I'm still off to a slow start.

I started writing out loud in January of 2008. It was the winter of "Building Courage" after my last and final break up with the man I thought I would marry. 

Thoughts of "forever" were dashed and after the initial stages of grieving that loss, I picked myself up and built a pretty incredible little life.

As my eyes scan the years, I see the highlight reel run past me:

2008

The year of Mom's family's book of memories

The year of inviting family and friends into my life and our home

The year of my hernia surgery, which led up to:

2009

The year I returned to school

The year I started to dance like people were watching because ...

I started to prepare to compete in a dance competition, which was in:

2010

The year I danced 

The year I started doing bookkeeping out of my home

The year of great flexibility

Family and leisure first 

I worked in my day job in between the cracks

All good things must come to an end, which led to:

2011

The year my job lost its flexibility

I stuck it out until I returned from my great Alaskan holiday adventure

I quit my job and...

I was hired by the school system

I thought my work challenges were over

Little did I know they had just begun.

2012

The year of working to regain my reputation within my job at the school

The year of regaining my sense of self

The year I broke

What in the world was I going to do to support myself if I couldn't hold down a job in the "real world"?

It was the year I reopened my daycare.

2013, 2014, 2015

These were years of coasting a little

They were years of "showing up" and being there for others

They were years with shadows of ill health, loss and grief.

I finally completed the book of memories for Dad's family

It was a time of family bonding, in good times and in sad

These were years of starting to become more concerned about Mom's health.

2016

The year my daycare died

The year Mom fell and I started seeing the world in a whole new light

The year I restarted my "career". Again.

2017

The year of Mom

2018

The year after Mom has brought me back to where I started 

I am back at the beginning of 2008 all over again. 

I need to find ways to (re)build my courage. 

I feel like I'm recovering after a break up.

I crave, need and live for my weekends

When the weekend arrives, I feel like a broken hearted survivor of a relationship that has ended

A weekend without purpose, is a weekend lost.

I am no longer revolving my life around my desire to head back out to Mom's

I have been sleep walking through the weekends

They serve little purpose, other than giving me the strength to endure another work week.

When I first started writing within this little space of mine, my focus was on finding a positive spin about any little thing.

Mom marvelled at the fact that I could come up with a story about nothing

I liked my writing back in those days.

I have discovered so many inspirational writers and speakers throughout these years

Glennon Doyle is the most all-encompassing truth teller and motivator I know

I love everything I have read by Glennon.

Glennon speaks of "writing from a scar and not from an open wound"...

I'm writing from an open wound right now.

I keep picking the scab and it won't heal

I may never write again if I wait to write from the scar that will eventually form.

So I'm writing from a wound which starts to heal

Then breaks open when I least expect it.

I felt so courageous as I lived "The Year of Mom"

I feel weak and vulnerable now.

I mostly speak of the lessons learned,

Memories made,

Conversations had.

I am grateful for a year with so few regrets.

I guess the year took its toll on me after all

I created a world where I focused on Mom.

Mom is gone.

I have weekends at my disposal and I have grown accustomed to being selfish with my time

I saved my energy for those trips to Mom's

I gathered up all my optimism and packed it up with me each and every time

I did not want to be a Gloomy Gus while in Mom's presence.

Mom is gone

And I am sad

I have time

But I don't have the energy to share what I have

I'm used to saving it up for a rainy day.

It's raining now

You can't save energy

You have to generate it from action

Doing

Becoming

Being courageous.

The most courageous thing I do these days, is go to work

My work days deplete me

I feel like a wet dish rag at the end of my days away from home

I long for weekends.

I need to find a renewed purpose

I need to push myself out and beyond these moments.

Building courage becomes harder with age

Becoming comfortable with the quiet feels easier

But (as Mom said at the very end of her life), "This ... is not living".

Mom is right again.

She always was.

I will persevere

I will rebuild and restart life as I know it from where I am

I've done it before

I'll do it again

I will create a year worth remembering.

And this too, shall pass...