Sunday Challenge for 20/20

My niece, blogger, Luna Pie decided to start her own project...20 weeks, loose 20 pounds...

So, she issued a invitation for fellow bloggers, friends, relatives etc. to join in some kind of challenge ourselves and she made several suggestions.

At first I though I would do 20 book recommendations. But on deeper reflection, I thought that for me, it would be the "easy" way out or in to the project... Reading is something I love to do and I've probably read thousands of books in my life time. So finding 20 more or even reporting on 20 that I loved while interesting didn't really offer me a significant challenge.

When I was out west visiting my sister in March she took me to her Book Club. They were discussing a book, "The Happiness Project" by Gretchen Rubin. In it she explores happiness, how to get it, how to keep it and so on. Having not read the book but intrigued by the subject I listened reflectively to the conversation swirling around me. I came to a rather shocking conclusion. At least it was shocking to me.

Happiness is not even something I have considered much in my life; not even as an option.

I am very familiar with the concepts of suffering and of joy. I grew up learning about and talking about suffering. I grew up learning about the concept of joy; not just everyday joy, but biblical joy.

I turned to my sister and said, "we weren't taught to be happy were we, or even that being happy is O.K.???" She agreed.

Now, don't get me wrong, my parents were, in my opinion, wonderful. Not perfect by any stretch of the imagination; but loving, thoughtful, genuinely caring people. And I do think that they liked us to be "happy." But the object of our lives, so I grew up believing both in church and at home was that holiness was more important than happiness. Holiness was being "like Jesus;" which is a great idea; but I don't think that a serious, unhappy Jesus is the Jesus that is the Jesus of the Bible.

Certainly, He suffered, immensely, greatly, incomparably. But I also think that He laughed, danced and enjoyed life. He made wine at a wedding for goodness sakes. And He had not just joy, but ordinary, everyday happiness.

I have certainly suffered in my life; physically, emotionally, mentally; all of it. I have had flashes of joy, laughter and delight.

But I wouldn't say I have been particularly happy, nor have I ever made it point to try to be happy.

Now I know that there are no guarantees in life. Suffering, can and does come, to all of us.

I have seen my dear friend's daughter contract leukemia at the age of 10 months and die at the age of three. My own sweet wee niece died when she was five years old, oh, the agony of the that. My beloved son, who was such a longed for, long awaited child and who is so very dearly loved, has veered of the straight path into a life lived largely to his own destruction. I've been divorced. Our darling daughter has numerous learning disabilities. Another so very much loved niece in her late twenties, is, courageously, bravely, fighting cancer. Sometimes, there is just too much pain.

But there is happiness too. And I mean to find it. Yes, to actually pursue it.

Not that I am a miserable person, I do so love to have fun and to laugh. But I am coming to believe that happiness can and should be something that I can and will look for.

So my 20/20 project, will be my own "happiness project." For 20 weeks I will look for and I will find 20 "somethings" that make me the everyday kind of happy.

It is a challenge that I can sink my teeth into, look forward to.

And that makes me feel, well, happy.

Headaches

My head hurts.

I want to crawl away, curl up and tunnel down.

I want sleep to come, to give relief.

I want the pain to end.

Hormones

Hormones.

They take you up, they take you down.

They fling you all around.

I hate hormones.

Friends

I love my friends.

They are part of the essence of who I am.

My friends listen to me; cry with me, laugh, giggle and have glorious fun with me.

At times my friends anchor my sanity.

They let me know when I am way out of line, in a gentle but definitive way. That takes courage and I love them for that.

My friends affirm me; encourage me, lift me to a place of growth. They are a source of incredible support.

Without my friends I think that I would have faded into nothingness by now...

My friends are breath to me when I feel I cannot go on. They are connection and warmth and joy.

My friends are loyal and fierce and believe in me no matter what.

What a gift I have.

My friends.

I love you.

Blue

Time drags it's feet.

My heart sinks. I'm filled with an ineffable longing.

I want...

So much.

How much grief can one heart hold and not split into a million fragments, slivered with pain. Glass slicing through the warm sun and the beautiful day. My heart in ribbons blowing in the wind.

You would think that on a day brilliant with sunshine, I would be lifted up...but I feel the darkness closing in. Tears choke in the back of my throat and wet my eyes, I blink them away.

For all the dreams I had a as young Mother, I now have failure, bleakness, time stretching ahead, a desert dry and stark with sorrow.

Tears stream now there is no stopping them. I am bereft. The pain takes over. A monster clawing at my chest.

How long...how long before there is fruition to my wailing, desperate prayers?

Still, I will NOT ever, ever give up.

NOT ever, ever give up hoping.

NOT ever, ever give up praying.

NOT ever, ever give up waiting.

For through the darkness, the Light of the world shines.

And for all the things I am not certain of, this I believe: that God hears my crying and my groaning. He holds me as I weep. He does answer prayer, in His time and in His way.

This I believe, this I will cling to.

So hold me, sweet Jesus in this darkness, hold me.

The Zoo

Today we went to the zoo.

What is your favorite animal???

We saw lions, tigers, polar bears, flamingos, snowy owls, arctic foxes, black and tan spotted jaguars, gorillas, monkeys, white wolves, on and on the list goes.

My favorite was the jaguars. The black one with it's glistening coat, pacing back and forth, back and forth. You can sense that if it could, it would've pounced!

It was so very, very hot...The sun, bright and blazing. The sky, piercing blue.

Now I don't do so well in the heat...I start to get well, quite honestly, grumpy... And for an outing, that is supposed to be "fun," grumpy doesn't cut it.

My little girl kept asking me, "Mommy, are you happy???"

Happy?, goodness, I was HOT, flaming, hot.

Then we would go on a path that was shaded. A canopy of trees and a sweet, gentle breeze. That's my kind of happy.

My other favorite animal in the zoo is people...

I love to watch people; their interactions, their families, their clothing, just look... I find people fascinating.

"Mommy," my daughter asked as we were wandering through the zoo and she would see that I was distracted, "what are you doing?" "I'm people watching," I'd reply. "Mom! you shouldn't stare." "I'm not staring, I'm looking..." I would laugh.

Couples, walking hand in hand. Children, racing by. One child fell, and great crying and carrying on ensued. Then there was the comforting, the shushing, the patching up...

Families were sitting on blankets eating their picnic lunches. Another family group, arguing. More people meandering by, taking the day to be together and to get the kids out of the house for pity's sake!

Hubby, meanwhile is our tour guide, and we are to "follow" him. So, follow we do and after three hours we are tired and ready to go home.

But there is one last stop, the gift shop.

This is one of our daughter's favorite places at the zoo. She has birthday money and is itching to spend it. So in we go, up one aisle and down the other. Finally, she decides on a beautiful soft, fluffy polar bear and a tube of plastic animals.

She has always loved animals so we are not at all surprised with her choices. She is happy and we are content that our trip to the zoo has ended well.

A Song...

Only have One
by JJ and David Heller

"Nobody knows which way you'll go
I can't control you
I pray tomorrow is brighter than today

I should not try to live two lives
I only have one
I only have one
You have yours and I have mine
We only have one life

I watch you make the same mistake
You learn the hard way
I pray tomorrow you will hear
What love has to say

I should not try to live two lives
I only have one
I only have one
You have yours and I have mine
We only have one life

I try to hold you with an open hand
You run away
You're faster than I am
I can lead you to the water
But I cannot make you drink
Is it too much to ask for you
To simply stop and think

I should not try to live two lives
I only have one
I only have one..."

A Severe Mercy

Some things that happen in life are severe mercies.

You pray and you pray and you pray for a person and then something awful happens. You are stunned, drop kicked in the gut. You reel in horror.

In retrospect though, you can see that the situation, if left to its natural conclusion or allowed to go on and on would have brought even graver consequences.

So today, I am thankful for the severe mercy God allowed in the life of one I love so very, very much.

It could have been so, so much worse.

Your mercies, O Lord, are new every day; even if it takes us a while to recognize them.

Relief...and thoughts on Authenticity

Relief lightens the load...

I float like a butterfly, delicate and airy, lighting on the flowers of hope and happiness.

Laughter comes much more easily, tension leaks out draining the wound of wondering.

Quietly, though, I ponder tragedy and the role it so often plays in all of our lives. We are "supposed" to have peace no matter what our circumstances and I have always wondered about that.

I am frail, fraught with every emotion given as gifts to the human race. The gift of feeling and yes, acknowledging the very potent emotions that often swirl around us tornado like, does not fit the system I have often been taught to subscribe to.

Frankly, I hate pretense. The masks I am subtly told to wear, make me rebellious. I will not comply with this show of "perfection" or of being what some believe is a good "Christian."

I long for authenticity. To be who I am: fears, angers, joys, griefs, and hidden complexities. All of this, and also a fierce belief in a God who doesn't want me to be a phony makes me thumb my nose at convention.

I will not be a cookie cutter person.

I think we are longing for reality. To know that who we are, in all our joys and all our griefs is greatly valued by God.

The gift we can give each other is the freedom to know and to be known. To love one another because of and in spite of our many good points and our glaring weaknesses.

And to know that we are loved by a tender, loving, Almighty God just as we are is gift we can give ourselves.

This doesn't mean there is no room for personal growth, but that this growth is carved out in careful thoughtfulness and not in playing the game. This is what I think makes growth real, tangible, touchable and even attainable.

Peace will come and it will sometimes desperately desert us.

But we can plant our feet in the soil of authenticity knowing that as we experience the great expanse of emotions God created us to have we no longer have to be afraid to express those feelings or to let those feelings be woven into the stories of our lives.

And that brings me great relief.

Good Days...

Good days unfold like the spring sunshine warming us after the cold, cold winter.

They start with a gentle awakening, drowsy with sleep, eyes half mast, holding the hand of the one I love.

I get and up greet the day. I pull on my workout clothes and head down to exercise, "walk, walk, walk." I love this newfound routine (now on my fourth month). The blood pumps through my veins and I am invigorated. I am building up strength and becoming more fit. It feels good.

Saturday morning breakfasts. They are a family affair. No rushing to get out the door. We just talk and work together, usually we make bacon and some kind of eggs. Our daughter's favorite is pancakes but this morning we are going for eggs over-easy, bacon and grits (grits are hubby's favorite and hearken back to days of his grandmother living with them.) Grandma (hubby's grandma) was originally from Florida and this is definitely a southern twist to our Canadian breakfast.

Today is our daughter's party day. This is the day she celebrates with friends. So streamers have been hung, balloons blown up, party chips and pop purchased. A friend has made an "Animal Crossing" cake for her. I go to meet her husband to pick up the cake. It is lovely and has been carefully packed for transportation purposes. I drive home oh so carefully, turning corners gingerly so as to not overturn this beautiful creation.

Unlike Monday, the sense of the frantic, hurry, hurry is not here. All that we have to do is measured, sure, relaxed. Hubby takes daughter to Tap lessons, while I stay home to put the finishing touches on decorations and food preparations. Last minute cleaning is done and we're ready.

The friends arrive one by one and the party goes off well... I congratulate myself silently, we've had games, crafts, food and lots of fun. I am pleased about this. It is good to celebrate and nothing mars the day.

One friend stays behind. She'll be here for a sleepover. Hubby and I clean up and then we are able to relax, put up our feet and read together. The kids play happily in the basement. Hubby dozes off and I enjoy my book.

It's been a good day. And I am grateful.

Waiting and Uncertainty

Fear screeches, squealing brakes, racing around the corners of my mind.

I am waiting for results and having successfully dismissed the implications heretofore, am no longer blissfully tamped down, and the fire of uncertainty licks at my feet.

I had a endoscope awhile ago; down into my throat, through the esophagus and into my small intestines. The Doctor's immediate response was, no more ulcer, and that he took some biopsies.

Anyway, last week I got a call to go in for a follow-up. Now in my experience they usually don't call you back when everything is fine. But having to wait until this coming Monday and with my daughter's birthday, I was able to distract myself, turn the faucet of my thoughts right off.

Until last night.

I awoke, and then I started thinking. Big mistake. "What ifs" roll in like waves crashing on the sand of my life. I toss and turn, toss and turn. Sleep eludes me, fear taunts me.

I am not, I don't think, particularly brave. I like order, predictability and am not fond of change. I do not like physical suffering. I have had many, many long years of chronic pain and have lost days, missed big events, beautiful days and life in general. The threat of something bigger on the horizon makes me feel like there is a bully breathing down my neck and I cringe and shrink back.

I know intellectually that it may not be what I am fearing. It may be something that is easily dealt with...but emotionally, I am tense, keyed up, anxious.

I have lived long enough to know that all kinds of disease, suffering and tragedy happens every day, to myself, to those I love, to friends, acquaintances and strangers...There are no guarantees.

So in my waiting room I pace, thoughts chasing each other round and round the room.

I rein them in. What can I do, while I wait???

Well, I have also lived long enough to know other things too...that there are things that anchor me, things that still the boat being tossed on the water of my fears.

I know that I am loved deeply, intensely and personally by my Heavenly Father. I know that He has promised He will never leave me or forsake me. I know that He will not necessarily remove all obstacles, tragedies, or disease from my life (and most often I am not spared from these), but that He will most certainly sustain me, lift me up and comfort me.

He can, He will and He does weep with me.

He listens to me, while I rail in confusion, pain, anger or bewilderment. He takes my face in His hands and whispers to me, "I love you and what hurts you, hurts me. Come to Me little one, come to Me, let Me carry you."

So, I go, I run to that "throne of grace, to find help and mercy in time of need." I climb onto my Heavenly Father's lap, curl up into His arms and He rocks me, gently and tenderly.

Here is my Rock, here is my Refuge, here is my "very present help in time of need."

I am certain that He is with me, for now, for tomorrow and for all the days to come.

So, as I wait I tuck deeper into His arms and hold on tightly.

Planning, Parties, and Poop-outs

So, today was my daughter's birthday.

Picture a sweet girl, so filled with anticipation, so very, very happy that THE day has arrived. Off to school she goes, excited about telling everyone from the bus driver to the kids at school, "today is my birthday!!!"

Picture, me, the Mom...got to get everything done...feeling a little frenetic... Getting up earlier than usual to make the specially requested pancakes for breakfast. Get everybody out the door...start immediately preparing the African Chop, so I can put it in the crock pot to simmer the delectable flavors. Let the aromas waft through the house.

Then I get a call from hubby, he forgot his keys, can't get into his desk at work without them. Can I bring them??? Well-l-l-l yes, but I've got to complete a few things here first.

Deliver the keys, then I head off to the store, Hallmark first (forgot to buy her a card, for pity sakes!!), then to the grocery store to pick up some raspberries for the last minute request for raspberry pie, instead of birthday cake.

O.K. then, back home. Shoot, I've got to run upstairs and wrap the presents! Then back downstairs to start the pie, and pie crust, mix up the berries, hopefully not too tart, add more sugar...I make cheese bits, part of my pie making ritual; and eat them after they come out of the oven, warm, flaky and oh so cheesy. I don't tell anyone about this, usually they are a shared delicacy but today, I'm squirreling them away, treating myself to this secret delight. Mom always made cheese bits, so in my mind I toast her with them..."thanks Mom, I do this for you, because of you," memories of her homemade pies and cheese bits wind their way into my party preparations. This is one way we stay connected to those we have lost...carry on beloved traditions.

A spurt of cleaning has to be done now, vacuuming, spritzing up the downstairs bathroom, and some tidying. I have to get out the pretty tablecloth and placements. Now I'm really getting tense, time is a-ticking...the pressure is on. My MIL is arriving soon and I'd like it to look presentable and smell delicious when she walks through the door. (Yes, I STILL like to at least give her the illusion that I've got it all under control...oh sigh, oh sigh...)

She arrives, offers to help and I give her a job.

I busy myself with the final preparations, the "chopping" of all of the ingredients that go on top of the African Chop. I bought some beautiful coloured glass bowls the other day when I was shopping with my girlfriend that will look so pretty with everything in them. Again, a flashback to childhood days when my Mom had some lovely tulip dishes that we used especially for African Chop ingredients.

Hubby arrives and helps out with the chopping. Then he leaves to go get our son from work.

All in all, the dinner goes well. The birthday girl is happy with her dinner and pie. She loves her presents.

But she wants more... She wants time with her big brother, but he is on the computer and responds with less enthusiasm than she would like. Her face falls. Sadness etches itself into her sweet face.

Then as I'm cleaning up the dinner dishes and Daddy is setting up the birthday WII, Nana announces that she's leaving... she's gotta run...consequently our other party-pooper who also lives in Oshawa (he was impatient to go as well so it works out only too conveniently), has to get a ride with Nana and so the party comes to a rather abrupt end.

I get a disappointed clinging hug from my little girl who has learned too often that things are not always the way we would like them to be.

As her Mom and Dad we put on our "happy faces" and do our best to cheer her up, get her distracted with her gifts and the evening fades.

We have learned and keep on learning we cannot control anyone, or anything other than ourselves. Perhaps this is a lesson we can teach our daughter. Enjoy the moments, and try oh try to let go of the disappointments, pain and loss. Make the proverbial lemonade out of the lemons in life.

And always, always, keep on hoping. Keep on dreaming. Keep on believing.

Picture this: our family together, conflicts eased, relationships reconciled, rebellions released, not perfect certainly, but at least on the road to healing.

Now that's something to picture.

That's something to hope for.

The Family that Blogs together...

It seems so exciting to me.

Our family is blogging...

My nieces, my brother, and now me!!!!

My niece inspired me...she quoted Henri Nouwen in her blog, something about the value of each of us writing our own stories....

I've always loved to write; I've tinkered with it, toyed with it, and privately dreamed about the possibilities, the potential... Often, though, I stopped it up. Corked it.

I think I've secretly been afraid of what will come out. Sometimes, my thoughts and feelings are intense, overwhelming, not always pretty.

Surprisingly, however, this newfound blogging has made me feel free...

The wine of the words intoxicates.

The blood-letting of pent up feelings cleanses.

The crafting of a phrase delights.

It's out, not clanging around in my mind, not poisoning my outlook, the words written give expression, validation, confirmation.

What I am feeling, thinking, living and experiencing, these things are real, potent; this is me, this is my life. And it matters. The shadows of my thoughts don't drown me now in darkness, I can throw them out into the universe, release from their prison of quiet.

Oh, I can talk a lot and I do...to my gentle, understanding husband, to my dearest friends, to my trusted family members. But, there is, somehow, something almost indefinable about writing it down.

So, I was happy when I got a note from my brother telling me to check out his blog and I had to laugh, because today, being Mother's Day, he had written about our Mom. Weirdly enough, or maybe not so weirdly, I was thinking about writing something about Mom too...Family connections, wonderful.

I will then, say something about Mom.

I miss her so very, very much. She was the one who cared for us when we were sick. Her hands were always cool. I remember, her gently washing my face with a warm washcloth to make us feel better. She would come in and change our sheets saying we would feel better in a fresh bed.

She would read to us, sing to us, tell us stories, lie beside us before we went to sleep. She would pray with us. I loved it and I have tried to do the same with my children over the years.

She was always busy. She loved to cook and was a fine cook...we loved her biscuits. She taught us how to make African Chop although we all make it differently now. She was generously hospitable and had the gift of making everyone feel welcome.

Sometimes, though, she would stop everything and just read. Oh, she loved to read. Housework could wait when she was reading and she could loose herself in a good book very easily. All four of her children, all of us, love to read. Love it. She gave us that gift.

She taught us about Jesus, gentle Jesus, suffering Jesus, loving Jesus. Thank you Mom for that too.

I miss you Mom. Always.

So family, let's blog on...

And thank you dear niece for the inspiration.

Mother's Day

Happy.

Sad.

We celebrated Mother's Day today. One day early. Early so that my son could be here, he was working close to where we live and we thought it would work out better for everyone.

I was, I must admit, filled with a bit of trepidation.

Many unspoken words lie between us, the weight of which fills the air with white noise...always a low buzz in the background.

He feels, I think, that I have let him down, not been there for him.

From sheer force of survival, and I have to believe for his ultimate good, I've had to establish boundaries. Difficult ones, heart wrenching ones, splitting my very soul in two. One of the most piercingly painful ones just happened in the last month or so. I could not, indeed would not rescue him from the very severe consequences of his decisions.

The anguish of doing so, has bowed me low, brought deep grief knowing that he does not understand, yet, strangely, there is peace or acceptance anyway that what I have done was necessary. Though of course, contrarily, there is at times tortuous doubt. You know, that parental dialogue in our heads; should I have done this or should I have done that, what if I had...etc.etc.?????

Others stepped in and did the "rescuing"...hence, I fall into the category of "the bad guy."


He came; didn't go to work because of weather conditions. He went to be with friends first, and so arrived in a condition that was, shall we say, less than optimum. He pulled a gift out of a shopping bag, unwrapped and laid it on the table.


So, there was no card, a gift, yes, but no card. No words to express the depth of the bond between us, that, in spite of everything, there exists, like a beating drum, an incessant beat of love so strong that it keeps us in the dance of relationship.

This stung; (silly you may be thinking, over no card?) sending raging feelings of despair and love lost spiraling around
and around in my head.

Sensing my internal conflict, my husband gently kept coming to me, patting me on the back or giving me a hug. Yes, he is a good man...

Words are important to me, spoken ones and written ones...I love language, the tinkle of letters on the piano of life, the music of love, of despair, of grief, of joy, of gratitude...one note tumbling after another. This is how we tell each other what lurks in the depths of our souls or bursts out happily like a dancer from cake, words that speak of care, of affirmation, of anger and fear, of hopes, of dreams, or of hurts and of griefs almost wordless in their expanse.

I crave connection with those I love and feel keenly lost in the desert, hot and thirsty for contact when that connection is severed.

Anyway, as we opened the gifts, I joked about the card I received from him, opening my hands hymn-book like and reading a message imprinted there. He got it. He is, actually, a very sensitive young man, covered with a "tough" exterior and I know he feels so very deeply too...how I ache for him...

He stands up, "Mother," he says, "come here" and he gives me a great big hug, "I love you," we whisper one to another.

I feel relief. We are not whole and our relationship is layered with complication, but there is love.

Caught in all this drama is my other child. My daughter, 8 years younger than her brother. Here there is only what we call "normal" conflict. Unscathed by all that has transpired over the years she is not... She too, is sensitive and profoundly touched by her family circumstances.

But, she is excited...Mother's day is an "event"... crafts have been carefully worked and completed at school, brought home and proudly given and happily received. Then there are the secrets with her and Daddy planning for Mommy...

I love both of my children so intensely I feel that I could burst with anguish and joy of it all. Each has their own gifts to offer the world and each has their own challenges. How we navigate through all of this has been and continues to be the most devastatingly wondrous and painful thing we have ever traversed.

And so on I travel, stepping carefully through the land mine of parenting. We are filled with awe when we avoid the explosions of life, and shocked and filled with trauma when we step on a mine and life turns black as tar.

But always, always, we have hope. Hope that over the hill and around the bend there will be brighter days.

We celebrated Mother's day today.

Happy.

Sad.

Happy.

Memories

Memories are fascinating.

They seem to be alive; living breathing creatures.

A lovely memory wends it way into my mind...I pick it up and snuggle down into it. It's like clean laundry, warm, fragrant, and even comforting.

It makes me want to dance, smile, giggle or laugh. It infuses me with energy or makes me lazy with pleasure. I am lost in another time, another place.

Then, suddenly, another kind of memory invades...like a bullet fired it explodes into my chest, it's impact throwing me back against the wall. I look down and there is a gaping hole. Blood is flowing, fast and free.

I whimper, drop down, curl up...go away, go away. I run screaming down the corridors of my mind, horror licking at my heels. What torture this is, this remembering. I am lost in another time, another place.

Memories shape us, mold us, give us perspective. Is my world blue, sad, and dark; or is it rosy, cheery and sunny. Maybe, my world is gray, a nothingness, a monotony, one moment blending into another.

Whatever it does, it is powerful; creeping around the corner, an annoying sibling who jumps out to say "boo"!

It can render us helpless or enable us.

But, I think that memory is also a teacher. It can warn me. It can set a boundary. It can, if I let it, cause me to choose another path.

I choose what memory I focus on. I have this choice. And I can choose to walk away from memories good and bad.

I can leave the past behind, let it be my teacher and I can go forward.

Live my day. Take a deep breath. Love with all my heart. Cry an ocean if I need to. Whirl and twirl and laugh, oh laugh. Call a friend. Say a prayer. Watch the sun cast a glow in my garden. Listen to the rain as it falls.

Because, really, I am here, in this time, and in this place.

I wonder about this agony.

This separation.

Heart from heart.

How can I love a child so much and feel so disconnected at the same time.

Is he angry, is he hurting??? I think yes, is the answer.

I offer help and it is out-right rejected. So I am once again quiet, swallowing my words like bricks of pain into my very soul. They knock around, bring disquiet,
unease.

All this longing pours over me like rain, torrential rain. The wind of despair whips around my face getting caught in my eyes. Longing for him; to be whole again.

I wonder how it ever turned out this way. One choice led to another and to another... Lost in the vortex of choice, we are ripped apart from each other in a whirpool, drowning in words not spoken. Choking on words that never should have been said.

Two polar opposites, your life choices and the ones I wish for you, dream for you. You have chosen the dust of the dry promises of substances that alter you, a lifestyle that has literally changed the course of your life. You are suffering bitterly because of those choices.

If I could, I would snatch you from the jaws of this death you are living. I would lift you up and hold you and wrap in the warmth of a life worth choosing.

But I cannot choose for you. You must choose for yourself.

So, full circle I come...full of agony. Yet, forever, full of hope.

First Thoughts

In this quiet moment I ponder... I wonder.... I do, indeed, hope... So much pain...impossible to tell where exactly it began or how it will end. But end it must. This is my hope. Forever. Never, ever give up.