The Power of Voice

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Today marks five years since Candace passed away. I remember that day so clearly, standing next to her and talking to her for a few moments, even though she was in a deep morphine coma. I remember how it felt to see her in her bed in the living room with her family around her and the hospice nurse. Then, leaving with the kids to have breakfast in Sunbury and while eating, getting the phone call that she had passed. Telling the kids, then taking the kids on a drive to look at Holiday decorations because they weren't quite ready to go home.

My grief this year is less, but my anxiety is probably more; I suppose there is always a balance. Today I listened to all the voicemail messages from her I saved - I have four of them. When I hear her voice she is still here. Right next to me. Is it weird I saved her voice? I've kept it on my phone for over five years now. I can feel her presence when I listen to those voicemails, I feel her near me.

It's funny how powerful the voice is. Playing the recording, I'm right back with her. Sitting in the living room, hanging out. Sitting in the hot tub, laughing. But it is so real. So much more real than even a photo. Last weekend, her daughter, my sister, and I took the snow train to Leavenworth. Madi and I sang our hearts out. Candace couldn't keep a note on tune for anything. But she sang with wild abandon. She had fake microphones in her van so she and I could pretend to be pop stars and sing along with the radio. As painful as it was to listen to her sing, it was replaced with the sheer joy she had when laughing along with the music. It's lovely that Madi has such a nice voice. Maybe, just maybe, Madi somehow got that from me.

So much change has happened since she passed, and so much change is still coming. One child is off to college soon and one child will be starting high school next year.  I try to stay with my head above the water and love the journey. I never expected this journey. Never expected any of this. But I remember five years ago when I kissed her forehead as she passed and told her I would take care of them and how much I loved her. And it would be okay. I knew it then and I know it now. It will be okay.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss her. This summer, we were at Disney. Madi was handing Grant some lip balm. For a brief moment, Madi looked so much like her I gasped, same hands, same mischievous grin, same vocal tone. The two went off to ride a ride and I sat and had some coffee and basked in the energy of her. I knew she was enjoying Disney as much as I and the kids were. And, I cried.

This isn't a long tome to her, I've written so many of those. But this is a tribute to her voice and the power I feel when I hear it. And so, today, I thought I would share it. I apologize it is so clunky, but there is no other way to upload the file here :(.

Love you too, friend. Love you, too.

https://vocaroo.com/i/s0vgjKO1mWdw

Love to you all,

MaryKate

Just the three of us, building castles in the sky...

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Yesterday, I went to court to get full guardianship of my daughter's brother. My daughter, my lawyer, myself, the Guardian Ad Litem and my daughter's brother stood before the judge and said this is what we all wanted. My daughter spoke about how she felt like part of her life had been missing and how glad she was that her brother would have better opportunities now.

I would like to say that everything has gone as easily as that court date yesterday, but that wouldn't be true. Heck, even the court date was delayed a month because the docket in March was full.

Having a teenage boy here has been perhaps, one of the biggest challenges of my life. When the two were babies, my (at the time) goddaughter was colicky and almost everything made her sick. I remember holding her above my head and lifting her up and down under the ceiling fan to calm her so she could finally fall asleep. Her brother was an easy baby. Hardly cried. Cuddled a lot with Candace. Candace once told me that if she had had her son first, she would have thought she was a natural mom. That mothering was easy. She said that because she'd had her daughter first, she'd been humbled. That she understood how hard being a mom could really be. For me, I've had the exact opposite experience with those two. Having my (now) daughter come live here was a natural flow of our already close relationship. Not that it was all easy, but I patted myself on the back and told myself "You got this." I listened when people told me what a great mom I was.

That has not been my experience now. People always look at me and say, "Oh, you'll be fine, you're such a great mom, you got this." But I, most decidedly, have days where I do NOT got this.

Having my life shift so much has pushed me to limits I didn't know I had. Pushed me to the edge of patience, and frustratingly, sometimes beyond it. I've been tremendously hard on myself. Forced to create boundaries for a young person who has really not had many, I feel like often I am more of a drill sergeant than a parent. I've had to deal with anger and anxiety in someone that brings forth my own anger and anxiety. I've had to figure out how to move past my own shortcomings to try to be a better person... and often I feel I come up short of the mark.

If you've read my blog, you know I struggle with being kind to myself. I struggle with honoring my own needs, often putting others before myself. Perhaps that is part of being a parent, putting the needs of children above my own needs. But I think, when I put their needs above my own too often, I lose myself in the process.

At times, life here is sunshine and happiness. Two kids curled up on the sofa talking, me curled up with a cup of tea laughing, and all of us feeling like a well tuned family - working together for the best of all of us. I treasure those moments, and lately they come more often.


But just as often I feel like I am living in a tempest. I have to push through the outright denial of being a family. The denial of connection that comes from the fear of belonging somewhere. The push against being loved. I have had to face my own trauma and learn how to manage it when surrounded by someone else's. I've read and reread this article. I've found it both comforting and confronting, both at the same time.

Often my supportive and wonderful friends will say to me, "Oh, hey, typical teenage behavior! Welcome to parenthood!" And then I feel even worse.  I think to myself, omg, I can't even handle typical teenage behavior! But that isn't accurate. It isn't typical in my world and while I know every parent of a teenager has difficult moments, the uncertainty mixed with tremendous loss in my situation, makes this not some 'typical teenage behavior." I know friends are being supportive, I know they are trying to help and I am grateful for their love and support. I also know I'm the only one in my situation and I shouldn't diminish my experience or myself for feeling at times like I fail at parenting over typical teenage behavior.

There is therapy, there is assessment. There is no way I could do this on my own. I'm consistently and constantly amazed at how supportive the people around me have been. The people at work, the people that are my friends, the people in my family. I'm lucky to not be alone. I don't know how a single person could do it alone. For those single parents raising kids, my admiration knows no bounds.

But what I am realizing, is that it's okay for this to not be perfect. It's okay for this experience to bounce back and forth between delightful and difficult.

I know I am doing the best I know how to do. And I am learning to take my life one moment at a time to the best of my ability. I know no matter how this experience turns out, I am growing. I am becoming. And I am already not the same person that agreed to bring another child into my life. It's been humbling and I'm certainly learning how much I still have to learn.

I am looking forward to what comes next. I'm also scared and nervous. It's unknown, and I'm not always good with the unknown. But I know I will emerge from this story with many new stories of my own to tell. And I believe all of us in this story will do some healing, some learning, and some loving together to emerge from this story even better than when we stepped into it.

peace my friends,

MaryKate

Four Years, Three Souls, Two Stories, One Coat of Many Colors

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I've been ruminating lately on the essence of story. I don't mean the awesome novel or great poem, but our story, or to be more specific, my story. The intricacies of the story I tell myself and the story I tell about myself to others. I've been thinking about how the existentialist in me makes meaning in this world and how I create meaning in my life. I have been examining my 49 years of weaving and the coat of stories I wear around my shoulders.

To me, story is how I connect with others. It is the thread that weaves and hums itself into and out of the events that shape my life. How do the colors change when I bring in a new shared thread? What is the story I tell myself when someone I love abruptly disappears and their part of the weave goes silent? How do I learn to weave my story alone, when once, two threads danced and a shared pattern together in my personal technicolor dreamcoat?

Tomorrow will be the four year anniversary of losing one of the most important threads in my weaving. I see my coat now, and it doesn't glow quite as brightly. It feels like one of the threads that always seemed to tie the colors together, is gone.

The disappearance of that thread has changed my weave. New, beautiful threads have come into my life. Threads that are weaving joy, sorrow, responsibility, love... some threads shine all the brighter and are so important to me, I listen to them as they hum with color. The hum of the universe.

I run my finger over the thread tracing her pattern beginning to end, feeling the weft and weave. I listen to the old voice messages on my phone that still hum with her sound. With how she vibrated in the world. And I know I have this small hole in my weave. I've lost part of the words to my story. I catch moments of her in my other threads. In a smile, a crinkled nose, a series of words, or a photograph by my bed. But I can't figure out how to rewrite my story to lessen how much I miss hers. How is it that the dreamcoat I wear, feels heavier without her thread? Shouldn't its absence make the coat feel lighter?

I wrap myself in my story. I curl up at night with my coat. In my dreams, I see the entirety of my weave and I realize how beautiful my coat is, how fortunate I am to have so few frayed ends, and so few silent threads. I can only tell my story. I am the one writing it - no one else. I am the one who runs her fingers over the strands grateful for the ones still humming. Grateful for the bright, beautiful thread that reflects my soul and the souls of those who are part of my weaving. Even the ones that are only present in my coat for a brief moment, who for reasons I may never understand, go silent.

I'm getting better at tying off those threads. The ones left hanging without an answer. Tying them and tucking them up into the weave so that they don't get caught and unravel the work. Stories are meant to have conflict, weaves aren't always smooth, but the beauty comes in the working through the conflict, and the eventual softening of the rough spots in a weave.

But there are some threads, like her thread, that even though they are tied up and tucked neatly into the weave, I can't stop teasing them with my fingers. I don't think there is a day that goes by that I don't in some way revisit that part of my story. It is integral to how I relate to the world. And even when threads have been smoothed over and tucked away, even when there is some resolution to their silence, even though I am so aware and so blessed for the time they were part of mine, I miss their active presence in my story now.

Maybe one day I will write my story differently, so that the ache of that missing thread isn't as acute.

One thing I know is that my story, and our story, is worth telling.  I need that part of our shared weave and even when this time of year comes around and I find myself running my fingers over the rough spot, I still treasure that tucked up thread. And even as my coat grows with each telling, grows with new threads and grows with time, maybe the beauty and value of story is in the telling. I can't imagine that there will come a day when that part of my story, that adventure, that beautiful part of my coat, won't bring me joy and wrap me in the softest warmth - and won't make for a great retelling.

Moving from Diminishers to Enlighteners

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I was talking with my sister recently and telling her about moving to a new space where I no longer felt the need to accommodate Diminishers - the people in my life who habitually strive to take away from my joy and confidence. People who are, by nature, light dimmers. Like that kitchen dimmer switch that when pushed down, makes the lamp light go darker and darker. Push it down enough and the light goes out.

As we talked, I asked her what the opposite of a Diminisher is... what is the type of person that comes into your life and uplifts you? That person that helps you up when you stumble, gives you heart-centered feedback when you seek direction, but comes to you from a place of love, not a place of competition and negativity. That person that doesn't disappear or go silent. That person that when upset or confused reaches out to you to talk about it, instead of shutting you down and shutting you out. I've had many of those people in my life - the ones that checked out, disappeared, or went silent when the relationship turned difficult.

As my sister and I talked, we could name several people in our lives that we knew wouldn't shut us out or shut us down.  Candace was one such person in my life. I realized, Candace was an Enlightener. She made my heart lighter whenever we talked. She brought joy and peace just in her presence. I was fortunate to have learned what friendship meant from someone so beautiful. She wasn't perfect, nor does an Enlightener have to be. But an Enlightener is someone who loves you for you. It's someone who loves you for where you are in your journey. They don't cut you off at your knees - they help heal the bruises. Candace and I had many a long night talk - not all of them were of dancing unicorns and happy dust. But at the end of those conversations, I felt lighter. I felt heard. I felt loved, and I'd like to think she felt the same. With her, I knew I was good enough. She reminded me with each smile, each conversation that I was full of light and love; I hope she felt the same. Being uplifting doesn't mean being happy every minute of every day, but uplifting people, even when depressed or angry, work hard not take those feelings out on those they love.

I had a moment Saturday night when I realized how very much my world is shifting - as is the circle of people close to me in my life. I am fortunate to have an amazing sister who is my best friend, she is the rock in my life I know I can stand upon and root myself to the Earth... I don't think I realized what a void Candace left in me when she was no longer a phone call or a touch away. And I think I immersed myself into being a mom as a way of not knowing how to fill the loneliness of being left behind. But I'm coming up for air now. My daughter is healthy, strong, beautiful, and still learning. I will continue to be part of that process, but I recognize that she is ready to make that transition from being close to me to being close to others and moving past that safety net of having me always there. It's beautiful to watch and a little sad, but I realize it is time. And it is time for me to do the same.

Recently I've had new Enlighteners come into my life and I will always appreciate the ones who have been there all along. I am not as close to some of them as I used to be, and I realize that is okay. Life is a journey and I am sure it will all cycle around as it will. I recognized this weekend that I have to take a risk to find new people to connect with even when it feels scary. Because life without the risk, means an isolation that is suffocating.

So, I am stepping out of my safety net and stepping into whatever comes next - care to join me?

peace and love,

MaryKate

A letter home

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Dear Candace,

I'm curled up in a blanket outside. The birds are chirping and my coffee is almost drinkable. Yesterday, in preparation for Mother's Day, M. planted a bunch of flowers. She insisted we go to look at plants, then picked out a beautiful snapdragon, potted it and put it on the kitchen table. Her love of plants mirrors your own.

Remember that time you came to visit and the plant in my living room was screaming at you that it was dying and you saved it? You were always so in touch with the green world. She's not always as patient as you were with the whispers of the grass and trees and flowers... but in time, I suspect she will hear it more clearly. I signed her up for an organic gardening class next year. It's what you would have done. I don't hear the earthy world as clearly as you did, I've always been more in touch with the watery one. She for sure gets her love of the earth more from you than from me. She doesn't really even like to swim.

She went to her first prom last night. She looked so much like you. It caught my breath a couple of times. She's got your stubbornness, humor, kindness... can you believe she will be 15 next weekend? How did that happen? Only a short time and she will be off to college.

I have the photo of the two of you above my bed. I remember how unhappy she was that day because you took her out of school to get the pics taken and that you didn't care because you knew it was important. You were in the middle of one of the rounds of chemo, but you looked stunning. Probably because you never took a bad photograph!  It's a beautiful photo and it captures the connection perfectly. I have one of your whole family in my office. I look at it every day.

I often find myself remembering what you taught me about friendship. Until I met you, I didn't really understand what it took to be a true friend. You showed me rather than told me - through your actions, your laughter, your anger, your honesty and your kindness - more about unconditional love than anyone I had met. Your spirit showed my spirit its value. I sometimes wonder if you were preparing me to be a better person simply by being with you. You used to say I was the most spiritual woman you knew, that even when I could so easily take the low road, I took the high road. I wish I could say that was true, but friendship sometimes makes it easier to not see another's flaws. If anything though, being friends with you helped me shine all the brighter.

But of all the gifts you left to me, all the life lessons, the memories of swimming at midnight down at the lake, the rehashing of relationships until 4am, teaching me how to be more aware of people, how to weed out the people who were mean or unkind to me... the best gift you gave me was trusting me to raise your daughter.

And in case I didn't thank you enough - not just for all you did for me, but all you did for your family, and for everyone who ever asked anything of you... Thank you.

And thank you for thinking... no... for knowing in your heart I would be a good mother for your daughter. I never thought I would be a mother and when that happened, especially because of how it happened, it simultaneously shattered my heart, and then completely filled it.

I think of you every single day and have a million questions about guys, and life and choices and love and what the heck am I doing? You know... the questions you always helped me find answers for - especially when I started spinning in my head about what to do. You listened, you told me your thoughts and you called me on my crap when I needed it.

I just wanted you to know, even though I believe you already do, she is doing well. I am doing well. We are doing well. And if I am half the mom you were on Mother's Day today... then it is because you were my role model and my best friend.

Miss you,

MK

That Gingerbread Man that smelled so sweet...

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Tonight the traditional Gingerbread-cookie-making ritual begins. I'll make the dough, tomorrow we'll bake them and ice them. My daughter and I have been making these cookies every single year since her birth. I do not think we missed *one* year. Sometimes I would experiment with different recipes... and sometimes I'd be exhausted and buy the pre-made dough, but for 12 years, I flew to Ohio to make cookies and to spend part of the holidays with Candace and her family. Wow. I think I even made cookies two years ago when she passed away. A tradition is a tradition.

Last year was my first year with M out here, living with me. My cookies weren't very good. I made them with gluten free flour and a lot of stress. This year, I am making them from scratch - using real butter, real flour and almost no stress. How things change in a year.

How things change in 14 years.

I think my favorite year was when she was about eight. Her brother was just a toddler. Candace had her house decorated - she had even scavenged a live tree because she knew how much I loved them. I told Candace not to tell the kids what day I was coming. I got to the airport, rented a car, stopped briefly at Kroger, and pulled in the driveway laden with gifts from home and ingredients for gingerbread cookies. The moment I parked the car, the dogs started barking inside the house. Candace had left the back door unlocked knowing I would be coming. I walked in and called out, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Little M came running in from the other room screaming, "MK!MK!MK!" and gave me the biggest hug ever - I think she had tears in her eyes she was so excited. Her little brother came toddling in behind her and hugged my leg. I could barely set my luggage down and hobble into the kitchen.

There is something to be said for tradition. For ritual. It is the time of year for it. And while tradition can be something that holds people back, it can also be the foundation from which we build our lives. Making gingerbreadmen is a tradition I will follow every year I have my daughter with me, and even into the future when she goes on to college and then someday shares the holiday not just with me but with her own version of family. The smell and taste of gingerbread will always be something that grounds me and reminds me of blessings I have in my life.

Speaking of tradition, I'm watching 'White Christmas' with Bing Crosby and my favorite Irving Berlin song just came on:

Traditions can be amazing blessings - if you feel so inclined, share some of your blessings and traditions with me, I'd love to hear about them!

Many blessings to you all this holiday season - so many it is difficult to count! May your own traditions warm your heart and ground you as you prepare to enter the new year with all the joy and resolutions to come!

Peace,

MaryKate

Why is 'do nothing' so something?

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Gaian Tarot

**"You are being challenged to release attachments, to surrender to the flow. You are no longer in charge of your life. It isn't a time to resist, for everything is out of your control. Give it up. Your world may feel like it's been turned upside down. You can fight this reversal — you can go into it kicking and screaming — or you can surrender with grace and take it as an opportunity to see your life from a different perspective. It is a time to take no action, other than meditation and prayer. Learn to be still. During this time of suspension and waiting, you may discover within yourself the gifts of inspiration, enlightenment and unconditional love."**



I have the hardest time just being still. It is, sometimes, nigh impossible. My grandfather, when he was feeling particularly irritated by my restlessness, used to say, "I'll give you .25 for every minute you are still." Pretty sure I never even earned a dollar. I usually just ended up going and pestering my grandmother, or going for a long walk outside.

Being still, especially when my world feels upside down, is one of my biggest challenges. I read this wisdom and I know, in my deepest heart, it is exactly what I need to do, but letting go and just 'being' - is profoundly difficult for me. The very thing that should help me feel relaxed, makes me feel all that more anxious.

Lately, I have found tremendous guidance from my inner self in my dreams and in moments of insight throughout the day - little things people say, messages in fortune cookies, a free reading on the internet. Or my car being stuck on lifts at the repair shop, neither halfway up nor halfway down because the electric on the whole block went out, making me wait as patiently as possible to get my brakes done. They all tell me the same mythic story - and while I may not necessarily believe it is divine intervention, I do believe that the mythic message of 'be still' is part of a larger picture that I am trying to tell myself. That harder part is acting on what the insight is showing me. Initially, the message seems so clear and easy.

Putting the message into action is a different story. 

Right now, the message in my life is to find stillness and to let go. Let go of weight, let go of connections and foods that aren't nourishing, let go of places that aren't healthy, let go of people that aren't able to be loving and kind in my life. 

I don't need to ask anyone how to do it, I don't need to read about it. I don't need to do a 12 step program on it, I don't need to watch a youtube video describing it. 

I know the answer is simply to breathe. But then I panic, and I want to ask five people about it, and I want them to tell me I'm okay. And I want to go back through my memories and rehash them. Again. 

I remember one time I was hanging out with Candace. I mentioned an old, favorite topic of ours and she laughed. "Just a minute" she said, "Let me get out my spatula so I can scrape that dead horse off the road and we can kick it around again!"

We both laughed. And then...we discussed it. Because that is who I am and who we were as friends. I am someone who spends a tremendous amount of my time in my head. Heck, I even want to get 'letting go' right. 

I want to analyze why things happen, and how they happen. I want to be a better person for what has happened. I want to learn to make different choices and recognize when I am back in a pattern that only leads to heartbreak. Even if heartbreak is its own lesson. 

And on some level, I know that letting go isn't about making grand changes.

Just like loving isn't about grand changes. I never sat down and thought, 'I should really spend some time thinking and processing if I do or don't love Candace.' I just loved her - through the good stuff and the hard stuff and all of it. It was unconditional - much like my caring for anyone I love, especially my friends and my family.

I have to love myself enough and respect myself enough to be still. To stop. To breathe. To listen. To let go.

And to follow the very guidance I have been asking for, because my heart knows what to do. I just need to quiet my head so I can truly listen and honor my own stillness.

Peace,

MaryKate

**I love the Gaian Tarot by Joanna Powell Colbert, firstly because the images are so beautiful. I have used Tarot cards of one deck or another since I was 12 years old and forced my mom to buy me my first deck. I found this deck about five years ago now, and no cards have spoken to me like hers. For me, the beauty of these cards is the story they tell. 
For me, the Tarot is all about the mythic concepts held in each card. The whole point of the deck isn't to do 'fortune telling'. The tarot doesn't tell me about a terrible fate that's going to come crashing down on my head. Instead, the cards are about myth. About the story they tell. About the struggles we face - as humans. At the core, we all have the same central mythic struggles (what I'd call the major tarot cards) but how we face those struggles - is unique to each person (the minor tarot cards). How we move through our struggles is what makes us stronger and who we are as people. :).
But the deck aside, I also love the images because the woman that made them is tremendously true. She is a mentor and someone I admire. She lives her truth in a beautiful, honorable way and I respect that. I do not have to live like her, nor do I have to follow her path to have her path touch my own. And change it. People like that are rare, and I am grateful her path and my path, on occasion, merge for a time, then go off on their own again. And I am grateful she created such beautiful artwork that reflect the mythic so well.

Love is...

...in my own back yard

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Sometimes, we meet people that absolutely speak to our spirit. Those people can stop by for a day, a week, or a lifetime and bring such experiences - pain, beauty, intense sorrow... but knowing them can also bring happiness and a tremendous opportunity for love.

Candace was like that.

I will never forget our first meeting. I think I was 22 at the time, and visiting her aunt. Candace walked into the living room like she owned the world. The sun shone through her big mane of hair. She was talking as she came in the door and didn't, at first, even see me. When she took a moment between topics to take a breath, her aunt introduced us. She turned to me and stood quietly for a moment. Then, she crossed the room, sat down next to me on the couch, looked into my eyes and took my hand.

I recognize that might seem odd, seeing as how we'd just met, but it wasn't. It was the most perfect thing in the world.

She said, "Hello friend. It's been a long time, hasn't it? I'm glad we found each other again."

And I said, "Hello friend. It HAS been a long time. I missed you."

In that moment, I clasped her hand tightly, immersed in this intense joy at being loved. It felt instant, complete and forever. My world shifted. I knew I had a person in my life that would always be with me, who knew me and loved me exactly as I was - just as I loved her.

I wish I could have seen that more clearly when I had her in my life.

In my life, I've struggled to see love when it was right in front of me. I've been on my Wizard-of-Oz/Dorothy journey to try to find perfect love and happiness somewhere outside of myself.

Recently, I was told I acted like I had the emotional makeup of a 15 year old. At first I dismissed it as ridiculous and completely off mark. As I thought about it, perhaps in some ways, I have been stuck at that age. At 15, I was taught that the 'best' love comes in a perfect partnership, and that the love of the 'One', is the 'best' love there is. I bought into the belief that some kinds of love and happiness are more 'valid' than others, and I believed in Disney's storyline.

This morning, with my window wide open and a cool autumn breeze filling my bedroom, I burrowed under my covers and thought about love, happiness, Candace, and so many of the other people in my life - and decided to stop labeling some love and happiness as more valid than others, and the 'One' more real than other 'ones'.

'Perfect partnership' doesn't have to be, for me, the end goal. My life shouldn't be about the happily ever after, but about the 'happily in the now'.

I missed a lot of 'happily in the now' moments with Candace, with my friends and even with partners, because I was so busy trying to figure out if it was perfect - if I was perfect.

Finding and appreciating love and happiness in all forms is important; moments of happiness are brief. There are no guarantees they will continue. Guarantees would mean Candace and I would be looking at golf cart ads and she'd be giving me advice on dating.

My goal is to get better at recognizing love and happiness the moment it is present. Like singing at the top of my lungs at a drag show with my daughter - Candace's child - and laughing about how close we are to the stage.

Losing myself in that moment walking along the water in Edmonds, holding hands and feeling tremendously happy. Watching the sunset and appreciating it for what it is, not what I want or think it has to be.

Being mindful of the moment is honoring happiness as it is, and finding it in my own back yard.

...if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with! Is that right?

Not that I won't click my heels together in sparkly red shoes, because seriously, my life is seeking travel and adventure - especially when I know my shoes will always bring me home.

But in seeking love and happiness, I know I need look no further than the moments of my own heart.

Peace,
MaryKate

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

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Monday, August 25th. Today marks the one year anniversary of my life changing.

I went from living a life of "me"- my choices and my decisions, to living a life of 'we'.

And everything shifted.
And my heart cracked open.
And all the colors of the world became brighter.

I can not say it has made my life easier. That wouldn't be honest - only having to attend to my own needs was much easier.  But when I look at my life, I can no longer imagine my life as my own. My life may not be easier, but it is fuller, richer and better. No matter what happens in the future, having her here has forever changed my 'now'.

I was told when I was in my 20s that I couldn't have children. My mom took DES when she was pregnant with me and having a child wasn't really in my cards. And that was okay. I taught school. I had kids around me ALL THE TIME.

But life has a way of moving and flowing - and anyone who knows me knows my life is seldom quiet and simple.

So much has changed in a year. I have gained friends, strengthened friendships I treasured already, and lost loves. I have learned more about myself in these past 12 months than I have in the past 12 years. I have grown in so many ways: as a partner, as a mother, as a human being. It has even reminded me to take better care of myself - I have a strong reason to be healthier now.

I have been angry. I have been hurt. I have cried. I have laughed harder than ever before in my life. I have felt helpless and empowered. And I wouldn't change one moment of it. Not one. Having a daughter has changed my life - and those changes have helped me grow and become more compassionate, more open and more honest. Even when I wasn't gentle with my honesty, I still believe being honest has been an important part of the two of us turning into a family.

Because my life ebbs and flows, I can't say what will happen tomorrow. I can't fully predict where we will be or what life will be showing us... what I can predict is that no matter where she is, she will have a part of my heart no one else has - maybe because I didn't even know it was there until she showed it to me.

Love,

MaryKate


cue music:
(released the year I was born - 1967)
Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Complacency vs Courage

116

You know that old story about having two wolves inside - one good and one evil? And the grandfather tells his grandson that the two wolves fight all the time? In the myth, the grandson asks which one wins. And the grandfather says, 'the one you feed'. The myth is supposed to be Native American but is actually a story Billy Graham told to promote good vs. evil. Well, that story is in my head today.

Moving beyond the murky and very questionable origins of the story and the concept of good vs. evil, I'm struggling with the concepts of choice today and the profound implications of making changes in my life.

I saw this quote today:


Everything in your life is a reflection of a choice you have made. If you want a different result, make a different choice.


I don't know who to attribute that quote to, but it resonates with where my life is at the moment.


I am trying to make choices in a more mindful way. I am constantly amazed at how difficult that can be. How scary it is at times to choose something out of my comfort zone. For me, my two wolves aren't evil and good, that is too black and white. For me, my two wolves are complacency and courage.
Making a choice to listen to my heart takes courage. It takes courage to eat the healthy dinner not the comfortable one. Those two wolves fight inside of me all the time. It is easy to 'rest' in anger, or be complacent in habits that only give the illusion of comfort.

But the courage it takes to make those harder choices is sometimes out of my reach.

I want to honor myself. I want to honor the emotional, physical and spiritual core of who I am. And each choice I make allows me to feed one of my two wolves - courage or complacency.

Someone I love told me about the 4 levels of competence.

As an example, in my childhood I learned that love was earned. It was not freely given, it was something I only deserved if I worked for it. If I just did enough, if I just gave enough, if I just tried hard enough, I would earn it. If I was struggling - I just needed to give MORE. That would fix it. In a very unconscious way, I meandered through life - consistently disappointed I could not do enough to earn love. In general, I didn't get angry or blame others when things didn't work out, I got angry at myself, but didn't see the pattern in my choices. When I met Candace, she taught me that in friendship, love wasn't earned - it was shared. It was freely given - even when it hurt, even when it seemed too hard, it wasn't taken away when things got difficult. It didn't depend on me being 'good enough'. Love was love. I moved from unconscious incompetence to unconscious competence over time - weeding out friendships and people in my life that demanded more from me than I was capable of giving. It was a slow process, but over time I realized what friendship meant. Candace taught me and for that I will be forever grateful.

But the reality is, that simply because I know how to make different choices in ONE piece of my life, doesn't mean it applies to others. Without realizing it, that pattern of trying to earn love continued in my life. Not in my friendships, but in other areas.

I find myself having to relearn that lesson all over again. That is how powerful complacency is. Change is hard work. It is continual. And it is easy to feed complacency. Complacency gives me a sense of comfort - even as its corruption eats away at my foundation.

Letting go of anger, letting go of fear, letting go of childhood patterns is hard. Those patterns were developed for a reason. They protected the heart.

I took a risk this week to shift a pattern in my life. I stepped out of complacency. It was scary. It was incredibly hard. I tried to do it with courage and grace, but I'm not sure I managed that. And I do not know what the outcome will be. Because when you make a change, you are not the only one involved in it. Patterns developed with others also have to evolve. Sometimes you come to a whole new level of connectedness. And sometimes that isn't possible.

So I'm tackling moving from complacency to change. I am making the choice to live my life in a more mindful way.

I am working hard to feed the wolf of change.

I'm working to choose courage.

One bite at a time.

MaryKate

Almost...

113

Today feels like a day of 'almosts'.

It is almost a year since Candace passed away. I think about her almost every day. Almost every day I want to call her or talk to her. Not a day goes by that I don’t think the world is a little less bright without her in it. I almost made it through the day without crying.

Almost.

It is almost four months since M came to live with me. While we are certainly over the ‘honeymoon’ phase, and rapidly moving into the ‘how do I navigate this new life’ phase, I am almost certain that this is normal. I am almost certain I am strong enough to do the work I need to do to be a good parent. There are times, however, I question my strength and my patience. I am almost sure this, too, is normal. Not a day goes by that I am not aware of how much I love her and that I am glad she is here. I am almost sure that in time, we will be stronger for having gone through this together.

Almost.

It is almost 2014. I am almost overwhelmed by how much my life has changed in almost 365 days. I’m not sure how my life will change in 2014, but I am almost certain it will change and then change again. I am almost sure I will do my best to handle it with love and grace. Almost every moment I am aware how fortunate I am to have an amazing partner, wonderful family and incredible friends, people who gently remind me I am loved and valued. I am certain that without them, I wouldn’t be who I am or how I am in the world. As I sit here singing along with Andy Williams, I am almost ready to take on 2014.

Almost.

But through every ‘almost’ today, I allowed myself to just experience it with as much grace as I could muster. I cried. I got frustrated. I got angry. I smiled. I laughed. I got the most amazing gift of love from my boyfriend - maybe the kindest gift anyone has ever given me. I still get teary when I think about his kindness. And I keep telling myself that this is just a hard time of year. And as I sit here watching a recorded “Andy Williams Christmas” special, I am reminded of how I loved these Christmas specials as a child. When, as a family, we all sat around the one television in the house and watched and sang along all those years ago.  I find myself smiling and singing along, now. And I realize my dad, my sister, my brothers, myself, we all made it through difficult times and we turned out pretty okay.

And that is what I hold on to. That as hard as this time of year can be, as difficult as transition is, as chaotic and messy as life gets? I’m here. I’m healthy and I’m sure that love is enough to get through the hard times.

Well… almost.

CH Ch Changes...

I remember when I was in my early 30s and Candace decided she was going to have a baby. We had always planned on doing that together. She and I would get pregnant and we'd share the ups and downs of bloating, craving, 'kicking' and birthing.

I remember not being able to get pregnant. I tried. Sort of. At the time I was in a long term relationship, but there was no talk of marriage on the horizon. I refused to get pregnant and not be married, or marry because I was pregnant, so it just never happened. I have no judgment about people who get married because a baby is on the way (hey, my parents did!) it just wasn't something for me. Plus, with PCOS, getting pregnant was going to clearly involve more than not using birth control and protection. In the end, that time of my life came and went and I didn't have many regrets. 

I remember watching Candace go through her pregnancies. She'd had scarlet fever when she was very little and one of her kidneys didn't function, plus she was overweight - both things contributed to making her pregnancies a bit difficult. One thing I remember though was that she absolutely glowed. Together, we celebrated the birth of her first baby. My partner and I, at the time, agreed to be godparents to her daughter. Then, several years later I got to be in the birthing room when her son was born. And while I haven't been a 'real' mom myself, I did get to feel like the 'cool' godmom on the west coast. I liked that role and have enjoyed my experience with it.

The easy going flow changed the day Candace called me to tell me her husband had cancer  - Waldenstrom Macroglobulinemia. I was living in Seattle, working from home, traveling to schools around the country, and still in the long term relationship. I was on a conference call and not paying any attention to the call. She called me on my cell phone and I put my conference call on mute. She was crying. I was shocked, saddened and worried. She had a baby! Over time her husband went into remission and they had a second baby. Not long after her little boy came, her husband found himself fighting cancer again. For him, it has been an on and off battle for over ten years.

One day, when I was visiting with her in Ohio, Candace informed me that if anything happened to her and her husband she wanted me to have custody of her children. She was sitting on the couch in her living room, the sun shining through her long, curly hair. Her golden-hazel eyes shined. All matter of fact she said, "We've talked about it, and we can't imagine anyone more spiritually perfect or more loving than you. We also asked their uncle as well, but I know, MK, that if anything happened, you'd love my kids and take care of them." I told her nothing was going to happen, but of course I would do that. I had a remote idea it might happen one day but I wasn't worried. I loved her. I loved her kids. And Candace wasn't ever going anywhere. After all, we had plans. We had golf carts in our future. 

Everything changed the day Candace told me she had cancer. I was driving to work, I remember our school was having an inservice day. I listened as she sobbed on the phone. I could barely drive. I sobbed all the way to work, then the whole day. Then the next day. She fought against the cancer for five years. It was extremely aggressive. I remember one day we talked while she was having chemo pumped into the port in her neck. With quiet tears tracking down her face she told me how in the future I was going to have to be the mom, I was the one who was going to be there to watch her children graduate. I was going to be there to watch them get married. I was the one who would be their support and love them. I cried with her. I told her of course I would be there, but so would she. She was going to make it. She'd smile at me in her knowing way and we gently hugged each other through the tubes and wires.

When she passed away this December, I wasn't sure what was going to happen. Initially, her husband wanted to take care of the kids and try not to disrupt their lives too much. It made sense and life just moved along. I helped when I could and my goddaughter has come to visit me twice since December.

Four days ago, that all changed. For many reasons that aren't mine to share, my goddaughter's father and I decided that it would be a good idea for my goddaughter to come and live with me. It has all happened tremendously fast. In three days I have run around getting legal paperwork done, getting things notarized, trying to get her enrolled in school in Seattle and getting things organized. I am full of love and excitement!

I am also terrified. Perhaps every mother feels this way? I have had thirteen years watching my goddaughter grow up far away from me. I got to be the cool 'godmom' in Seattle. You know, like that kooky Aunt every kid is lucky to have - the one that wears long tyedye dresses, likes trees, traveling and the ocean. The one that has an awesome boyfriend with a cool house. But that role is changing now. Now, I become the 'mom' figure. I have to learn to navigate boundaries. I get to love and be loved - so I do get the good stuff, but I get the heartache and the struggle of watching a child I love make choices that make me hold my breath. Although this is tentatively only a 'year', in that year I get to help her learn to define who she is, and at the same time, I suspect I am going to redefine who I am.

I know I am supported and loved and that helps tremendously. But lately, I struggle sleeping because I have so much in my head. I sense all these implications and I'm trying so hard to plot and plan and prepare. I see how my life, my relationship with the man I love, and even my friendships are going to change. I see how I am going to change. 

I am taking a lot of deep breaths lately. I am remembering to take things one moment at a time. None of that is easy. I want to feel safe and I want to know I am going to be fine. But more than any of that, I want to know SHE is going to be fine. And I can't know that. Not really. I can only do what I can do and hope for the best. I just realize that the world that seemed so fine and relatively safe four days ago, doesn't feel that way so much now that I will have a 13 year old in my life. It feels so. much. bigger.

In other words, I am no different than any other parent who wants so much to control and protect, but realizes that really, I can only love. I can help her lay down a solid foundation knowing she is loved. I can give her boundaries and rules that in time she will rebel against. I can watch her soar and I can watch her stumble. And I can offer her a hand to help her up if she wants it. But I can't fix, or change, or soften any of her life. It is her life and she does not belong to anyone other than herself.

And while I am scared, I am also excited. And awed. And amazed that Candace and her husband trusted me with their child. And I can only do the best I know how. 

I am so grateful to have been loved and trusted so much, not just by them but by so many in my life that I now can love and trust so much. 

New road, new path, new adventure. Considering how my trips sometimes go? I expect this will be full of laughter, angst, joy and anxiety and thank god I have such wonderful people around me, well around 'us' now, that will hang out on the sidelines, cheer us on and love us.

Peace,

MaryKate 

It's more than losing someone you love...

Letting go of 'golf carts'...
110

In my English 11 class today, I was sharing with my students why I missed the last week of school before our two week Winter Break. I told them about the death of my best friend and going to Ohio to tend to the details and the pieces I could tend to.

While I was talking I had a realization. Maybe it is a realization that everyone knows about and I am late to the party - wouldn't be the first time :).

The realization worked its way up from the murky depths of my unconscious when I wrote the extra credit assignment on the board today - write an essay about, 'one event that changed your life.' I explained that they were young, and it didn't have to be a huge event. It didn't have to be as difficult as the death of a friend. It could be the death of a favorite pet, or a divorce, or a huge argument with a friend that ended a friendship. It could be a positive event, a trip they took, a race they won, a competition they participated in, a summer camp. Regardless of the event, when they look back on it, they had to realize they had changed - something inside them saw the world a little differently. Assignments like this can be tricky. Some students really don't like writing about their lives and I don't force them to do so, thus the 'extra credit' part of the assignment. And, as always, if a student is genuinely uncomfortable or can't think of an event, that student can come to me and we figure out a different assignment, together.

But I started thinking about why I put that assignment on the board. And the realization that was bubbling below the surface of my awareness, came to light.

I was telling my students about my 'big future plans' with Candace. We used to sit up at night and laugh about our future. We would talk about how we were going to get little cottages near each other by the water. We were going to get golf carts. Every morning, rain, sleet, or sun, like postmen, one of us would throw on her slippers and bathrobe, jump in her golf cart, and head over to the other one's cottage where coffee and something homemade would be waiting. Coffee cake, bread with homemade apple butter, donuts, whatever our latest experiment was, we'd share it in the morning over coffee. We'd trade off days making breakfast for each other. We'd talk about politics, about Madalyn and Grant, about husbands. We'd get dressed and go make flower arrangements at the Senior Center. We'd take bus trips with the other seniors and laugh about that crazy bus trip we took together so long ago. I'd be writing novels, she'd be planning our next adventure. We had plans! We had stories we wanted to tell. We had adventures we wanted to share. We had a future we were creating.

And that was when I realized, when you truly love someone and they die,  you aren't just losing the immediacy of the present with them. You are losing the 'future' of them.

Last summer, Candace went on a trip with her husband. She was excited to spend some alone time with him; they hadn't really had the chance to do that since Madalyn was born. When her husband was diagnosed with cancer many years ago, doctors only gave him a few years to live. He's lived much longer than 'expectations' and is doing very well right now. One of the things we talked about when she returned from her trip, was how, while they were on the road, the two of them 'future planned'. She said, "You know MK, ever since he got sick, we haven't dared to future plan. We've been so caught up in the present and his getting chemo and staying alive, then my getting chemo and staying alive, that we lost that ability to dream about the future. I didn't know how much I missed that. On our trip together we talked about growing old, we talked about things we wanted to do with the house, we talked about the kids and college, we talked about moving to the lake someday. It was really great to reconnect like that. It reminded me how much I love him."

Until I lost Candace in December, I didn't really understand what she meant. I mean, I understood it on a head level. It made perfect sense that she hadn't had the opportunity with all the cancer around her to 'plan the future' with her husband - but I didn't really 'get it'. When I lost Candace, I realized on a heart level that I had also lost the future with her. Not just her laughter on the phone, her telling me how sexy my blond hair looked, her telling me how much weight I'd lost and how great I looked (even when I hadn't lost a pound), her telling me how happy she was that I was finally happy in my life and had met someone so loving and 'worthy' of me, her excitement about meeting my boyfriend for the first time (something she never got to do), the absolute joy she felt whenever she talked to me - the same joy I felt talking to her. Even when she was upset, angry, in pain, or scared, she shared those things with me in the context of "this too shall pass". I remember in August of this year, her doctors told her that her liver was doing better. When she told me on the phone, we both let out whoops of joy and said, "HELLO GOLF CARTS!" No one but us understood that reference, but I realized even then, even when in the back of my mind I thought, "I don't know that there will ever be golf carts", I was excited and I held on to the hope that our shared future included those golf carts.

Perhaps there will still be golf carts in my future. I don't know. Even if there are, it won't be the same. Of course I will carry Candace in my heart for the rest of my life, but there will be no shared breakfasts, golf carts or floral arrangements.

Losing Candace in my present, also means losing Candace in my future. I realized that is a large part of my grief. Having to let go of all those dreams and hopes for what we would be doing 'tomorrow'. I'm fortunate I have no regrets about what we did in our past together. And I am fortunate that in the time I knew her, we had almost enough adventures for a life time.

Almost.

Peace,

MaryKate

When A Bag is more than a Bag...

Candace's Bag
109 

When Candace’s husband asked me what I wanted of Candace’s, I didn’t hesitate. I asked for the bag hanging in the garage. This bag. This large, blue and white, 15 - 20 year old Land's End bag that says "Candace" stitched in cursive.

It may seem like an odd thing to ask for a bag. I, of course, don’t see a bag. I see a trip. I see almost every trip we ever took together. Thank god this bag can’t talk. If it could, the things it would tell about our excursions might make me blush in mixed company...

Some of our earliest trips were to stay overnight at my dad’s ‘cabin’ in Marblehead, Ohio. Calling it a cabin made it sound so romantic. It was a trailer. An old trailer. A 1978 trailer. A comfortable middle class trailer with a room built on and an air-conditioner stuck in the window. My mother had chosen to cover the kitchen floor with carpet that had strawberries on it. God I wish I had a photo of that carpet. Sometimes it was just me and Candace. Sometimes? It was Randy. And sometimes it was a dating weekend with her boyfriend (later husband – Mike) and my boyfriend at the time. Sometimes it was a girl’s weekend. There was almost always skinny dipping involved. Oh yeah, we were wild women in our 20s. Later as well got to know each other that trip was ‘couples weekend’. Steve and Ellen, Mike and Candace, Hans and I. We lived like we had all the time in the world to be happy. And we were. Candace eventually married Mike, Steve and Ellen eventually married and Hans and I remained friends, even after all these years. They were good times. Some of the best times, and I am pretty sure Margaritas were almost always involved.

In my early 30s, I moved to Seattle. I told Candace I would only be out there for 5 years. - then I’d be back. I did move back later, but never again would Ohio be my permanent home. I remember the day I left. Candace took me to the airport. In the back of her van this bag sat full of summer stuff she hadn’t removed from her car yet. She hugged me, I made my empty 5 year promise and we cried. And we cried. She told me once she cried all the way home. Then cried for several days. I did the same. I knew I was leaving a part of myself behind. It wouldn't be long after that she started her family.

Candace and I talked on yahoo instant messenger almost every day. We talked on the phone, although I really don’t like talking on the phone – she loved it. Sometimes she’d call just to talk and I wouldn’t answer the phone. I feel bad about that now. I feel bad that I didn’t take the time to connect. It never bothered her and I don’t ‘regret’ it, just think today how much I’ll miss that. Even towards the end of her illness she'd call me and her voice was full of joy. I will miss that more than anything.

Candace and I made the trip across the country from Ohio to Seattle five times together. I can’t even remember the details of all the trips. She desperately wanted to make that trip one more time with the kids, but that didn’t happen. I remember on one of the trips, we decided we were going to stop at every cheesy roadside attraction. We saw the giant statue of the Jolly Green Giant, The Corn Palace (which was to become a favorite stop), the Spam museum (inside some strip mall at the time, we almost didn’t find it), Wall Drug (of course the signs lured us in) and The Badlands. One trip we affectionately named “eating across America”. It was not our finest hour, although we did learn the joy of fry bread tacos and I learned NEVER to take Candace to Dairy Queen twice in one day.

This bag went with us on our RV trip to the Grand Canyon. On that trip we filled it with pamphlets, AAA Guides, books from the library with all the places on Route 66 she wanted to find and National Park guides. (We always tried to take national park trips, but usually ended up taking photos out of our car windows.) On our Grand Canyon trip, Candace had just had her hip replaced because the cancer had eaten through her bones. She had barely recovered from the surgery and her doctors told her she shouldn’t go. Thank god she had an adventurous spirit. Because every single moment of that trip – all of them will be part of my shared history with Madalyn and Grant. I thank god I had the support of people around me – both financial and emotional to make that trip happen. Even the plague of locust in Oklahoma has made a memory that will never be forgotten.

Of course, this bag, if I look closely, still has sand from our trip to Put in Bay. Last summer we went one last time together. Madalyn, myself and Candace – she drove up to the lake and met me, I drove her back. Just the drive up to the lake exhausted her. Looking back, I realize letting her drive was nuts, but she endured. She brought this bag - only this time it wasn’t full of towels and sunblock, it was full of medicine. She needed an entire canvas bag to hold all of her medicine. Later, after our trip, when we returned to Columbus, she was so exhausted she slept for two days without waking up. She didn’t take any of her medicine. Two days of missed morphine was two too many. That was when I realized, for her, it wasn’t ‘better living through chemistry’ but simply ‘living through chemistry’. But the day we went on our trip to the island? It was sunny and beautiful. I rented a golf cart and Candace, Madalyn and I laughed, went to the winery and drove around the island over and over and over – none of us wanted to leave. We even went junking! I had rented a hotel room by the water. At the end of the day we took the ferry back from the island and went to our favorite restaurant – Phil’s Inn and ate spaghetti. During dinner, Candace got the call that her grandmother Gwen had had a massive brain bleed. Gwen was much more than Candace’s grandmother, Gwen was Candace’s mom, her joy, her love. Hearing that Gwen had a massive brain hemorrhage and likely wouldn’t recover, I asked if Candace wanted me to take her back to Columbus. She said, “No, Gram would want me here by the lake. It was our favorite place. She loved it here and would want me to be here. I can’t take all the drama there. Here, I can make peace with everything.” She cried and cried, but I have no doubt Gwen was the first one to greet her last Sunday. Gwen died the next day. Candace often said that it was the hardest day of her life. Last Sunday was the hardest of mine.

When Candace died on Sunday, there was no funeral. She wanted to be cremated and there were no showing hours. I was with Grant and Madalyn when she died. When I told them, Madalyn asked me to take her to Put-In-Bay. I called the ferry and it was running but the lady at the ferry told me that nothing was open there this time of year. Everything is closed. No golf cart rental, no lobster bisque, nothing. When I told Madalyn, I promised her I would take her this summer. She and Grant and I will go to Put-In-Bay together and rent a golf cart and drive around. Sometime before this summer, her husband Mike and the family are planning a “Celebration of Life” party where everyone can come and share their stories of her. I hope I can make it.

I’ll make sure to bring the bag. I’d hate for it to miss anything.

Tending to the Heart

On Dreams and Other Things...
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I had two dreams last night - both of my closest friend, Candace. In the first dream, she was sitting on the couch in her living room. She was trying to talk to people because she had things she wanted to say. Everyone was gathered around her, and she was telling people how much she loved them and how she was going to miss her family and her friends. She was getting tired but we listened as she spoke to everyone individually as best she could. Then she got sick. She fell on the floor and I covered her with my body and held back her hair and she vomited - over and over. She said she was tired of being sick and I told her I love her - that everyone did. And I held her while she cried.

In the second dream, we were out shopping for Christmas gifts for her children. Grant and Madalyn were with us. Madalyn wanted a specific pair of shoes and we were in our third store looking for them. Candace looked at me and said, "Wow, look at you all getting me out shopping. You always gave me energy when I didn't think I had any". I looked at her and I said, "Honey, you know you aren't really here, right? I mean your body is back in that bed." And she looked at me and she smiled. I fell to the floor sobbing. I said, "How am I supposed to go on without you? How do I do that, because I don't know if I know how to do that." And I full-on, open-heart-chakra started wailing. She waited a moment, smiled at me again, touched  my head with her hand and said, "MK, my body is full of light." And I knew she'd be okay, I just wasn't so sure I would.

For the last two days I have watched as my best friend slowly drifts away. She has not been lucid. She has simply slept while hospice gives her medicine every few hours and people come and whisper their "I love you's" into her ear. I have tended to the kids, and let others tend to the things that needed tending. There has been a lot of 'tending' going on. I have tended to everything... everything except my heart.

I'm sitting in my hotel room right now; my beautiful goddaughter sleeping next to me. I'm trying to cry quietly so I don't wake her up. My bff hasn't eaten or had anything to drink for 4 days. It won't be much longer now.

But in my dreams? She is a ball of light. She is smiling. And she is full of love. She is the long-haired, hazel eyed, cheerleader. She is joy. And my heart knows that even as she transitions to another place, she is not so different there than when she was here.

ETA: 3 hours after writing this blog, my best friend died. I wanted to say she 'transitioned' or she 'passed' or any of those other euphemisms, but her body simply gave out. Her spirit did not.