This morning my mind rewound the last 18 years of my life in a split second.  It was as if someone had pushed the rewind button on our life – so many thoughts, images, moments and intentions flashed before me.  All day, no matter how desperately I tried, I felt this overwhelming feeling of loss, or possibly guilt.  My heart was heavy today.  My mind in pure reflection mode.  And this is where it all began …

“This morning while driving my older son to school, I innocently asked, “Wow, guys … are you excited … you’re done with school next Friday?!?!” And then … it happened! I honestly felt like someone punched me in the stomach as the reality set in that next year will be his senior year of high school. I dropped him off at school this morning and watched him walk in with tears filling my eyes. I cried the entire way home. Yes, I did. And, you can make fun of me all you want. Judge away. But, as you are … just keep in mind that if you have little kids, you too, will one day be in my place. I’m not sure which emotion overwhelms me more … regret, guilt, the fact that I’m so proud of the kind soul that he is … Or, if it just hit me like a brick to the face that I was positive that we had more time … ya know, to fulfill all of my amazing intentions as his mother … the fact that I fail him, over and over and over. I’m not really sure … which emotion is ripping me up inside today. All I know is that it’s definitely one of them … or maybe all of them. So, Facebook peeps … take it from me … do not put off until tomorrow, what you can do today. Especially when it comes to your children. They will continue to grow … they won’t wait on you to get you S@&# together. They will just keep growing up. So, please … make it all count so you don’t have this guilt-filled brick hit you upside your face … when it’s basically too late. Live. Laugh. Love … Remember to absorb every single moment and stay present. Advice from me to you … trust me on this one.”

As I’m sure you can determine, this was a post I shared on Facebook – An “ah-ha moment”, if you will.  I was in no way, shape or form, looking for the validating comments that I’m a good Mother, it was simply an honest moment.  One that I felt was worth sharing.  For many reasons, I suppose.  This post, however, sparked a few conversations at work.  Some of the conversations were sheer coincidence as some of our guests were genuinely asking about my boys, in anticipation of the school year coming to a close.  Either way, it was a conversation of plenty throughout my day.  With each conversation, a different layer was exposed.  While, of course, I already know “my story”, reflecting upon it is always eye-opening.  Questions are asked about experiences I have intentionally placed in my past.  Today, like many days, I was asked about my boys.  At length.  Specifically my older son.  My mind has been racing with thoughts.  With things to say … So, here you go … Welcome to the beginning of my story.  In all of its honesty.

My older son will be 18 in four months and twenty-five days.  He will be entering his senior year of high school in about three months.  I am proud of him.  He is one of the most kind-hearted and forgiving souls I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  I have always been proud of him.  Before I continue, you must know, that I never, ever considered him to be an “accident”, a “mistake”, or an “inconvenience”.  Never.  If anything, it has always been quite the opposite – this boy saved my life.  In many, many ways.  Over and over again.  He is and has always been one of my greatest gifts and one of my life’s greatest enhancements and inspirations.  He was my miracle from day one of my pregnancy.  The situation surrounding his creation and his life – Well, that happens to be a different story.  Through no fault of his.  I own the series of choices that created this reality.  And now, as I watch him enter another phase of his life – something inside of me is grieving.

I found out that I was pregnant on my 18^th birthday.  As much as I reference my age of being pregnant as 18, I suppose that is not completely accurate.  I was 17.  February 21, 1997.  The day that changed the rest of my life.  I was with his Father, celebrating my birthday with him.  On our way home from dinner, we stopped and picked up a pregnancy test.  I just has a feeling that something was off.  However, I was as naïve as they could come.  We were sexually active for only about a month and a half prior to this moment.  I even went to Planned Parenthood and began taking birth control pills late in 1996 because I had fallen in love and expected that intimacy would be the next step in our relationship.  It wasn’t yet.  We had only been dating since the beginning of summer (in 1996).  But, yes, I had fallen head-over-heels-in-love!  So, I figured that it would only be a matter of time until intimacy became relevant – I did the responsible thing.  The majority of my family didn’t even know I was dating him.  Those that did know, most likely suspected that this would be the LAST situation to occur.  He was the second boy that I truly cared about.  My second “real” boyfriend.  But, my first in many ways.  Including sexual activity.  It was a topic that was not spoken of as I grew up.  What I did know was that it wasn’t a good thing.  And, I was ashamed to have these feelings for him.  Yet, I did.  He made me feel something that no one else ever did.  He made me feel smart and beautiful.  Funny and special.  I trusted him.  Felt safe with him.  I knew him on a level that, I suspect, most people did not.  We were both young.  And, so in love.  Oh yes, there was one more catch – He was a different race than me.  In a time when interracial relationships were not as common as they are today – We had that one last hurdle to jump together.  Some of my family and friends were very accepting of this fact.  Others – Well, not so much.  Especially given the fact that I went to a primarily white high school.  Raised in primarily white towns.  I just never saw people for their skin color.  If anything, diversity intrigued me.  It certainly wasn’t a deterrent.  I appreciate diversity to this day.  He was half Black and half Puerto Rican.  He was my heart.  Plain and simple.

We settled in that evening.  If I’m not mistaking, we rented a movie and grabbed some snacks on the way back to his house where he lived with his Grandparents.  We were both certain that I was over-reacting and simply nervous that I may be pregnant.  To appease me, essentially, we picked up that pregnancy test.  And, I took it.  Immediately, it indicated that I was in fact pregnant.  I was scared.  No, scratch that – I was terrified.  Mostly, to tell my family.  To disappoint my family.  He was excited.  And this is where life changed for us.

I was freshly 18 years young.  He was turning 20 that summer.  Both seniors in high school.  I was living with my Mom at that time.  He was living with his Grandparents.  I had recently received an acceptance letter from Kutztown University for their Criminal Justice program and his intentions after high school were undefined at that time, however, I just knew that we would be fine.  Until I realized that we were not going to be fine.  I loved being pregnant with my son.  From the moment I heard his heartbeat for the first time, I knew that he had the kindest heart there was to have.  I promised him throughout my entire pregnancy that I would love him forever, protect him and work very hard to give him the life he deserved.  During those very lonely days of being pregnant – I continued to promise him the world.  They were the loneliest days and nights of my life.  I suppose that deep down inside, I knew that we were in some serious trouble.  My plans were falling apart.  As were all my intentions, and dreams, for my baby – for our life.  To say that I was terrified and in over my head is a severe understatement.  But, at the end of each day.  I had my baby.  He was mine and only mine in those moments.  I would watch him misshape my belly with his movements … I sung him lullabies, read him books and talked to him until I ran out of things to say.  I never knew love like this before.

I suppose that my 18-year-young self, appeared to be about 15 or 16-years-young.  In those fine moments that I wasn’t an inconvenience, if his Father and I were together and out an about, we were a young “interracial” couple – Expecting a baby.  GASP!!  I got used to the looks of judgment very quickly.  Some of those looks and judgment coming from people in my life that should have demonstrated an unwavering level of unconditional love.  I learned very quickly during this experience, those who loved me unconditionally and those who loved me on very conditional terms.  Those results haunt me to this day.  I’ll contain those details.  For now anyway.

Fast forwarding a bit – He was born October 1997.  A natural childbirth.  The moment I began to be stronger than I was before.  An experience that changed me.  He was the most perfect miracle I had ever laid my eyes on.  He. Was. Just. Perfect.  He was born at 12:10am, after a 14-hour labor … and he was worth every single second of discomfort!  I chose to keep him in my room with me – I held him and stared at him all night.  And cried until my eyes ran dry.  Tears of joy.  Tears of fear. Tears of pain. Tears of hope. Tears of heartache. Tears of love. Tears of disappointment. And tears of perseverance.  I just remember the overwhelming feeling of feeling so alone.  But, I had him.  I continued to make more promises.

My main goal in being a Mother was not to become a statistic of teen-age pregnancy.  A statistic of a teen-age Mother.  A single, teen-age Mother, to boot.  To fall into the pit of stereotypes that people seemed to so freely throw at me with their looks of judgment and assumed thoughts and opinions.  I never did find comfort in all of the judgmental looks.  Or, people asking me how old he was, only to begin calculating my age – in hopes to figure out, just how old I was when I got pregnant.  I still know that look, to this day.  So much judgment is wrapped up in those calculating eyes.

Fast forward, again.  I moved out at the age of 19.  For an entire three months, his Father and I shared an apartment.  I left.  It was an incredibly unhealthy relationship, and situation, by that point.  It was a Lifetime-movie- like parting.  It took me years to heal from our parting of ways and the incredibly heart-wrenching way he “loved” me.  With a lot of complicated moments within those years, we haven’t seen or talked to him in almost 13 years now.  I raised him, on my own, for the first seven years of his life.  Within that seven years, I worked very, very hard.  Secured my first “real” job within the banking industry, directly after having him, moved on to a cell phone company (before cell phones were popular, but they were on the rise!) – I was knee-deep in Corporate America shenanigans – Because it was the only place I could go to support myself being a 19-year-young, single Mother of a one-year-old, with no college education.  My resume’ was overwhelmingly strong.  (I say with sarcasm.)  I did manage, however, to buy a house by the time he turned three and began to put myself through Cosmetology school, shortly thereafter.  I worked full-time, went to school four nights per week, for two years.  My Grandparents watched my son in the evenings for me.  They believed in me whole-heartily and emotionally supported me – Every. Step. Of. The. Way.  Getting through school was I debt I owed to them for an eternity.  For taking care of my boy while I attempted to escape the corporate life and pursue my dream.  I ended up losing my job in Corporate America and took one hell of a hit!!  I fell into the greatest depression of my life!  Both financially and emotionally.  It was a horrible time in our life.  I thought it was going to break me.  And thought, for sure, that I would be foreclosing on my home that I had worked so hard to secure for my boy.  But, I was almost done with school.  I finished my last month as a full-time student and secured a job at a local Salon within one week of graduating.  I survived.  We survived – that roller coaster ride, at least.

My son and I always said, “We can do THIS, Right?!?!?  Why?!?!?!  Because we’re a team!!”

Through it all … I always knew that as long as I had him – Anything was possible.  Never my “mistake” ….. Always, my driving force.

It’s now after midnight … Six A.M. rolls around quickly.  To Be Continued ….

Good night and thank you for reading … Xo!

I began writing this post on Tuesday, March 31st. It is now Wednesday, May 6th. And, I just finished it. On Saturday, April 18th, it marked the 2-year anniversary of my Mammy’s passing. This Friday, May 8th, will mark the 4-year anniversary of my Pappy’s passing. They meant the world to me. My greatest fear is forgetting any detail pertaining to our time spent together. This time of year always renews my milestones in the healing process. Grief. It is a difficult emotion to sort through. It comes in so many forms, for so many reasons.

My hope, is that by reading this post, you find some peace in your grieving or healing process. While situations may vary, our hearts all feel the same emotions. Love & Gratitude … Read on and enjoy.

Today, March 31st, 2015 would have been my Grandmother’s 80th Birthday. We celebrated her last birthday two years ago, today, surrounded by family – in her home, while she was nearing the end of her three month battle with Pancreatic Cancer. Time has not made the loss of her any easier. If anything, I believe I miss her more now than ever. While I understand the circle of life – her life was cut short. She was a healthy, vibrant and active woman. Until she wasn’t. Perhaps I blame cancer. Yes – I definitely blame cancer for stripping our family of a wonderful, strong woman. And, for stripping me of the most unconditional love I’ve ever received. For stripping me of the greatest friendship I’ve ever known. Yet, in the end – It’s not about me at all. It’s about her – and it has been all along. When Mammy was amidst the depths of her illness – I begged my Pappy, who passed away just about 2 years prior, to come and take her with him. To help heal her. To tell her that it was okay – to just let go. To be at peace – with him. Those moments haunt me to this day. Those moments brought me to my knees in pain – And unbearable heartache. I always knew that losing her would be one of my darkest days. And, yes, indeed – the darkest moments of my life were sitting beside her, her hand in mine – feeling the warmth escape her body as she took some of her last breaths. I felt her body temperature decrease as I said my final words to her – as I spoke my permission for her to let go. To reunite with the love of her life. Yes – one of my darkest moments.

I assured her, however, in those final moments – that we would be okay. That we would miss her, and forever love her, but we would be okay. Even though, the truth remains – that I will never be okay with losing her. And, will never be okay with the way that we lost her. At least, not yet. I simply cannot shake the images of our last moments together. More so, however, I cannot shake the overwhelming feeling that Mammy deserved so much more. She deserved peace, not pain. Not suffering. I also believed that she deserved more time. As did we.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve engaged in a couple of conversations about grief. About the grieving process. And, how do we move forward after loving someone so intensely that their loss leaves a vacancy in our lives, hearts and souls? I can only speak from my point of view – from my heart and my truth. In one conversation, we were speaking of our “outlets” for healing. I was asked what my outlet is. And, my answer was writing. Writing has always been a source of healing. For whatever the reason healing was needed throughout my life – my “go-to” has always been writing. I told her about my blog. And admitted that I don’t take nearly the time my spirit feels necessary to write – and to heal. Why is that?? We have the tools, the resources, our answer – And yet – we don’t take the time to do what may be most beneficial to our healing?!?! And to ourselves. Our hearts. Spirits. Quite possibly – by sharing – we may also inspire the healing of another heart. Which brings me to my next point …

The morning my Mammy told me that she received her test results, and that she was diagnosed with cancer, I just happened to have a cancellation at work. Actually two. Back to back – which opened up about three hours of my morning. On an average day, I would have been less than excited about this reality. Possibly even annoyed. This particular day, however – It was a miracle. Normally, I would have stayed at work, sorting through my endless sea of paperwork, or – tackled a couple of items off of my “to-do” list that grows faster than I can possibly manage. I would have simply worked on something else. But, not that day. I left work that day, stopped for lunch – for two – and drove to my Mammy’s house, where she was sitting alone – watching a morning news show. When I got there, I hugged her so tight – in hopes to cure her by my love! I remember sitting next to her and the first sentence that came out of my mouth – after “I love you so much – YOU are my very best friend.” – was, “Is there anything that you want to do? Anywhere you want to go?” She said, “No.” I found so much satisfaction in this, somehow. She knew that her diagnosis wasn’t going to allow her much more time – I suppose her answer offered a sense of relief that she had taken the time to LIVE her life.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my life. About how quickly times passes. This post is the perfect example of this. I started this post over one month ago and am now taking the time to complete my thoughts and share them with you. I began this blog with intentions of sharing layers of my story with you on a weekly basis – my last post was in November! Time and I simply do not have a healthy relationship. It’s as simple as that.

I’m now 36. My baby boy turned 9 this winter and my first baby boy will be turning 18 this year! This feels incredibly surreal to me. I didn’t expect time to pass so quickly. Sometimes I feel as though I’m running out of time. With that being said, this time of year, reflecting on my Grandparents’ deaths and their lives, tends to open the flood gates to my evaluation of my own life. My boys. My husband. Our life. My family. My intentions. Dreams. Purpose. With so many thoughts flooding in, I thought the best place to start is here. With you. Sharing my writing and renewing my commitment to take time out of my very busy day to nurture my own healing. I suppose as the waves of time remove years out from under me – I understand how vital this concept is to living my life. I hope you will do the same – take a few minutes out of your busy schedule to nurture your spirit. Your soul. Your heart. And to live.

I have a running list of topics to write about. To share with you. It’s time. Perhaps by putting it out here, it makes me feel more accountable to follow through. I hope you will continue to follow me on this journey as it is truly a pleasure to share it with you. With love and gratitude, always.

It’s been awhile since my last post.  But, my heart has not stopped singing it’s song.  This one, I dedicate to my Mammy & Pappy.  Spreading my wings has been a challenge since losing them.  Please take the time to hug the ones you love, and above all, tell them how you feel. Today. Tomorrow. Always.  Love to all.  I hope this poem, “Fly Baby Fly” speaks to your heart and soul.

“Fly Baby Fly”

They said,

Spread your wings, now baby –

Fly baby fly.

I know the road is winding,

I know the road looks dark,

And, I know the road feels lonely,

But, it was time for us to part.

Now, the moment has come,

My darling,

To spread your wings and fly.

I know your heart is broken,

And I know your soul feels lost,

But, please hear me, baby,

My love will always guide you,

Memories are now your home.

Now, hold my hand, my darling,

And know this to be true,

Death may have taken

My body,

But my heart beats on

In you.

You are not alone.

Promise this, my child,

To take the wings I gave you,

And, fly baby fly.

My love will continue to guide you,

My soul will never die.

Wrap my angel wings

Around you,

Embark upon your journey,

I’ll take your hand in mine,

And I’ll remain right here

By your side.

My love will always guide you.

I know the road looks lonely,

I know the road looks dark,

I know the road is winding,

And it looks so very long.

My love will always guide you,

My hand is for you to hold,

The wings I gave you,

Strong.

Now promise me, my darling,

That fear will not confine you,

That you will take these wings

And fly.

Fly away, my darling,

Allow your wings to guide you,

To find the place where you belong.

I know your heart is breaking,

I know your soul is lost.

But, what I know for certain,

Is that my love for you lives on.

The wings I’m now wearing,

Will carry you along.

When life leaves you weary,

Your legs can walk no more,

Just take the wings I gave you

And fly, baby fly.

Please don’t allow the pain

To consume you,

Don’t let life pass you by.

Hold your head up, my darling,

And – Fly Baby Fly.

My heart lives on within you,

Don’t let life pass you by.

My love will always guide you,

It’s your time now

To fly.

Yes, spread your wings, my darling,

And hold your head up high.

Follow my gentle whispers,

And walk the winding road.

Even if it looks too lonely,

Or it looks too dark

To carry on.

I gave you those wings, my darling,

They are strong,

And they’ll guide your heart home.

So, spread your wings, my child,

And fly.

Yes, fly baby fly.

Your life is worth living,

Please don’t let it pass you by.

Wrap my wings around you,

When you need a guiding light.

But, my child, you must hear me,

Your time is now –

To spread the wings I gave you,

And fly,

Baby,

Fly.

One evening, while on vacation this Summer, my youngest son and I went for a walk on the beach.

Just the two of us.

We walked along the beach as the sun was setting, and on occasion, he would run a few feet in front of me or beside me. It was the perfect dusk lighting when bodies are outlined by the sunset. I watched his little silhouette run, dance, jump and return to my side. There was a stillness that hushed over the water, the air and even the colors in the sky. People almost appeared to be in slow motion, even as they were taking advantage of the evening air – taking part in a jog or a game of volleyball. Everyone was still visible – Just barely. The sounds of couples, children playing and nature were surrounding us, yet – A pure sense of serenity began to introduce itself to us.

We walked. We stopped. We even retraced our steps in certain moments. We were simply present. With no plan. With nowhere in particular to go. With no reservations. No one was waiting for us. We had no phones, no technology, no toys, no shovels, no books, no schedules, no money, and no worries.

We had each other – And that was more than enough.

Everything that surrounded us was so beautiful and peaceful. Simplicity and nature intertwined into one of their finest moments.

The sunset, the waves, the seashells, the ocean breeze – All embracing us as we walked along the shoreline.

It was so fulfilling to watch my son as he enjoyed everything that surrounded us, with intense enthusiasm and with complete gratitude. We talked, laughed, hunted seashells and absorbed every moment of our walk together. He even held my hand on the way back to the condo.

At one point, we were so far from home. We looked back on how far we had gone and realized that we must have gotten carried away in the calm of the ocean – in our evening escape.

I wish we could’ve stayed in that moment forever. A moment to “bottle-up” and never let go of. The true moments I live for & that make my heart most genuinely fulfilled.

I’m so grateful to have had that much needed time with my boy. To have made that new memory with him.

It was one of life’s gentle reminders to be present – To stop. To Absorb. And to not take these simple experiences for granted.

A loving reminder of what truly matters – In a moment that I needed to recognize it the most.

This was written about 10 years ago ~ On November 12, 2004.  Hard to believe because I remember this moment so vividly ..

I often wonder

If you’ve found the calm

Within your storm.

If you’ve found the warmth

In a breath.

If you’ve held the hand

Of the one you love,

Or if you’ve traded it all in

For a brush with death.

Would it be crazy

To tell you that I miss you.

To tell you now …

That I’ll always love you.

So often I wonder …

Why my love was never

Enough?

I’ve endured your words

And blatant disregard

For all I was

And all we could’ve become.

So now I sit,

And wonder why …

Why we were never

Important enough?

For you to love us …

Is all I asked.

Instead, you traded it

All away …

To death.

Death of who you were,

And all I believed

You would become.

I loved you so much …

But, instead, you choose

To bury my love.

Was I not what you

Thought me to be?

Please tell me …

Did you not hear my

Heart bleed?

Through those concrete floors

And glass walls …

Were you not able to see

My eyes

Or feel my love?

Love left me broken. Again.

I was betrayed. I was heartbroken.

It happened again.

Everything was falling down around me.

The aching in my heart was absolutely unbearable.

I was angry. Incredibly angry.

The light in my eyes went out – Long ago.

I felt worthless. I felt unattractive. I felt like a fool.

So many empty promises filled the air that was swirling around me.

The ocean tide wouldn’t stop knocking me around.

I was barely breathing. I couldn’t quite come up for air.

On one side, my hero, the man that I loved so deeply was dying. I just didn’t know how to catch my breath.

On the other side, my husband, was distant and our vows were as broken as my spirit.

And then, there was my dream. My business. It was fragile and it was crumbling.

Everywhere I looked, failure was swallowing me alive. Heartache was consuming each and every breath. I was alone. Scared. And, desperate for a miracle. A new lesson in love.

After my Grandfather passed away – My time, outside of work, was devoted to my Grandmother. My Mammy. My boys and I spent each weekend with her. And we even extended our “weekends” out through Mondays, even Tuesday mornings, if we could – It was too difficult to leave her alone. I wasn’t sure how she would settle into her grief. She just lost the love of her life.

My older son would periodically stay with her, just the two of them – And all of the sudden, I was receiving pictures of dogs that were in need of adoption. Oh boy – Mammy and my son joined forces to guilt me into getting a D-O-G!!! NOOOOOOOWAY!!! How would I take care of another living, breathing soul?!?! I was barely keeping my S@%T together as it was! Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous!

Until ….

Good ol’ Facebook. Yes, in the precise moment Mammy was insisting that my boys needed a dog. That I needed a dog. That a dog would offer us companionship that was invaluable – She was so incredibly persistent. I didn’t want a dog. I didn’t want a dog in my house. I had no time to train a dog. No time to clean up after a dog. I didn’t even have any love or energy in my heart to offer a dog. This was a horrible idea. The conversation was off-limits. My son was getting his hopes up – Yes, they continued to look. They were in Cahoots! They were fiercely in Cahoots! Oh boy. I never said No to her. For how long could I possibly dance around the fact that this was just not going to happen? I tried. And tried. And here we come, back to Facebook – I see a photo of a dog that was in need of adoption. A pit bull. A red-nosed pit bull. What?? No way! But, then – I went back to that dog. Back to the picture. And, in that moment – Something came over me. The eyes filled with so much soul – Spoke to my heart.

I contacted the girl (who happens to be one of our massage therapists and a friend of mine) that posted the picture of this precious, sweet soul. As my luck would have it, that dog was already adopted by the time I talked myself into inquiring. However, she notified me that there were two other dogs at the shelter that fit the same description and demeanor of the dog that began to open up my heart, once again.

Mammy, my boys and I made plans to visit the two dogs that weekend at the shelter. As soon as we got out of the car, I knew our life was about to change. I felt this overwhelming feeling of love. And how wonderful that we could rescue one of these precious, gentle souls. We met with both dogs briefly that day. I knew our path was being paved in the right direction. Mammy – of course, she agreed. She gave me a look of satisfaction as we got back into the car.

The next day, my little Sister (an avid animal lover), my boys and I returned to the shelter. When we pulled up, one of the dogs from the previous day ran up to my vehicle. He sat at the back, looking up at us – As if to ask, “When can we go home?” I don’t even know how it was possible that he knew it was us. But, he did. He knew where he belonged. And, so did I. We met with both dogs, played with them in the outdoor area and I wish we could’ve taken both of them. We did, however, have to make a decision. There was a younger female and a slightly older male. The female had been at the shelter a short period of time. While the male had spent the last two years in the shelter.

We chose the male dog. Not only was his adoption incredibly overdue – But, there was something so powerful about him that captured my heart. He was gentle with my boys. And – he radiated gratitude and love.

We were able to bring him home that next week. He has completely changed our lives by being part of our family.

Mammy loved him. He even assisted my older son and I on our weekend trips to her house, to care for her, after she had been diagnosed with cancer. He loved her. And, he knew. Just as she knew, that I was about to lose my very best friend. He knew, just as she knew, that the boys and I were going to need some very big shoes filled. Perhaps that is why she kept telling us, “You need to find a big-footed dog!”? I’m not sure, but I am positive that I was offered my new best friend, for a very specific reason.

He is the most unexpected place I would’ve ever thought of finding love.

He offers a love that is gentle and kind.

He never judges me.

He is forgiving – Almost to a fault.

His eyes are honest and genuine.

He is always overwhelmed with joy – each and every time I walk within his sight.

He knows when my heart is broken.

He even attempts to heal it.

He has taught me patience.

He has taught me lessons beyond my imagination.

He is loyal.

His eyes are full of soul, love and gratitude.

It is the kind of love that encourages me to be a better person.

The kind of love that begins to heal our hearts – And whispers that it’s okay to love again.

I know that he has a story.

Just as he knows I have mine.

So often, I watch him and as I read his “Live, Love, Rescue” collar – I am humbled by his loving nature. My gratitude for his love is endless.

I watch him in awe and wonder – How can our two souls be so connected? How is it that our love is so unconditional and genuine?

He knows that we rescued him.

And – I know, that by society’s standards – We rescued him.

However, the truth is – He rescued me. He rescued us.

It has been here, in this unexpected place, that I have found purpose and a renewed faith in love.

Today is my Grandfather’s Birthday – He would’ve turned 85. He passed away three and a half years ago. Our family referred to him as Pappy and my Grandmother, as Mammy.

I’m not sure how to express appropriately, in words, how much they influenced my life. How much love we shared. And – How deeply I miss them.

I like to think that they are around me. Still.

But, I don’t actually know that for sure. I only hold onto the hope that this is the case. That this is our reality.

I know. This is the circle of life. Right? Only, I don’t think I’m dealing with it as well as I should be. I’m not really sure how to deal with the loss of them. Or, how to appropriately fill the void that has been left inside my heart.

I suppose that when we lose someone that means so much to us, we begin to see their influence in everything we do, people we encounter throughout our day and even within the choices that we make.

So often, I feel their presence. I believe that they find ways to show me that they are still here.

I like to think that we honor them within our positive choices. And that they guide us through our – well – not so good choices. I like to think that our souls remain connected and that their unconditional love is still present in my life.

But, the truth is – That life without them lacks something. Something big. Something that nothing else can truly offer. Something that I loved so deeply. Appreciated so intensely. And, something that I will never have again.

I’m trying. Trying so desperately to continue on a path that they wanted for me. For my boys.

But, sometimes, if I’m being completely honest – I don’t know what that is anymore. I’m tired. No, actually – I’m beyond exhausted. Emotionally exhausted.

Maybe it is all part of healing. Or part of the grieving process. I really don’t know.

Today, I have been thinking. A lot. About Pappy. About Mammy. About life. About death. And about everything that occurs in between.

My Pappy – He sure was a good man. My most loyal cheerleader and one of my best friends. He radiated moral character – Integrity, honesty, loyalty – And was the epitome of a dedicated family man. He was fair, was never quick to judge and he was forgiving beyond measure.

Mammy always said that he was a charming young man. Chivalrous. And, very handsome. There were so many reasons for her falling in love with him. Looking back on their pictures, he almost resembled James Dean. He looked like and had an air about him – of a movie star. So did she, actually. They shared a love story that melted my heart throughout my entire lifetime.

He looked at her with so much love. And gratitude. Loyalty and commitment. I loved the way he watched her. How he would smile at her with gentleness and appreciation. He even wrote her poetry. I imagine that he was much more romantic than we ever were told. And that they were willing to share.

Everyone deserves a love like that.

Everyone deserves to have someone look at them with the same gentle, loving eyes.

My fear – is that I’ll begin to forget. Forget the moments we shared. Forget the many conversations we had and wisdom he so freely offered. Forget what Mammy told me about him. The things that he would’ve never spoken of. He was a modest man. And humble. So much so, that he refused to have services once he passed away.

About a week before he passed away, I sat by his bedside and he told me, “If people want to honor me, they should’ve done so while I was living. The time to honor someone is not after they die.”

Wow. How could I possibly argue with that? I couldn’t. It definitely stuck with me, that’s for sure.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. It’s a concept that I believe to be a bit perplexing, actually. How after someone passes away, people come out of the woodwork claiming their right to a relationship with the deceased.

People can recreate memories, the way they want them to be. Not always as they actually were. People can redefine what that person meant to them. The impact they had. And visa-versa.

Stories can be rewritten to help ease guilt. And selfishness, even. People often attempt to right their wrongs. Take back words. Smooth the rough edges. Create the visits that they never actually took the time for.

All in hopes to rewrite their story. To smooth out the rough patches and any wrong-doings.

When I was little, Mammy and I were driving by a cemetery – I remember seeing a look upon her face that I will never forget. She got quiet. She looked so sad. In retrospect, I recognize those eyes. That distant and empty look in her eyes.

I remember asking her what was wrong as we drove past. She explained that her Mother was buried there. She missed her. Intensely. She passed away far too young. It was in that moment that she instilled, “Don’t take the people you love for granted. You never know if you will have them tomorrow.”

She explained to me that one day, I will lose her. And Pappy.

I disagreed. They were supposed to out-live me, somehow. She laughed. I didn’t. And we agreed to disagree.

She strongly urged me to pay attention to what she had to say. She encouraged me to never speak harshly to those I love. To speak to them as if it were my last words. She told me that she never spoke to her Mother with disrespect and always took the time to visit her and her Daddy. She stressed the importance – And explained how grateful she was, to not be carrying the guilt so many face after their loved ones pass on.

I never forgot that. I still value her advice, to this day. Perhaps even more now than ever.

Days before Pappy passed away, I was fortunate enough to have one last conversation with him. He made me promise him these three things:

1. To be the best Momma possible to my boys.
2. To help take care of Mammy for him.
3. To never, ever give up.

I miss him so deeply. I miss them both more than imaginable. I always knew that these moments would be the darkest of my life. They were my foundation. My greatest source of unconditional love. My mentors and my best friends. They believed in me far more than I ever believed in myself.

It’s difficult to take one step at a time, in a forward direction, when nothing looks familiar anymore.

My sanctuary no longer exists. Everything changed. Just. Like. That.

While I remain eternally grateful for the many years of love and stability we did have – I find myself wishing for one more moment. One more conversation. One more hug. And one more moment to tell them how much I loved them. How deeply they have influenced my life.

Selfishly – I want them to come back.

Today, in honor of my Pappy’s birthday, I filled my bird feeders in hopes that the cardinals will continue to visit us. And, I planted yellow mums in honor of Mammy.

I know, whole-heartily, that they would not want me in this place. Feeling sad and empty. Especially not today.

I know that their greatest wish is for me to spread my wings – And keep my promises I made to Pappy.

I know this to be true – because they taught me, from a very young age, that the best way to honor those we love is to live our best life.

To carry those we love in our hearts. Always. And to recognize the gentle whispers of their everlasting presence in our lives – And in our souls.

And to always walk in gratitude – Offering to others, what has so graciously been offered to us.

Written back on November 7, 2011 … When my legs were growing weak …

“I suppose we’ve all walked the fine line.  Balancing it all, not faultering in one direction or another.  Perhaps it’s next to impossible.  Or, perhaps it’s the test life offers us … to find our path that leads us to our purpose?  When do we determine the sacrifice is too intense, the price too high?  The need and desire to provide … realizing that your love, passion, time and your heart are the most precious gifts you have to offer.  As I sit here, on this line which connects one life to another, I find myself contemplating my price.”

A little something I wrote back in 2011 – On March 23rd, to be exact …

“Often times, we find our reflection in unexpected places.  We find our hearts travel to unknown territory, but somehow … our heart chooses to stay.  Within that unknown place.  Sometimes, it costs us a tragic loss, or the threat of one … to prioritize.  To reach within .. so deeply within … that our discoveries are unexpected.  Even to us.  Have you ever ran the risk of losing yourself?  To the hand of another?  To the emotion of another?  With the intent to save another … from themselves?  I have.  It usually ends in the same fashion as how it began.  Only, in the end … the realization of all our relationships we’ve tarnished, all the time that has passed, and all the self-respect we have lost … in that process.  Of saving them, instead of ourselves.  Love is sometimes so forbidden and almost cynical, at times.  As if to present itself to you … and then to ask for your soul in exchange.  I’ve come to the realization that I may never know the love that others speak of so fondly.  That in this lifetime – The opportunity may not arise.  All I know is how deeply I miss you.  How deeply I miss the sunlight dancing across your face …”

This poem was written on July 19, 2007 … “Dare I Ask?”

Dare I ask to hold your hand

And walk you through your sorrow?

How is it that we ended

Up here …

Hoping for a new tomorrow.

My tears get lost within

Your haste

Within the poison I refuse

To taste.

Dare I ask to hold you hand

And help you to heal your heart?

How is it that we ended

Up here ..

Blaming each other for falling apart.

My words get shattered within

Your haste

Within the poison I refuse

To taste.

Dare I ask to hold your hand

And share with you my dreams?

How is it that we ended

Up here ….

Filling the air with violent screams.

My heart gets torn,

And a little tethered within

Your haste

Within the poison I refuse

To taste.

Dare I ask to hold your hand

And lead us to our desires?

How is it that we ended

Up here ….

Dodging the raging fire.

My soul gets lost within

Your haste

Within the poison I refuse

To taste.