On Christmas Eve

On Christmas eve I sit alone at the back of a church. Presents are wrapped, cooking is done, stockings are waiting. I could feel sorry for myself. It is December after all.  My son is still dead. I have spent most of the day by myself. 

Next to me sits a little old lady with her ginormous hand bag and her perfectly coiffed hair. She leans over close like she is going to tell me a secret. I lean in to meet her. She doesn't whisper, but says it right out loud "You know, I think I miss people." 

As we wait for the clock to tick over to seven o'clock and the minister to come to the pulpit, she shares more. Roy died 12 years ago from cancer and she has been on her own since. Her son lives across the street but he is busy with his family. She has a daughter,  but the daughter has no family. They had their Christmas together yesterday. She has a beautiful 12 year old great grand daughter that she doesn't get to see, but she keeps her mouth shut and doesn't make waves. The doctor has been bugging her to get out more, but she just doesn't have it in her, since Roy died. She's 88, she tells me and there are so many things she still wants to do, but her body doesn't cooperate anymore. And that makes her mad. 

The service starts, Christmas hymns and Bible readings. I watch her surreptitiously take her teeth out and wrap them in a tissue before she tucks them safely in her hand bag. Minister Katie is in her early 30s and has a toddler I've been told. It was Katie that picked up my elderly pew mate and brought her to church. 

I let the familiar Bible passages wash over me. Mary and Joseph. A baby wrapped in cloths and placed in a manager. Shepherds and wise men. Gifts of gold, myrrh and frankincense. I sing along. Hark, the herald angels sing. Joy to the world. Silent night,  holy night. And all the while my brain is churning with numbers. When I am 88, my son will be 66, my daughter will be 54. When I am 88, my new grand baby will be 39. I expect he will have children on his own. I could be a great grandmother. 

I can't even fathom 88. Will I be alone and missing people? Right now there are so many demands pulling at me. Presents to buy and wrap. Meals to prep. Traditions to uphold. My house is full of people and pets.  I long to have a little bit of down time. When the nest is empty and the chicks have flown, will I miss the busy? Will I long for voices? Will someone bring me to church so I can chatter with a stranger? 

From young Katie with her little one, to my new, very old friend, with her great grandchildren, I sit somewhere in between. I think about Mary, young,  with her precious baby, and then older with a deceased son, and then finally aged and alone. We are in good company, Katie, myself and my new old friend. And in a candle lit church with some seriously off key voices, I find I am grateful this year. 

Grateful for my living children. Grateful for a new grandbaby. Grateful for dogs and cats and guinea pigs. Grateful for the workout that started my day. Grateful for a fridge full of food prepped for Christmas. Grateful for heat and running water and the wonders of technology that keep us connected to those we love. Grateful for a car that runs. Grateful for arguments and laughter. Grateful for the boy that I miss so much and the friend that eats cake with me on his death day. 

On Christmas eve I sit at the back of the church. I am not alone and I am grateful. 

Grief is a Quiet Gentle Thing

Grief is a quiet, gentle thing this year. It flutters and flaps around inside my head like a bird trapped in a house, beating its wings against the windows, trying to escape.  I feel it. 

My eyes leak for no reason. Of course the reason is that my boy is dead. Dead but not gone, held forever close in my heart. 

I feel him near. I talk to him. He has not left. 

At first I counted Mondays. One week without him, then two, three four. After a while I began to count months without him, checking them off every time the 18th rolled around. One month, then two, three, four. Now I count in years. 

The birthday song plays in my head. Are you one? Are you two? Are you three? I stop at six. Six birthdays without him. Six years gone.

 Today we celebrate his 29th birthday. My boy would be growing up, if he were here. I have planned a whole birthday party for him. I think he would be delighted. 

I wake, excited to make his cake. He's going to love it. Four layers I think, red velvet with fluffy white frosting. I bought Toaster Studels for breakfast. I'll eat them with him today. This evening we'll take him out for dinner. I made sure his brother took the day off. Later we will try to escape THE DRAGON'S CAVE! (dun, dun, dun) He always loved dragons

A part of me feels like maybe I've finally tipped over the edge and lost my grip on sanity. I have planned a day of fun events for a boy who is dead. I bought his favourite breakfast. I will make his cake. Wherever he is, does he know? Does he appreciate it? Does he feel loved? Is it possible I am trying to make up for the ways I failed him in life? Does he forgive me? Or have I just gone crazy with a gentle quiet grief?

Either way, it is where I am today. The trapped bird that is my grief throws itself at the windows in my mind. Sometimes I want to scream. Sometimes I want to hide under my desk at work. Sometimes I want to hurl abuse at people who tell me to enjoy my days off. Don't they understand?  I know they don't, they don't even know he once existed. 

Wait! There are people in the world, in my world, that have never heard Zac's name. I want to scream it from the rooftops. ZAC! My first born son, my boy, my buddy. He took a part of my heart with him when he died. But the world keeps turning and my life keeps moving and new people come who have no idea that my heart is broken. That feels deeply wrong. Like I have failed him. Perhaps I need my own scarlet letter, something to brand me as the woman who lost a child.  Would people ask me about him? Or would they turn away to avoid my grief? 

Anyways, the screaming in my head continues.  I don't curl up under my desk. And when my eyes leak for no reason clients are kind enough to suggest the maybe I have allergies. Yes, that must be it. I get out of bed. I do my job. Today I will make cake. Life goes on, but not without him. He is held close. I wear his angel wings on a necklace around my neck. I do not forget. 

Today I celebrate the boy who made me a mom. 

Heartbreak, A Million Times Over

I lost you that Monday night in a snow storm six years ago. Loss of control. A sudden impact. Death. 

I lost you that night when Pete walked onto our porch and into our home. He was our neighbour. He was our fire chief. That night he brought death into our home. 

I lost you the next morning when I woke and you weren't there. Sunrise. The world kept turning even though my heart was broken. 

I lost you again when I stood with your best friend and my best friend at the funeral home. Eyes closed, draped in a green blanket, nothing left but the body you used to wear. 

I lost you that Friday evening when our loved ones gathered to celebrate you. Stories and prayers and laughter and snacks. And so many hugs. 

I lost you again the day I walked through the grocery store and stared at the peanut butter frosting you requested on your last birthday cake. 

I lost you again when I drove by the sign on the side of the road that says "115 traffic deaths this year in NH. One is too many." 

I lost you again when your sister cleaned the closet and pulled your boots out and left them in the middle of the kitchen. What do we do with them? Put them back in the closet because I'm not ready to let go. 

I lost you again when I drove by the death spot and I saw all the red debris from your car poking out of the melting snow. 

.

I lost you again when I went to the death spot to clean up the debris. My friends driving by stopped to help. I kicked a hubcap frozen in the snow and cried. 

I lost you again when I listened to one of your best friend's little brother talking to his friends. Your tone, your expressions, coming out of someone else's mouth. Not you. 

I lost you again when I made your favourite pulled pork dinner for your birthday and you weren't there to eat it. 

I lost you again when I ate birthday cake on the morning of the death day, just like you did. One year, and then two and then three and four. 

I lost you again when I refused to eat birthday cake on the morning of the death day. Year five. Maybe if I don't eat cake it will have all been a bad dream. But I didn't wake up. 

I lost you again when your brother got married and you weren't there. A smiling face in a frame does not make up for your loss. 

I lost you again when I moved out of the last house we shared. I'll never again hear your heavy tread going up the stairs late at night. I feel like I betrayed you by leaving. 

I lost you again the day I found your hair brush. Walking around hugging it. You, your DNA lives on in that hair brush. I saved it. Still. 

I lost you again the day a teenage boy crashed his car in front of me in a snow storm. You, not you, spinning out of control. 

I lost you again and again and again. Every time I see Pete. Every time I drive by a car accident with flashing emergency lights. Every time there is a snow storm. Every birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas. Every family picture. There is this gaping hole, an aching wound that doesn't heal. 

I was looking at old pictures and there we were, my sister and I with our first born babies. Wouldn't it be nice to recreate that photo I thought. And then it hit me and took my breath away.  I lost you, again. 

It does not get easier. 

I did not just lose you that Monday night. I have lost you on hundreds of days in millions of ways. 

I Tasted All the Fucking Apples

Sometimes when my heart is breaking and I just want the hurt to stop I consider... 

....quitting.

....shutting down.

....giving up.

....going away.  

Do you think that would make the hurt stop? 

But then I remember that life will break me...

....shatter me.

....crush my dreams.

....destroy my hope. 

....crack my heart wide open. 

Being alone won't fix that.  Solitude will leave me yearning...

....aching for love.

....longing for company. 

....craving a touch.

....pining for you.

And so I love deeply...

....and freely. 

....with passion. 

....body and soul.

....giving my whole heart.

I risk everything...

....trusting.

....being vulnerable.

....sharing myself.

....facing rejection.

This love I have swallows me whole... 

....leaving me lost.

....feeling exposed.

....alone with my fears.

....facing my wounds.

Inevitably heartache comes again and again and again...

....when I am betrayed.

....when the storms of life hit.

....when hurt snatches the breath from my body.

....when I am left alone in the dark of the night.

It is there, alone in the dark, with tears on my face, I remember the apples. 

I tasted all the fucking apples...

....oh the sweetness.

...the juice dripping off my chin. 

....the crunch of each bite.

....right down to the core. 

I ate apples with abandon. 

I went on adventures. I swam naked in the ocean under the stars. I climbed mountains and spun in circles with my arms stretched out wide. I held babies moments after they were born. I held the hand of the dying. I danced under disco lights. I rescued baby turtles and collected pretty rocks. 

I loved and loved and loved some more. I loved without restraint, young and old,  strangers became friends, became beloved. I was not afraid to eat all the apples. Truly,  I tasted as many as I could. That has to be enough. 

"Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and being alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You have to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes too near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could."

~Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum

It Was Always You

It was always you I'd call if I was crying. Sometimes you'd offer comfort. Sometimes you'd make me laugh. Sometimes you'd be frustrated with me. My tears always upset you.

It was always you I'd call when something broke. Leaky faucets, frozen pipes, cars that don't start. You would come. Every time. Right away. 

It was always you I'd call when I needed to make up my mind about something. Should I go to college? Should I take the job? You'd laugh and shake your head and tell me that no matter what choice I made, you knew I could do it. 

It was always you I'd call when something exciting happened. I'm buying a house! I got a new dog! I'm gonna be a grandma! You were always excited for me. 

It was always you who believed in me. I want to build a yoga studio. I want to open my own business. I want to go to grad school. You did everything you could to help. So you built and you cooked dinner and you did laundry. 

It was always you who would indulge me. I want new earrings. I want new boots. I want to fly away to somewhere exotic. You never told me to be practical. You never said no.

Except when I told you I wanted solid wood doors in my yoga studio. You said no, they cost too much. 

It was always you who showed up. Every Christmas concert. Every baseball game. Every birthday dinner. Not just for me, but you were there for my kids, even when you didn't have to be. 

When I shattered dishes, you cleaned them up. 

When I burned dinner, you told me you like it crispy.

When I left my socks on the floor, you grumbled a little, and picked them up. 

When I got stuck in the snow, you came and shoveled me out. 

When we went out for dinner, you let me eat off your plate. 

It was always you.

Taking care of me. 

Encouraging me. 

Loving me. 

 My person. 

Sing Me a Lullabye

In the dark of the night when I can't sleep, hold me in your arms and sing me a lullaby. 

When my heart is breaking and I feel like I can't go on, sing me a song of comfort. 

When I'm feeling discouraged and all seems lost, sing me a song of hope.  

When I'm drowning in grief and the world seems gray, sing me a song of solace. 

When I've forgotten who I am and I don't believe in myself, sing me a song of reminiscence. 

When I am finding my way and conquering obstacles, sing me a song of strength. 

When I am overcome with joy, laugh with me and sing me a song of exultation. 

When I am falling in love and the world shines bright sing me a song of delight.  

Tell Me

I used to need reassurance. 

Say the words I so desperately need to hear. 

Tell me I am loved. 

Tell me I am beautiful.

Tell me you pick me. 

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. 

Without your words I am nothing. Broken and bleeding. Begging for reassurance. 

Tell me I am doing the right thing. 

Tell me I am good enough. 

Tell me I am worthy.

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. 

Without your words I am lost in the dark. Looking for purpose. Looking for peace. Give me reassurance. 

Tell me you see me. 

Tell me you hear me. 

Tell me I have value. 

Oh please tell me. Tell me. Tell me. 

I hear your words and they mean nothing. Repetitive reassurance.  Over and over. Still not enough. 

Tell me. Tell me. Tell me. 

I used to blame you. 

Why couldn't you say the words I needed to hear in the way I needed to hear them?

Everything changed when I decided to choose myself. 

I am loved. 

I am beautiful. 

I pick me. 

I am. I am. I am.

I do not need your words. I am whole and healed on my own. 

I am doing my best.

I am enough.

I am worthy. 

I am. I am. I am. 

I sit in the light. I have purpose. I am at peace.

 

I listen to my inner wisdom. 

I speak my truth.

I value myself. 

I am. I am. I am. 

I don't need your reassurance anymore. I don't blame you anymore. For now I am whole. 

These Three, My Strength, My Solace, My Joy

Time and again my voice rends the silence. A scream pulled out of me. A name wailed in distress. 

It doesn't matter which one I call. Doesn't matter which one is home. They hear me and they come running. They hear me and they wrap their arms around me. They hear me and they hold me without question, while I sob. 

Time and again my voice stays silent. Tears streak down my cheeks. Nothing said. No words. 

It doesn't matter which one finds me. Doesn't matter who is the first to see me. They reach for me. They lean against me. They wrap their arms around me and hold me without question, while I sob.

Time and again these three have held me up. They have offered comfort. They have held me close. 

Time and again they have been with me while I grieve. Sometimes they know why I cry. Other times they are clueless. Every time they have offered unconditional love and support.

These three were children when our world was torn apart. Grief. Trauma. Loss. Ever since these three have been by my side. My strength, my solace, my joy. 

I am grateful for them. 

I Fell in Love Today

I fell in love with you today, when I looked in the mirror. 

It always happens that way.  

I see me and I love me. 

It makes it easier to love you. 

I fell in love with you today, when I realized that I am enough, just as I am. 

I don't need to be anything, do anything, change anything. 
It makes it easier to accept you. 

I fell in love with you today, when I forgave myself.  

I am divinely human. 

I mess up. I hurt people. I have before and I will again. 

It makes it easier to forgive you. 

I fell in love with you today, when I was gentle with myself. 

I was kind to me, spoke gently.

I let myself rest when I needed to.  
It makes it easier to be gentle with you. 

I fell in love with you today, when I laughed at myself. 

I sang and danced and played. 

For a moment, I didn't take myself so seriously. 
It makes it easier to laugh with you. 

I fell in love with you today, when I was patient with myself. 

I don't need to get it all right. 

I don't need to know all the answers. 

I am allowed to take my time. 

It makes it easier to be patient with you. 

I fell in love with you today. 
I fell in love with life today. 
But mostly, I fell in love with me today. 

Looking Back at Me

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I hate her, that girl looking back at me. She is broken and wounded. She so desperately wants to be loved. She is willing to play small, to sacrifice herself, sacrifice truth, sacrifice integrity. 

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I love her, that girl looking back at me. She is a super hero, bold and brave and beautiful. She wields her intellect like a light saber, slicing through the mundane, looking for meaning. 

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I feel so much compassion for that girl looking back at me. She tries so hard. In spite of every setback, every loss, every hurt, she shows up with an open heart, ready to forgive and love again. 

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I feel so much admiration for that girl looking back at me. Broken and beaten, she still commits to living fully, experiencing all the adventures, and having all the hard conversations.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I resent her, the girl looking back at her. She makes my life so much more difficult than it has to be. Constantly striving, wanting more, wanting to be better. Always asking me to step up and into my power. 

Sometimes I look into the mirror and I am grateful for that girl looking back at me. She fights hard, for the underdog, for the weak and the scared and the broken. But mostly, she fights for me, for truth and for love. 

Becoming

When the storms have passed and the dust settles a bit, when you lift your head and look around and you can breathe again, who are you now? 

Who do you want to be?

Who have you become? 

Without a thought you can slip into the same person you always were. The ideas and habits fit like a favourite outfit. Quick and easy, you gather what was around you. 

But it feels wrong somehow. Like clothes that are a bit too tight. Patterns that aren't quite right anymore. A life that has gone out of style. 

Who are you now?

Who do you want to be? 

Who have you become? 

Maybe you wonder what's wrong with you? You've always done it this way. Always acted and reacted in these ways. But nothing feels quite right anymore. Something has changed.  

The something is you. You don't fit in the box that was your comfort zone anymore. Trying to make yourself fit doesn't work instead it  makes you feel sick and shamed. No longer content with playing small and swallowing your truth you yearn for a more authentic experience. 

Who are you now?

Who do you want to be? 

Who have you become?

Learning the answers to those questions takes time and effort. It means stretching and growing.  It means exploring where your new values don't line up with old behaviours. It means creating boundaries,  losing people that you love and shedding old habits. 

It means becoming someone new, some one stronger, someone braver. It means creating an honest, authentic, real life experience. It means living a life that aligns with who you are now, after the storms have passed. 

Who are you now?

Who do you want to be? 

Who have you become?

Come Home

I think often of the story of the prodigal son. Both from the perspective of the son who left and from the parent who was left. I know very well what it feels like to be left, abandoned, unwanted. I know what it feels like to have the one I love out there, far away. The last few years have been full of loss. The one you love walks away, shuts you out and leaves you lonely. Its devastating.  

When one you love is out there, the unknowns can chew you up inside. Are they okay? Are they safe? Do they hate you? Do they forgive you? Are they lonely? Or have they found new people to love them? 

Mostly you wonder if they will ever make their way home. 

But on the other side, the prodigal son thought he couldn't come home. His hope was that his father would give him a place with the servants. He thought that he would have to abase himself. He couldn't conceive of the love and joy waiting for him when he found his way back.  He couldn't see his own worth. He didn't realize that he was already forgiven. 

This is a 'no matter what' kind of love.  It is a love that sees your worth when you can't.  It is a love that forgives you before you repent.  It is a love that always welcomes you back home. 

You don't need to be good enough.  You don't need to earn it.  You don't need to ask for it.  You are loved,  no matter what.  

The one who has been left is powerless.  Alone with memories. Memories of laughter and happy times. Memories of arguments and tears. Memories of love. But all the love in the world can not bring them home. The only way is for them to heal their heart and find their own way back. 

There are so many things I'd tell you if I could.  Instead I wait.  I pray.  I send love out into the Universe and I keep hoping that you will come home.  

In the Details

God lives in the details. 

We expect wondrous miracles and grand love stories. The curing of cancer or the surviving of a car wreck or love at first sight. We want something big and flashy that we can point to and say "God did that!"  We are looking for proof, verification of our faith. But God doesn't live there in the big and flashy, God lives in the details. 

My best friend died of cancer, but before she did, she sat beside me on the couch and rested her head on my shoulder. God lives there. 

A child, overwrought and overwhelmed laughs when I comb out her hair and play with her curls. God lives there. 

I held my father's hand and told him it was okay for him to die. God lives there. 

If you need proof that God exists, look at the minutiae. Lady bugs and lightning bugs. Rainbows. Feathers. Seashells. Look at dimples and the sparkle in an eye. Listen to a lullaby, the peepers in the pond, the sound of a bird. 

The night sky spreads out above us, inky blackness, glistening with stars. God lives there. 

We are surrounded by miracles. A spider web covered with dew. A butterfly drying it's new wings. A flower opening it's petals to the sun. 

God lives in raindrops and dew drops, sunrises and sunset, winter snow and spring flowers. God lives in the brightly coloured leaves drifting down from the trees. God lives in the sound of those leaves crunching under feet. 

An infant laughs in delight. A family eats dinner together. A friend calls to check in.  A mother rocks her child. A man forgives his lover. A friend offers comfort. God lives there. 

God lives in the caress of a cheek, a tender kiss, a softly spoken work. God lives in arms that offer comfort and words that offer hope. God lives in pep talks and well wishes. God lives in the smile of a stranger.

Forgiveness, kindness, compassion, truth. God lives there. Love lives there. They are one and the same. 

We Are Better Together

You and me, we are better together. 

I am comforted when I lean on you. 

I am stronger when you hold me up. 

I am happier when you are close to me.

You make me better. 

When you leave me I am devastated.

When I am alone, I don't sleep. 

When we argue, I can't eat. 

I am lost without you. 

Can we stop? Please!

Can we stop arguing? 

Can we stop hurting each other? 

Can we stop using love to batter each other?

Can we fix it? 

Can we trust again?

Can we talk about it?

Can you come home to me? 

Can we hold each other safe once more?

We are better together. 

Delusions

I was born perfect. 

Perfect love. Perfect wonder. Perfect joy. 

I was born into a perfect world, full of perfect opportunities and perfect experiences. 

Pure unlimited love and potential wrapped up in baby soft skin and downy hair. 

I was born perfect. Then I was fed lies and delusions until I took them as my own. 

I believed. 

I believed I was not good enough and that if I tried harder, did more,  I would be worthy. 

I believed I was flawed and unlovable. 

I believed I was not pretty enough.  I believed I was not smart enough. I believed I was not brave enough. 

I tried and tried to become enough. Smart enough, strong enough, kind enough, patient enough, pretty enough.  But enough stayed just out of reach. 

I listened to the lies until they became my own delusions. 

I searched for someone who could love such as I. Yet there was none.  Too talkative. Too emotional.  Too needy. Too adventurous. Too free spirited.  Too much and not enough, all wrapped up in one unlovable package. 

It was all just a delusion, that I took for as truth. 

The Beautiful Tragedy

I swim in the filth of humanity. Violence,  fear and loss. Children who are abused and neglected. Molestation and rape. Bullying. Deprivation. The words themselves sound ugly and painful. 

This is life. A beautiful tragedy. 

An infant with broken limbs, still smiles.

A child with rotting teeth, wants to be hugged.

A teenager in dirty, smelly clothes, worries for their brother. 

A parent addicted to their substance, loves their children. 

And then there is me. 

The homeless, the hoarders, the drug addicts, the rapists. They want to be seen, to be heard, to be valued. They want someone to say "You matter!"  So I sit with them. I listen to their stories. I feel their shame. I create an oasis of safety in a world that condemns them. I swim in the filth of humanity and see the wonder of it. 

I love them. 

I come home and turn off the work phone. Sometimes I need to shower to scrub off the filth of the day. I hug my littles. I practice gratitude. I count my blessings. 

Knowing the car will start when I turn the key.

Shopping without counting how much the things in the cart cost.

Knowing when I swipe my card it will be approved.

Being able to feed my children and the birds too.

Sheets on the bed I sleep in at night.

Having a washer and dryer in my home.

Running water and flush toilets. Lots of families don't even have that luxury.

I am grateful. 

Day after day I swim in the filth of humanity.  Sometimes I am appalled.  Disgusted. Overwhelmed.  Often I cry. But then a small child wraps their arms around me, a teenager smiles and says "Love you babe!", a parent says "Thank you so much for doing this." And it is all worth it. 

I go home at the end of day exhausted, full of heartache. But there is nothing more I can do. So I play. 

I seek out adventures. I turn the music up loud and dance in the kitchen. I play games with my children.  I wiggle my worries away at zumba. I breathe and do yoga. I hike with the dogs. I tell corny jokes and laugh until I cry. I hug my children. I wear flashy leggings and dye my hair purple. I flirt with old men and babies in strollers. I tell people I am grateful for them. I hug strangers. I feel the wonder of being alive. 

Life is tragic. Then it is wondrous. Then it is tragic again. 

The beautiful tragedy fills my days and my heart to bursting. 

Absorbing Heartache

I love my job, even though it breaks me wide open and brings me to tears.  I love the children who enter my office and share their heart break with me. I sit with them. I look in their eyes. I wrap them in my arms and hold them close to my heart. I hear their stories.  

I listen while a child details their experience of being raped.  

I listen while a child tells me about the fights and substance use at home.

I listen while a child sobs in my arms because they know their parent will die from cancer. 

Fear. Violence. Loss.  

These young people are brave and strong.  They walk through the worst pain imaginable and they trust me to hold them safe.  

I listen while a child details their suicide plans. 

I listen while a child talks about going hungry so their siblings have enough to eat. 

I listen while a child sobs in my arms because their parent died from an overdose.

Love and loss. 

They trust me to absorb their heartache. 

I show up for them. Day after day. I hold them. I tell them I love them. I tell them I believe in them. I tell them it's not their fault. I tell them it's okay to be sad and scared. I sit on the floor with them. I give them snacks. 

I don't tell them it's going to be okay. I don't tell them I understand. I don't tell them to hurry back to class. 

Then I come home and I cry. I hold my littles close. I practice gratitude. I pray for them. 

Day after day I absorb all the heartache I can stand. In the dark of the night it leaks out of my eyes and stains my pillow. 

I wouldn't have it any other way.  

Own Your Shit

It's not as easy as you might think. 

Sometimes it's scary, often it's  uncomfortable and definitely messy.

But it's yours and if you want to grow up and be responsible and stop being a victim it is necessary.

Some people never do it.

We play the blame game. It was our mother, our childhood, our ex-wife or our boss. Not me, never me. I didn't.  I couldn't.  It's not my fault.

We are perpetual victims. When we do something or  something happens we throw our hands up in the air and parade out our list of excuses. 

When someone calls us out we jump to defend ourselves.  It's because of our mother, our lover,  our childhood, our boss... but not me. I didn't. I couldn't. 

We stay stuck. Until we own it. Until we find the strength and the courage to say "Yes! I did that. It's mine."

Then we are free. 

We are free to make different choices. Or to make the same choices again and own them openly and honestly. 

Yup, that's my shit. Sometimes it stinks. Sometimes it's messy. Sometimes it's uncomfortable.  But it's mine.

That moment is powerful.  It washes away guilt and shame. All of a sudden we can speak our truth. We can heal from past wounds. 

Of course those things happened with your mother and your lover and your boss. Things happened in your childhood and in your marriage. Life is hard and it hurts. 

But we all have the choice to own our shit or to blame others. We have the choice to speak our truth or hang our head in shame.  Not one of us is perfect but each one of us is imperfectly whole.

It's time to stop denying who you are and what you do. It's time to stand up and own your shit. Claim it. Deal with it. Then move on.

Yes, that's me! I did that. 

In the Darkness

In the darkness of the night quiet music plays and a dog sleeps against my feet. 

Wearing your shirt, my head lies against a soft pillow. 

My eyes drift shut and instantly I'm transported. 

The pillow becomes your shoulder. 

The blankets become your arms around me. 

In the darkness

I hear your heartbeat under my cheek. 

In the darkness I am alone no more. 

I breathe in your scent. 

In the darkness of the night I am held safe. 

In the darkness of the night I am loved. 

In the darkness of the night I am with you once again. 

Adrift

I pray. Every day. 

Do you think God can make sense of the incoherent screaming inside my head? 

You were my anchor in the storms. 

You gave me safe harbour. 

You made the screaming stop. 

But then you left me.

I believed in you. 

I trusted you. 

I rested on you.

I thought you loved me.

I know there's no going back. 

Once done, can't be undone. 

Our values don't line up. 

But it doesn't mean I don't miss you.

I was looking for a home for my heart. 

With you, I found not a home, 

but a temporary way station. 

A safe space to lay my head,

for a moment.

Not for a lifetime 

I know that my safe space isn't found in another person. 

I know that my happiness can not ever depend on someone else's actions. 

I know that I will survive without you. 

But for today, I will sit alone with the screaming in my head.

I will hold myself gently.

I will be my own safe space.

And I will love me in a way you never could.

Have Faith. Go Play

I believe in a higher power. Call it what you will. I call it God. I believe that higher power holds nothing but love for me. I believe my God sees me, knows me and wants nothing but good for me. 

This is faith. 

I believe that I don't need to be any different, do anything different to be worthy of this love. I believe I am enough, just as I am. 

I believe my higher power is actively caring for me. I believe I am divinely protected. I believe I am held safe. I believe nothing exists that can harm me.

I believe that everything always works out for me. I believe that my God has a master plan that I don't understand.  I believe that everything will be okay in the end. 

This is faith. 

I believe that there are no wrong choices. I believe that every experience has something valuable to teach me. I believe that the adventure is always worth it. 

This is faith.

I believe in a world of abundance. I believe that there is always enough. I believe in unending love. 

I believe that my higher power wants me to enjoy life. I believe that my purpose is to have fun. I believe that the world is my playground. 

This is faith. 

And so, if I have faith, then all that is left is for me to go play. 

Today I Decided to Live

Today I decided to live.  

I decided to love. 

To connect with people. 

To go on adventures. 

To laugh and play.

Today I decided that I want something more. 

Today I decided that I am worth it.  

Today I decided to live.  

And so I leapt.  

Into the unknown.

And when the screaming in my head says "What the hell have you done?" 

I will laugh and say "I have chosen to stay. Loudly. Without fear." 

I leapt. 

Now watch me soar. 

Falling

Drowning in despair, loss and grief. 

Overwhelmed with no way out. 

Creating a suicide plan. 

Isolated and alone.

Sobbing in the shower. 

Vomiting.

Curled up. Unmoving.

Not sleeping. 

Not eating. 

Not talking to anyone.

Staring at a jigsaw puzzle. 

Crying silent tears.

Calling out sick.

Hugging a sloth.

Wrapped in a favourite sweatshirt. 

Going to bed early. 

Falling into the darkness. 

Reaching out for help.

Trying to find light.

Trying to find a reason to go on.

Medication, therapy and connecting with people.

A friend dragged me along. 

Zumba, yoga and pole dancing.

I started to live again. 

A friend scooped me up.

Road trips, concerts and line dancing. 

I started to look to the future again.

Piercings and tattoos. Express yourself.

Shake your booty.  Move your body.

Pirate jokes. Kitchen dancing. 

Falling down laughing.

Join a book club.

Plan a cruise.

Play in the dirt. 

Plant some flowers.

Play the music loud.

Sing along.

Tell a joke. 

Laugh out loud.

Hug a friend.

Eat some pizza.

Paint a picture.

Buy garden gnomes. 

Falling in love with life.

Laughing, playing, singing and dancing.

Believing in magic and happily ever after. 

Connected with people who care for me.

Falling in love with me. 

Every Time

Every time.

Every fucking time. 

I drive by the death spot and there is an accident there. 

Emergency vehicles. 

Traffic stopped. 

Wreckage on the roadway.

Every time I catch my breath. 

Every time I start to cry. 

Every time I look to make sure there are survivors on the side of the road. 

This moment hijacks my body. 

I have no control. 

I can't make it stop. 

It starts with tears. 

Then I start to heave. 

Five years have gone by. 

Five years of driving by the same spot.

Every day. 

Every time I think of him. 

Every time I put my palm against the car window.

Every time I tell him that I love him. 

His death lives in me. Every moment of every day. 

Mostly it lives in memories of love. 

It lives in his smile when I close my eyes. 

It lives in a profound gratitude that I had 23 years with him. 

But then I drive by the death spot and there is another car accident there. 

Every fucking time. 

Then his death lives in me. 

In a physical, visceral way. 

In sobs. Tears streaking down my cheeks and dripping off my chin. 

In heaving and retching. A hand pressed to my mouth. 

In gasping for breath. 

In a deep, aching loneliness. 

Every fucking time. 

I can say that love never dies. 

I can say that Zac is, just not here. 

I can say that I believe in eternity. 

But every fucking time I lose myself. 

Intellect fails and my body reacts. 

He is gone, snatched from me in an instant. 

Devastating loss. 

Overwhelming loneliness. 

An abiding grief. 

Every time it takes hours to recover. 

Tucked into bed in my favourite sweatshirt. 

Arms wrapped around my middle. 

Tears continue to leak from my eyes. 

Zac is not coming home again. 

Zac is dead. 

Too Late

I told you I was broken.  

I told you I was scared. 

I told you I was emotional. 

But it was already too late for you.  

You loved me from the moment you met me.

I told you I would hurt you. 

I told you I would run.  

I told you I would leave you.  

But it was already too late for you.  

You loved me from the moment you met me.

I told you to get out.

I told you to leave me. 

I told you to save yourself.  

But it was already too late for you.  

You loved me from the moment you met me.

You looked at me and you saw something no one else has ever seen. 

You told me I was inspiring.  

You told me I was amazing. 

You told me I was beautiful. 

You told me you were lonely.

You told me you were afraid.

You told me you were patient.

You told me you weren't deterred.

You told me you weren't judging me.

You told me you weren't leaving me.  

I told you I was a mess. 

"You're perfect" you whispered. 

I told you I was far from perfect. 

I told you that you were supposed to see all my flaws.

I told you that you were supposed to love me anyway. 

You replied, "I do."

And then it was too late for me too.

I'd Tell You, if I Could

To my mother, my lover, my child... 

I'd tell you I'm sorry, if I could. 

Sorry for all the ways I failed you, for evey hurt, every betrayal. 

Sorry for all the ways in which I was not enough, and too much.

I'd tell you I forgive you, if I could. 

Forgive you for every hurt you inflicted, every argument we had. 

Forgive you for every misunderstanding. 

I'd tell you that no one could ever take your place, if I could. 

No one else has your sense of humour and your smile. 

No one else hugs just like you. 

I'd tell you that I cherish every memory, if I could. 

Memories of laughter and love, hurts and sorrows.

Memories of you, with me. 

I'd tell you that I learned so much from you, if I could. 

Learned about life and love, growing up, holding on and letting go.

Mostly I learned about me and the values I hold dear. 

I'd tell you that I'm grateful for you, if I could. 

Grateful for the way you listened and loved.

Grateful for advice and adventures.  

I'd tell you that I'm here for you, if I could.

Here to sit with you in the dark spaces.

Here to celebrate your triumps.

I'd tell you that you can always come back to me, if I could. 

My door, my arms, my heart is always open. 

I'd tell you I love you, if I could. 

No matter what.  Forever.  

If I could. 

I Believe

I believe in magic. 

It peaks around corners and hides in ancient forest. 

I believe in fairy tales and happily ever after. 

Fairy dust and unicorns and phoenix rising from the ashes. 

I believe in wonders untold. 

Mountains, canyons, waterfalls and wildlife.

I believe in miracles. 

Rainbows after storms. Caterpillars turning to butterflies. Hummingbirds that hover in place.

I believe in the mystery of the night sky.

Shooting stars, wishing stars and northern lights that dance in the darkness.  

I believe in holding on to hope. 

Dancing in the rain. Laughing through your tears. Loving after loss. 

I believe in second chances. 

Hearts can heal and forgiveness is possible. 

I believe that love doesn't ever die. 

Death is not the end and distance doesn't matter. 

I believe in souls coming together through lifetimes. 

Soul mates, twin flames and true love.

I believe in a no matter what kind of love that overcomes all odds and fills your heart to bursting. 

I believe in you. Out there, working your way to me. 

Nobody Died Today - Reprise

In slow motion we watch a truck spin out of control on the highway. It hits the guard rail and bounces. Spinning into the middle of the highway, into oncoming traffic. 

As soon as it starts to spin, I slow. My girl beside me starts to cry. As the truck comes to a stop in front of us, so do we. I left her there, sobbing and ran to the boy climbing out the truck. 

Are you okay? Are you hurt? 

I tell him to call 911 and go back to my girl. A full-blown panic attack, she clings to me. I call her father. I tell him nothing. Just sit with her. 

I need you to sit with her. I have to go. 

I stand with him in the freezing rain, our feet slipping on the icy roadway. 

I stand with him while he talks to 911. 

I stand with him while he calls his mom. 

I stand with him while he calls his soccer coach.

I stand with him while he talks to the state trooper. 

I stand with him, shivering. 

I ask his name. Omar

I ask him how old he is. Sixteen.

I ask him if he had his seat belt on. Yes.

I remind him not to text and drive. No. 

I ask him if his mom is okay. Yes.

I ask him about his soccer team. Coach is coming. 

We wait together. Standing in the freezing rain. 

We shiver together. 

We answer the state troopers questions together.

Then we get into my car and sit together. Out of the icy cold. And we wait. 

I leave him there. With state troopers and a soccer coach. Flashing blue lights. A tow truck on the way. 

Back in the car I tell my girl I'm sorry I left her. But I couldn't leave him alone. She tells me she didn't want me to leave him alone. Our hands reach and hold on tight. 

I ask her why that upset her so much. I don't know. 

I ask if it makes her think about her brother. Yes. 

She keeps one hand fisted around her necklace with his fingerprint on it. 

Together we cry. 

Together we saw our Zac's death play out in front of eyes. 

Instead of a tractor trailer, it was us. 

Instead of a collision, I stopped.

Instead of sirens, it was hazard lights. 

Instead a coroner, it was a soccer coach.

Instead of a knock on the door, it was a phone call. Mom, I'm okay. 

Instead of being alone, we were with him.

Instead of dying, he lived to tell the tale.

Today we saw the death of our Zac, in slow motion. It left us sobbing and gasping, clinging to each other. 

We are grateful that Omar was not alone today.

We are grateful that Omar's mom got to hear her son's voice today.

We are grateful that our other boys made it home safely today.

And we are very grateful that nobody died today.