Atunement

It sounds like such a lovely word, doesn't it? Like something you'd use when singing in harmony, or playing musical instruments with a group of friends, or even just getting in sync with someone. But in the therapeutic world, atunement is actually a bad thing. It means you're enmeshed, co-dependent, someone who leans on another person, and this isn't a good. This is what has happened to me and Jim, and the task now is to 'de-tune.' I do not like de-tuning. De-tuning means no sharing, no personal relationship, no connection beyond what is needed to maintain a 'working' relationship. De-tuning means he's not there for me, and I'm not there for him. De-tuning replaces all that was. It makes me sad...

I learned this today when I attended a session with Jim's counselor, who is a wonderful woman I really like a lot. I feel she did more than anyone has to help us come up with a 'plan' for de-tuning. It appears that plan may ultimately lead me away for a while this winter, and it seems we are 'both' okay with that. For me, detachment IS going to take distance...I'm not even sure I can do it until then, but I will try my best. I don't like it; I don't understand it; but I suppose it is something that must be. I don't see that I have any choice in the matter, and this also makes me sad.

I feel that to save myself, I must find a way to escape all this for a time. I feel a certain amount of 'lightness' in that, and I'm eager to see what opportunities life may bring. I can't look back; I can't regret; I can't miss; I can't love; I can't do any of the things my nature SO wants to do. Here is a poem I found recently that sums up my feelings:

I know
it's hard to be reconciled
not everything is exactly
the way it ought to be

but please turn around
and step into the future
leave memories behind
enter the land of hope. -----Zbigniew Herber, from A Life

Dreams of Destruction

I have been following my dreams very closely for the past few weeks. I'm finding it more and more fascinating how the psyche works things out through dreaming. Lately I'm not sure if things are really being worked out, or if the issues are just making themselves known. For instance, last night I dreamed (and I can't always remember all of them, but you'll get the gist...) that I was moving and some of the things from my 'old' house were being destroyed. Two large old Victorian-type trunks were 'bulldozed' completely into pieces, and as I watched it happening, I realized I had no idea if any of the valuables had been removed from the trunks. As a result, I managed to salvage two other trunks--another old Victorian, and the other a wooden--get this--hope chest. I didn't need to open them--I knew I would do that when the time was right, but that they would be items I would want to keep for my 'house.'

The next piece of the dream was my moving into a 'single' room, a small room with only a bed. I wanted to place a writing desk between two windows in the room, but I realized sadly the desk I wanted had been lost to me many years ago. It was something from my childhood that I hadn't brought with me through the years. But somehow I knew the right 'desk' would present itself in time. The room felt comfortable, but sadly empty.

Finally, the last part, showed me a woman who had once been my 'best friend.' She had given birth to a child, much to my surprise, as I'd never known she was pregnant. We were discussing the house where she had once lived, and I saw the place in my mind, but now it was an ugly mowed down vacant lot--the house had been completely destroyed.

I see the symbols and the pieces of my life in this dream: Everything I loved has been 'bulldozed' yet I managed to save a 'hope' chest; a single room for a single person; windows to see a new world; loss of my writing but 'hope' it will return; a best friend with a secret child; the friendship mowed down with only an ugly vacant place left. The images left me feeling sad, empty, frustrated, alone, and yet, by day's light, a bit lighter than I had felt before. Perhaps little by little, this is God taking back the emotions and the pain of loss, promising to replace them when the time is right, letting me know there's still 'hope.'

The excavation of the self is fascinating work.

What To Do

People say you don't have to decide, live in the moment, breathe. All good advice, I know, but not easy. How hard it is to make peace with pain! How do you make choices, move on, let go, when essentially you are still faced with the 'problem' on a regular basis? It's something I'm having to seriously consider... Am I taking on too much, trying to stay here and be 'strong' when I'm the one feeling all the pain? Perhaps it's time for him to step in and take things over for a while? Yes, that would be letting go too--letting go of worry that something will go wrong, that only I care enough about the house and the business to keep them on track. So what if he doesn't? If I have to take a 'time out' to save my sanity, then perhaps that is the right thing to do...

Every time I go away, I feel stronger, but when I return, I feel oppressed. I love the house; I love the business; I love the simplicity of my life here--but the emotions take over at the slightest thing. There are so many memories, too few opportunities, too few friends or family, too much alone time, too little relief. Is it right for me to stay with it, or give myself an extended break, or even a complete break? What would happen if I gave myself permission to do that?

I leave on Sunday for 10 days on Sanibel Island, and he will be here, taking care of things. Perhaps I'll feel differently when I return. I don't want to make rash decisions, and I don't want to dump everything on him. But perhaps it is truly time I started asking myself what will it take for ME to feel better. Perhaps it is past time....

Love's Addictions

This is a hard one...is it addiction, to feel the loss of someone and to still that need connection with them, on whatever level, until you reach a place where you can genuinely move on? Or is that simply grief and the heartache trying to let go of someone who was a part of your life for 15 years and who in many ways, still is, divorced or not, your family? Is it dependence to still love and believe in someone to whom you gave the biggest part of your heart, or is it simply that, as I mentioned in another post, it takes time to refill the hole left by their absence? I honestly don't think I know the answer to this.

People who consider themselves experts--and even those who aren't--seem to find it so easy to say 'you're codependent,' 'you're hanging on,' 'you're addicted to love,' etc etc etc. I can certainly see elements of that, and knowing my past history, I suspect there's a certain amount of truth in it. But at the end of the 'day,' what's wrong with wanting to reach out to that person who who once promised to be there for you 24/7? What's wrong with wanting that connection, in whatever new form it may need to take? I think it's only when someone insists on pulling away completely that you're left with absolutely nothing to fill the empty space...

He tells me it takes time and space and neutrality to find peace for us, and while I believe this, I know it takes him twice the time and space it would take me, so somewhere between his time and space and mine, the 'need' kicks in and I'm left with the emptiness to fill. And yes, there are other ways to fill it, but what about when you've exhausted those and again, it's still empty. What about when you pray, and you still feel empty?

I am looking for that place inside where I don't need to feel loved by a 'person,' and yet on some levels, I hope it's a place I never find. I DO want love; I DO want connection; I DO want to believe. If that IS addiction, I suppose I have it...and I can't honestly say I want to give it up. I want to be strong; to know I'm self sufficient; to respect my own boundaries and those of my partner...but love, yes, I want it. I never want to not want it. I guess I'd rather believe that's 'hope,' not addiction.

Weekends at the B&B

Business has picked up slightly, which is a good thing for the 'big picture.' I don't mind really, because it's nice to have others in the house. I love sharing the house. This weekend I have a trip on the horizon, so I have lots of work to do in preparing for that, as well as dealing with guests. Still, it's good to be busy...

Underneath all that lies the 'aloneness.' I can be alone; I've been alone in the past, and I know how to do it. I just don't want to. I did that already, and I don't want to do it again. I do the affirmations, the positive thinking, etc etc etc--maybe it's just me, but it's not what I want. I want a companion, someone to share the ups and downs, the journey, the work, the good and the bad... I want to reach out, but what's the point--as my sister tells me, it only continues the 'insanity.' It is what it is...I am alone now, single, here with my two cats, my guitar, my pain. This is my life.

For these things I am grateful--friends near and far who console me, business picking up, my guitar, my cats, beautiful weather, a good glass of wine, trips to look forward to, good books to read, my journal, walks, did I mention friends? I keep reminding myself everything is perfect, just the way it is. I wish it felt that it was...I don't.

Spiraling

They tell me this is the way grief works...one day you're fine, the next you're back in a spiral of heartache, sadness, fear, loneliness, or whatever emotion has elected itself your captor this time. On the good days you think you're finally getting over it, moving on, feeling hope again, then suddenly, you feel like you're right back where you started. That's how I feel today. The only difference is, I've finally learned I can't reach out to him. That no good will come of that.

I've been using all my tools to try and hold the despair at bay. I suppose you could say they're working, but I'm still not through this particular rutty spot. I'm holding my own; that's the best I can say about where I'm at. Someone once labeled loss like this: When you're with someone, you spend years digging a big hole that becomes your relationship; when loss happens, you have to fill that hole back in, with a teaspoon! In other words, it's going to take a LONG time to fill it! Don't I know it?

And then there are the shadowy spots you try to avoid while you're digging--the places that say why doesn't he call; why isn't he hurting; why is it so easy for him to just 'move on'; why do I feel so very alone? Those places must be avoided at all costs. The insecure ego pulls you there--it's pulling me there, telling me terrible things about myself that at my core, I know aren't true, and yet this little self would have me believe all those hurtful lies. I choose not to believe them, but that choice is a hard-won fight, a moment by moment battle.

I think of those around me, my friends; those before me in this house. How did they do it? How did they suffer one loss after another, greater losses than mine even, and continue to have faith that all would be well again. Yesterday I knew that; today I'm not so sure. But I continue to tell myself, moment by moment, it's only a feeling. This too shall pass. All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things shall be well. (St. Julian of Norwich)

Hope

I haven't written in a few days because I was in Chicago visiting an old friend. Not 'old' in the sense of age, but rather, someone I hadn't seen in over ten years. We belonged to a women's spirituality group when I lived in Dallas, but she moved to Chicago with her family to do a medical residency. I visited them once after she moved, but after that we lost touch. The last contact I had with her was a Christmas card telling me that she and her husband were getting a divorce. I tore the corner with her phone number off of the card and saved it, somehow knowing someday she and I would reconnect. I won't go into those details here, because that's her story, and it wouldn't be fair of me to share it without her permission, but having her back in my life again, at this particularly difficult time for me, has meant the world to me. Things happen when they're supposed to--I just wish I'd been there for her then, and I wasn't. My life had carried me to a different place, and for whatever reason, I didn't make the effort until this past year to try and find her again.

The thing of it is, for the first time in a long time, I felt hope again. I loved visiting with her; I loved Oak Park where she lives; I loved Chicago; I loved the Jameson connections I brought with me and got to see firsthand. (A digression about that--one of the sons of my home, Harris Jameson, visited the 1893 Columbian Exposition with his sister Dollie. While there, he fell ill of appendicitis and died 5 days later. He had written a letter home just days before his death, telling of the wonderfully exciting time he was having. If you've read Devil in the White City, you know what an event that was!) So my friend and I had a great adventure trying to explore Jackson Park and the one building and few relics left from the fair. Instead we wound up sitting in traffic due to something called the 'Old School Picnic,' which seemed to consist primarily of an African American over-35-crowd that unfortunately kept us from ever getting out of the car to explore the area where the Exposition was held. But at least I got close...

We spent the next day visiting the Ba'hai Temple--their faith is an interesting attempt to unify the world's religions--good luck with that! The temple was fabulous, rather reminded me of an Illinois Taj Mahal! It's very near Evanston, where Daniel Burnham (architect of the White City) once lived with his family. Wish I'd realized that before I got home, or I would tried to find his house, too! A friend of my friend spent that day with us, and we had a nice lunch, sitting outside with sushi and Asian food in perfect 'Santa Monica' weather. Later that evening we relaxed and sipped wine on my friend's deck--a wonderful day!

It's all these little things that help me remember that life does indeed go on. Harris didn't leave Chicago, but his sister did, and he wrote the letter that I found, and all these years later I'm living in his house and coming back to visit the place he spent his last days. I'm visiting there because one aspect of my own life has died, as one aspect of my friend's life died ten years ago. Like it or not, we all go on--even Harris in some sense has 'gone on.' Perhaps someday, someone will read this blog and decide to re-visit my life in some regard. We never know how we are connected, but more and more, I'm coming to accept that we are. ALL of us.

Belonging

It's been a busy week, as I'm leaving tomorrow to visit an old friend who lives in Chicago. I haven't seen her in over 10 years, and am really looking forward to the getaway...

But I've thought a lot this week about my house, and the possibility that I'll be having to sell it soon, and how for the first time--here--I've felt a sense of belonging. Maybe that's just something that happens in an old house, the energy of the ages is present, and you're adding your presence to that, and when they finally become one, you realize you are now--forever--a part of this place's history. No matter if I stay or leave, a part of me and mine will be imprinted on this place for all time. That makes me really happy, to know that I'm now part of the 'Jameson' history.

I wonder though, why 'belonging' is so important to us, almost from our very beginnings? We want to belong to our parents, to those who love us, to our peer group, to our family, to our social network, etc, etc, etc? We want to believe we are a part of something greater...of God, the Universe, time itself. And so we are...and yet, nothing of this Earth lasts, which is the part that frightens us. To let go, to feel unloved, to release attachment to everything, physical, emotional, to find what...what is beyond all this?

For some it is God, heaven, eternity, to others it is nothing. Is there a right or a wrong? Is there, as my friend suggests, truly a 'Camelot,' that perfect place where it never rains and all is peace? Is the hope of that what keeps us going? I love what Geoffrey Rush's character says in SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE, 'It's a mystery.' For indeed, it IS a mystery. My greatest wish is that, in the end, we all discover we're right in whatever we chose to believe...but most especially, that we all come to know we 'belong' to something greater.

Small Graces

Yesterday did indeed turn out to be a good day. It was so wonderful to visit my neighbors and know that I have an open invitation to their 4th of July party from now till eternity! They had recently rescued a baby kitten, about 2 months old, black with traces of white, and it was just starting to develop that fat little belly that kittens get once they start eating real food instead of just milk. What a precious little treasure to hold, to play with, its tiny little teeth nipping at my fingers while I teased its belly! There is nothing quite so wonderful as a kitten!

Later, before I had to leave for home, one of my friend's gave me a precious gift. She told me how very much she admired the way I had handled my separation and divorce. She said she had been so impressed that I never 'trash talked' my husband, and that I'd shown amazing strength in the face of a very difficult situation. She said I should be 'proud of myself.' Her comments made me feel so good, and proud as well. Stronger, like maybe I really will make it through this. Of course, I don't think I've shown such strength with him, but she said the face I'd shown the public was one of courage. I'm glad for that, because I never wanted others to see me as a 'victim,' nor do I want to see myself this way. I really appreciated this positive feedback...so many times people don't say what they think, and this meant a lot.

After my friends arrived who had come to cook out at my house, we sat on the screened-in porch and had a lovely visit over glasses of wine and fresh basil, mozzarella, and tomato salad. Wonderful conversation and laughter. Our cookout didn't work out quite as expected because it turned out the propane tank was empty, but we quickly switched the plan to an inside meal. My friend's father grilled the steaks, I made the salad, and she had brought the dessert and fresh ears of corn. When we finished our dinner, we drove to the park and watched the fireworks, which were amazing as usual for such a small town.

Once home, they asked me to play my guitar for them before they headed home, so I played my 'best' and oldest known song, Puff the Magic Dragon. I've added a little touch of my own to it, and while I was nervous and messed up some, she thought my playing was improving. I hope it is, as I like playing for others sometimes, but mostly, right now, I like playing for myself. It gives my evenings a new routine to follow, and I believe I am definitely a person on routines.

All in all, it was a good day. Grief stayed at bay, and I felt blessed in that, and my life in our free country, my new life as a 'free' person.

Today, after the guests all left, I decided to truly enjoy a day of rest. I read, sat on the porch and enjoyed the great weather, journaled, napped, just had a lovely relaxing day, which I desperately needed. All is well.

Independence Day

The 4th of July has become an interesting holiday for me. Four years ago, shortly after moving to this house, we found our beloved cat Boo Radley (Boodle) on the 4th, just a block up the street, a tiny kitten, starving, who could barely walk. We just 'happened' to have guests that weekend who were vet students, and who have now become some of my closet friends, not to mention Boo's 'godparents.' Boo has become a lifeline for me now, along with his step-brother, Jack Sparrow, as well as my vet friends.

Last year was a terrible 4th of July. My husband and I had been separated 3 months, and he was at a cook-out with our friends who live across the back fence. So while I sat on my porch, alone except for my cats, I could hear the festivities that I wasn't invited to be a part of. I'm not proud of my behavior--let's just leave it at that. At least it was primarily between me and him, rather than a public scene that caused everyone embarrassment. But it was bad. Things were truly terrible for me at that point, trying to understand why he'd left and couldn't even spend a holiday with me when he knew how alone I was. At least now I have a better grasp on it.

Today has been better. I am truly trying to claim my own 'independence,' and am setting better boundaries to deal not so much with him, but rather with my own inadequacies when it comes to him. When you keep reaching out, and are consistently pushed away, it takes its toll. It might be wise to learn to quit reaching out, which is where my mind is these days. So I wrote him a letter to let him know how I felt we should handle our business relationship at present, and then I wrote him another letter (which I will not send) attempting to tell him goodbye. This isn't easy, and it may take many (unsent) letters before I truly feel I have released him. But at least it's a move toward freedom and independence. A move I need to make.

Today has been better in other ways too, and it isn't over yet. I took a bike ride on a new part of our hiking/biking trail and discovered, of all things, there's a LAKE in our small town. (Actually, there's another park with a lake, so this is the second...) This wonderful little ride, and a park with a lake at the end of it. Amazing! This town never ceases to delight me with all the beautiful places it has to offer...

When I finish this post, I will walk to my neighbor's house for a short visit with a group of friends before my guests arrive. (I just had another booking, so I now have a FULL house tonight!) Wow! After I get everyone settled in, I have a second set of friends arriving, to cookout here and then watch the fireworks tonight. That's another small town surprise--they have amazing fireworks, something I always enjoy, but now find bittersweet without the one at my side who always enjoyed them with me. Lots of life is like that for me now.

Still, I feel good that I am taking baby steps toward moving ahead. It will be a long time before I don't have bad days, I suspect, but at least I have a better sense of 'hope.' This, when all is said and done, is the best I could ask for at the moment.

Happy 4th to all my fellow Americans! And even if you're grieving like me, know that someday freedom from it will ring once more.

Here is a poem I found, which I love, and shared in my 'sent' note...it's called 'Woman With Flower.'

I wouldn't coax the plant if I were you.
Such watchful nurturing may do it harm.
Let the soul rest from so much digging
And wait until it's dry before you water it.
The leaf's inclined to find its own direction;
Give it a chance to seek the sunlight for itself.
Much growth is stunted by too careful prodding,
Too eager tenderness.
The things we love we have to leave alone. (Naomi Long Medgett)

The Hardest Days

I'm going to leave the 'family' behind for a moment, or maybe they are actually part of this in some strange way. Heading into this 4th of July weekend, my heart is already heavy. I will be alone, as I have been alone on many holidays now, and will be alone for many ahead. I don't mean I won't be with people, because unlike last, this year I do have plans to be with others. But I am still struggling with the idea that my own family--my husband--won't be present. It isn't even the same to be with parents, or siblings, or children. When the special person in your life no longer wants to be part of it, well, there's nothing that can fill that kind of loneliness.

While I'm working to allow a deeper 'spirituality' to take up that empty space, some days it just doesn't work. It's not so much looking back, or looking forward, but rather a space in the 'present' moment that won't be filled. Perhaps in time--or so they tell me--it will be different. I'd like to believe that's true, but it's hard to imagine when your heart is aching.

So in regard to my house and its family, I often wonder how those women survived the heartache? Especially Mary Jameson, who lost 7 of her nine children while living in this house. Granted, some were babies she never had a chance to know well, but others died in youth or young adulthood, and one died in a tragic fire practically at her front door. She lost her husband when he was 61, and lived here for 26 years without him. How did she go on? How did she manage the endless days (and nights!)? At least she didn't have the heartache of knowing she was left from lack of love. Back then, while it certainly happened, life mostly presented other cruelties.

From the old letters I've read, for Mary it all came down to faith. She, and all of those around her, believed so strongly that being carried to one's 'Heavenly Father' would insure a life so much better than any earthbound soul could hope for, dying seemed a blessing. Even little Bessie, burned in a terrible fire, cried to go 'to Jesus.' And although Sallie Tom Jameson, Mary's sister-in-law, taken by illness two weeks before she was to have wed, wished for a bit more time before God called her 'home,' she knew she would find peace on the other side.

When did we lose that faith in what's beyond? Where is the comfort we're promised when our hearts are filled with pain? There's a song by contemporary Christian band The Fray called 'You Found Me.' In it, the singer laments 'Lost and insecure, You found me, you found me, Lyin' on the floor, Surrounded, surrounded, Why'd you have to wait? Where were you? Where were you? Just a little late, You found me, you found me...' Evidently there's been a lot of criticism about this song by listeners of Christian music. But don't we all wonder that sometimes--why'd you have to wait? Did those Victorians understand what we don't about waiting? That regardless of today's heartaches, something greater awaited them?

So amidst the pain, I remember how much others, too, have lost in this house...and I wait.

My Dead Friends...The Beginning

So...I started writing this blog because I wanted to jumpstart my writing again, and I wanted to write about my house. I want to write about my house because I know there's a 'book' in here somewhere... Now that I know my days with my house and all its history may be limited, it's time I started writing about the topic I originally set out to write about. It's interesting, why we put things off...I have no idea. Fear of failure, fear of success, not know the 'right' thing to say, not letting the words come from a higher place? Perhaps it's any or all of these things...

When I first came here, I didn't love my house. Ok, that's not exactly true, I did love it but I didn't connect with it. There really wasn't that much to connect to...for all that I knew about its history, I didn't know much about its 'people.' Once I began to learn about them, I didn't have a bit of trouble finding a connection to the house itself. Now, I love it...but not in the way that you love a possession. I love it because it's a part of history; it's a stewardship, to care for it, and I don't take that task lightly. But I'm realizing more and more that to have a life of my own again, I will have to let it go. This is another doorway to grief, and I'm not ready to open it yet, but soon that time will come. Maybe saving this writing until now will help me in my release of my home. I hope so...

In the beginning, I knew very little about this place. It had belonged to a family named Jameson. The father of the man who owned my house had been a Missouri Congressman (the first, I believe), and he was also well-known locally for defending a slave girl named Celia, on the grounds of sexual abuse. The Jameson who lived here was also an attorney, but eventually started a livery business as well, and eventually the family owned a local Ford dealership. The house itself was in the Jameson family from 1861 until 1986 (or thereabout). Anyway, a LONG time. That's pretty much all I knew. Only a couple of photos remained from the 'old' days, no letters, no journals, no nothing. The man who lived next door to me had grown up here, but being in his 80s and a bit 'crotchety,' he claimed he didn't have any other information about his forefathers. That was so not true....

When he died 2 years ago, his children found letters, photos, newspaper articles, all boxed up in his office. Perhaps he never read them; perhaps he really didn't know what he had. But he had a lot. I used all that information as a starting point--I went to the library and looked at old newspapers; I started transcribing the letters; tried to identify the photos. I'm happy to report that although the local townfolk might not agree with this, I am probably the prominent authority on one of this town's founding families. I also love them as if they were my own. Seriously. They have become my friends, even if they are all dead. They have taught me so much about life, and loss, and the things that were important back then. Mainly, family. Today, with our blended families and our lives in all parts of the country--and the world--we understand so little about what it meant to be 'close' and to depend on each other; to value your history, and your relatives, and to want it to be handed down to future generations. But they did, and in learning about them, I've come to value those lost values as well. So in future entries, I will try to start sharing not only how they've helped me, but also these people whom I've come to know as friends. I hope you find something in our stories to help you regain a sense of connection to your own family and history. Because I truly believe, beyond anything, connection is what it's all about...

The Little Moments

When life is difficult, sometimes all you have left are the little moments. Even though it may be hard sometimes, I know it's important to find them. I have a little routine, and it hasn't changed that much from the 'before' times; I suppose it's a bit lonelier now than it used to be. When I don't have guests at the B&B, I like to get up slowly, savoring those last moments of sleep, then letting my cats wake me up with gentle nudges of 'feed me.' (Jack, the tabby, is particularly insistent with scratching at the quilt--he's not going to be happy tomorrow, because I just ran out of can food and forgot to pick up some more!)

Once I'm up, it's time for tea and my daily meditation. I enjoy reading Unity's Daily Word (as does Oprah!) and I'm also reading Wayne Dyer's translation of the Tao Te Ching, which I find very helpful in guiding me toward awareness. If it's not too hot, I have my tea and reading on the screened-in back porch, where there's usually an interesting display of bird activity and sometimes a rabbit or two will join the fun. It's my favorite place in the world, and I think my cats would agree, as they spend a good portion of their day curled up napping in the corner.

Today was busy, so I couldn't spend too much time in 'reflection,' but after checking email I did manage to squeeze in a walk before bulking down to my editorial work. My favorite walk is through Hillcrest cemetery, about which I've written previously, and today the weather was perfect. After a work-related conference call, I headed to Columbia for my guitar lesson, which is always a highlight of my week, then afterwards met a friend at a local wine bar, where we enjoyed a nice evening on the patio sipping a new wine from Oregon.

It wasn't a perfect day, because my heart still hurts almost every moment, but I try to just be present and see the good in my life, even if my life isn't the way I'd like it to be right now. My sweet cats are always here for me, the weather is cooler and bright, the wine flows freely, friends give support in so many ways, and I am loved on a deeper level than I'm fully able to comprehend. Life is as it is, and at least I have these moments of peace to see me through.