This is my childhood friend, Cynthia. I haven’t seen her since my wedding, or in other words, it’s been nearly 11 years! It was so wonderful to see her radiant self and to meet her beautiful little people, Evan and Jones. Gosh, growing up is so strange and beautiful at the same time. . . I found myself wishing we were 8 years old and trying to stuff Big Gavin down the laundry shoot, but in the same breath, I was basking in the beauty of being all grown up, with happy lives, beautiful children, and . . . well, figurative laundry shoots of our very own. :) Love you, Cyn! Enjoy, ya’ll!

I’m so in love with the color image in the dyad below. It just feeeeeeeels like childhood. Sigh.

Note to Cynthia: bottom right, look closely. What a punk. ;) Bwahahahaha.

If I ever have a daughter, someone promise to recreate this EXACT image for us, deal? You can almost reach out and touch the love.

Fine, you can recreate this next one too. . .

These two little stinkers make me think of Gavin and I, so much (except my face didn’t belong on a Gap Kid’s campaign like Evan’s does).



I had to take some time off to do just a little bit of this, living that is.

I needed to fall apart just a little.

I needed to have a good, long cry—to face the messy parts of what is.

I needed to shake some of the sorrow up to the surface, and exhale it away. . . or inhale it in. (I’m not sure there’s much of a difference with grief.)

It’s been 2 years now, almost 3, but usually it feels like last Thursday.

I go through this madness, thinking I shouldn’t be falling apart anymore. It’s foolish. What will people think? How will they react when they know the truth? What will they say when they know that sometimes, no often, it still hurts like Hell? That sometimes, no often, I still feel like I’m suffocating underneath it all?

. . . and then the sun comes out.

And then despite the rain, despite the thunder and the lightening, despite the begging and the longing and the bargaining and the pleading . . . through all of that weight. . . there’s light. And you know, somehow, someway everything truly is OK.

Out from under all.that.pain, you’re watching a miracle unfold. Right there in front of you. Layer by layer. Breath by breath.

And the miracle. . . is you.

You breathe in deep, flooded with inexplicable gratitude—oxygenating your very soul. Suddenly, for the first time in months, your feet hit the ground. You see all the pieces of yourself—the pieces of your sanity— and you know you can put it all back together again.

A day ago, or even a moment, you wouldn’t have believed.

Now, here it is. . .

Right in front of you.

The miracle of you.

Sometimes, the missing* rolls in. Like a wet, heavy fog across the desert.

And it fills EVERY PORE OF MY BEING—every crevasse of my parched heart.

I look around. Everyone with their perfect babies, and their perfect pregnancies, and their perfect families. And my heart cries out. Tears stream down my cheeks and fall shamelessly upon my chest.

Life continues. PEOPLE continue. Continue to laugh, and smile, and love. . . and breeeeeeeeed.

I wouldn’t have it any other way. I WOULD NOT HAVE IT ANY OTHER WAY. AND—

And the line between my joy for them and my ache for me. . . is at times, imperceptible. My family is still broken. Signs of grief, pain and overwhelming devastation still float to the surface from time to time. Often, they’re overwhelming, other times, they are tender and sweet. . . either way, they keep us connected to what’s true and real about the world, connected to the things that matter most. Connceted to our God and sealed to our faith in His plan for us.

I want to heal. I want to BE healed. I want my family to heal, my children to be made whole.  I desperately want these things. But healing prematurely would equate to lessons lost. And I want the lessons more than I don’t want the pain. As bitter as those words taste leaving my heart, they are true.

Because I don’t just want to live. I WANT TO LIVE!!!!!!! I want to FEEEEEEEEEEEL. I want to BE—alive in my heart, in my understanding, in my influence. I want to be alive in my integrity. I want to say—”LIFE IS GOOD, GOD IS REAL, LOVE IS ALL AROUND US,” and when I do, I want to know it. In every pore. In every breath. In all of me.


*Dear You, The line between missing, self pity and overwhelming fear, is often imperceptible. THAT IS OK. Please know that. Sweet you, out there missing, hurting, wishing to be anywhere but here. It’s OK. YOU are OK. I do not judge your hurt. I do not ask you to quiet your pain, or to hide (from) your self pity, or self loathing, or from your desperation (wishing that it could all be different—willing to do anything you can to make it so). “Wherever you are, be there.” This wisdom comes from a heart that knows. A heart that would never judge you. Not ever. Don’t you dare judge yourself. You wake up every morning, and you breathe in and out all day long. Don’t you see the miracle that you are? Are you so clouded and confused that you are incapable of seeing what you are doing? You are walking on water. Despite it all, you breathe in and out all day long. In and out. All day long. You are a miracle. Just as you are. Do not judge that. And know, He “will go before your face . . . on your right hand and on your left, and [His] Spirit shall be in your hearts, and [His] angels round about you, to bear you up.” There are better days ahead. There are.

Here is where it all began.

You. It was you. You started everything.

And I don’t know if I should scream at you, or throw my arms around your neck and never, ever let go.

You died; I was born again.

Little by little, line upon line, and now here I am. Strong. Steady. Vulnerable. Unstable. All of it together, and much, much more.

I love you. I need you.

Stay nearby.



Above: me, wrapped in my swaddling clothes…

Hello friends!

I’m sorry I’ve been MIA this week.

I’m not going to color coat my life for the blogosphere… I’m in a genuine funk. I miss my brother, I miss my son and all this missing makes me feel like I’m quietly losing my mind.

Every time I close my eyes, vivid memories, horrifying memories flood my consciousness.

Showers are the worst; I didn’t realize how much deep, closed eyed thinking went on during showers.

I’d rather stay dirty, thank you.

I knew this anniversary would be hard, I just didn’t anticipate the person it would turn me in to. I’m grouchy and melancholy, and for the first time in a long time, I actually feel sorry for myself.

Bleh. I hate this version of me.

The happy news is that I respect myself enough to let myself ride this wave. One of the greatest gifts I can give myself through grief is the opportunity to simply be where I am, without frustration, without judgment.
Because this too shall pass.

It most certainly shall…


Note: blogged from my phone. Please pardon any crazy formatting or grammatical oversights… Muah!