Monday, April 29, 2019


There's been too much going on and not enough energy to write about it. I actually spent a bit of time just now looking for a meme about fatigue because I woke up from a nap just as tired as when I went to sleep. Anyway, I decided to look for something else instead. That hug is for me. And others in my life who need it, including you.

I miss this space. I miss writing to process what is going on. I will return again once there's some spare energy.

Fatigue sucks.
Baby snuggles rock.
Friends are priceless.
Death is sobering.
Meal delivery is a godsend.
Therapists are, too.
Prayer helps.
So do hugs.

Friday, April 19, 2019


The service for my friend was this week. A group of us traveled to the foothills of the Rockies to say goodbye to her. I have never cried so much at a funeral.

I let my hurting heart overflow with tears streaming down my face. I had nanoseconds of feelings self conscious but just that, nanoseconds. I told my therapist I've cried more over the death of my friend than any other death I've experienced and she told me it was because I wasn't stuffing my feelings down anymore. A sign of healing.

My mother in law also passed away this week. I have not spent much time with her for years but once she went to the hospital in the first week of March we spent many hours together and then more once she was in hospice. It reminded me all over again why I loved her and gave me new appreciation for who she is as a person. She often had this lovely habit of cupping your face in one of her hands when she greeted you if she hadn't seen you in a long time. She knew how to love well.

At the funeral of my friend, as I went down the receiving line of her siblings and children, meeting many of them for the first time, I came to her son. Her heart broken son. I spontaneously cupped his face in one of my hands as I spoke to him. He has the loveliest gentle soul of a countenance. I will see him again.

There were two of us who journeyed with our friend through her walk with cancer. We knew each other before but had never spent time together outside church events. I cried to her on the way home about how would we see each other now without our shared walk with our friend. She reached over and gripped my hand as my tears fell.

Yesterday there was a knock on my door. I opened it to see her standing there still as could be. She said, "I missed you." I welcomed her in and cried as I told Dearest One about our earlier conversation. She came with an invitation to join a small group of women weekly who get together to support each other in this journey we call life. So I will see her regularly again and it is a joy to think of this.

I hope that journeying with my friend who passed away has taught me that we are all so wounded and if those wounds were visible it would be a kinder world out there. Let it begin with me.

Saturday, April 13, 2019


My friend, who I have been accompanying to cancer treatments, passed away this morning. The photo is the last thing she posted on her social media account a few days ago.

I'll just leave it here in her memory. She had the best laugh. She kept a gratitude journal right through her journey with cancer.

She so much wanted to live. I am feeling gutted.

Wednesday, April 10, 2019


Watching someone in labour is holy.
Watching your son hold his son for the first time is cry worthy.
Baby snuggles are therapeutic.
You can't take too many photos.
Night shift with a baby is precious.
You forget what sleep deprivation feels like.
Until you don't.
A good meal can restore one's hope.
So can a good sleep.
Hearing a 5 year old make up a song to soothe his newborn cousin and then say, 'that's a love song for babies' makes one's heart grow bigger.

Watching someone confront their biggest fear is holy.
Watching them cry gut wrenching tears makes one cry.
Hugs are therapeutic.
Photos become memories.
Night shift can hold many things.
It can make one tired in body and soul.
A good sleep can't fix a tired soul.
Cooking and baking,
Creating something in the midst of great pain gives a glimmer of hope.
Finding compassion where there used to be none makes one's heart grow bigger.

The journey is worth it.