Ubuntu

One of the sayings in our country is Ubuntu - the essence of being human. Ubuntu speaks particularly about the fact that you can't exist as a human being in isolation. It speaks about our interconnectedness. You can't be human all by yourself, and when you have this quality - Ubuntu - you are known for your generosity.

We think of ourselves

far too frequently as just

individuals,

separated from

one another,

whereas you are connected and what you do affects the whole world. When you do well, it spreads out; it is for the whole of humanity. (Desmond Tutu)

I first stumbled across Ubuntu when reading some of the words and inspirations of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Big surprise there.

It was on the back of this book, a saying that could have been easily overlooked, but somehow, I managed to see it.

I am what I am because of who we all are.

This is the essence of Ubuntu, a concept a part of African spirituality, particularly stemming from southern parts in Africa.

I've been thinking a lot about humanity, and the world, yes, of course, but I have also been thinking about a special place in my heart where a special group of girls reside.

I have tasted a sense of interconnectedness around the globe, and that's beautiful. I also can feel a very different, but even more tangible interconnectedness with my best friends at Hendrix, which I think counts for something really special.

Dear Ali, Lauren, Jordana, Michelle, and Rachel,

I am what I am because of who we all are.

I've changed a lot over these past three years. And, it's no question that y'all have too. And your change has been a part of my change. What have we have done has affected each other, and somehow, after Habitat, adventures on the field hockey bus, Bible Study, classes, SoCo54, all the good times, and all the hard times too, I find myself ready for this last year, more ready than ever to do it with my best friends.

We are all so different—crazy different, even. But as I get my stuff slowly back together to come back to our home in Conway, well, I think back on all of our adventures, journeys, experiences, and times together, and somehow I feel so much reassurance, love, and comfort, just knowing we are all on this same ride together. It's nice. It's senior year, y'all.

And when we finally reunite, it will be the first time some of us have seen each other in almost 9 MONTHS. Hello, like Rachel has said, someone could have had a BABY in that time.

I will see you, Michelle, and we can finally read our bibles together and journal, and contemplate things such as time while somehow also having a photo shoot and still getting our homework done.

I will see you, Ali, and we can play field hockey together again (!!!!) and continue our creeper game, and of course discuss the state of the world in the same conversation we talk about hot men.

I will see you, Rachel, and we will finally be back together after our EPIC adventure in Ghana. We can talk Ghanaian, continue our heart to hearts, and of course, be ridiculous as always.

I will see you, Lauren, and we will get to play hockey together again (!!!!) and meet for breakfast, and talk about anything and everything, being rebellious here and there.

I will see you Jordana, and we will laugh together, try accents together, and of course complete the mission together. I will cook you Ghanaian food, and you will bring me baked goods.

Ubuntu might have been intended in African spirituality as a way to see the world, and oh, I see it. I am living it. Y'all are a part of this journey I am having.

You can't exist as a human in isolation. I believe this.

You can't thrive at Hendrix without some beautiful people around you. I believe this too.

I know things have changed, and will keep changing too. This is life. Josh Radin so beautifully says, "so let the wine blow us, to wherever it says we are supposed to go."

But, I think change makes us stronger. It brings us closer. So, when we go back in a few weeks, I look forward to lots of hugs, tears, stories, wine, and picking up right where we left off.

Love y'all,

Heather

 

 

 

 

2 albums; one heart

I finally have my Ghana pictures all put together in an album. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!).

I love it.

And as I looked through the album that now holds snapshots of our crazy, wild, incredible journey: the Kissemahn kids, Coca-Cola, Togo & Benin, the beautiful coastline of Ghana, and our random photo shoots around Accra, I managed to find the photo album that I had with me while I was in Ghana.

This album was a source of comfort for me while I was abroad. It was nice to have a piece of home when I came across difficulties, when I was sad, when I was homesick, and when I was needing a little reminder of everything I had waiting for me at home.

In this album are pictures of my family, of various trips, and of course, my friends.

It has pictures from my mission trip to Vietnam, of the hockey team, of my incredible grandma, of my best friends and I jaunting around Hendrix, of hikes in my favorite parts of the mountains, and even of Buddy.

There are empty spots for pictures where Rukia, Salem, and Gloria took a few to keep in their homes back in Kissemahn. I think I'm going to leave it like that—a nice reminder of where I have left a big piece of my heart.

Though it's impossible to describe what my journey in Ghana has meant for me, with these pictures, and some story-telling, I can make a little headway.

As I look through the photos of familiarity—my parents, siblings, and friends—I like where I am going. I like where I have been. I like it, just right here. Right now.

That's the trick with photographs, you know. How to embrace them for exactly what they mean; to let them take you back, but also use them to propel you forward. I don't know when I'm going back to Ghana. I don't think that door has completely closed just yet. So, when I look back on these pictures, I will laugh, cry, and remember. I will cherish. And I will appreciate and know that is from these experiences that I am who I am. And, I have that forever. I am taking that with me. I am moving forward with this inside of me.

That is the value of a photograph.

 

The beautiful pianist

A perfect moment.

We celebrated birthdays for the month of July today in the dining room at The Gathering Place.

Ice cream. Cake. Singing.

One woman slowly made her way over to the big brown piano, took a seat, and just played. Her eyes were far from being fixated on the music; it was clear, this woman knew this song by heart.

She was playing an old church hymn. Everyone stopped and listened.

Her eyes shut, and still I could see them. She was in another world. She was gone.

I wanted more and more and more.

The music came slowly, and then quickly, and all at once everyone was mesmerized. This was by a woman, who maybe by society and the rest of the world has counted her out.

She isn't rich enough. She isn't skinny enough. She needs help. She can't do it alone.

It makes me wonder: who really can?

And so here she is. Playing the grand piano with vigor I haven't seen in so long.

I feel refreshed. Invigorated. Renewed. Just from watching, and feeling her heart that she is so generously pouring out for everyone to feel.

As quick as it comes, it is over. She gets a standing ovation, and the women are on their feet clapping, screaming, taken aback by the beauty this woman so unexpectedly displayed.

What are we all carrying around that we can offer the world?

So let the wind blows us

So, I've been thinking.

Yes, please run. When that happens, it can be quite scary.

And, I don't really know what everything means. Because I'm young, oh so young, and I don't know exactly what I want out of this crazy life.

But, maybe, at the exact same time, I do.

I wrote in my journal.

I want to be happy.

I want to love.

I want to be a woman of hope. I want hope to guide me, pull me, push me. Just when I think I can't go any further.

I want to play. I never want to stop, I never want to stop exploring, learning, and appreciating.

I want to get dirty. Dirt on my face, hands, under my nails. As long as that means I've lived, and maybe enjoyed this beautiful earth that much more.

I want to laugh. And, make people laugh too. Even at the risk of sounding like a complete crazy loon. It's just so much more fun that way.

I want to know God. I want that to come and go right through my soul, so that I always feel like He is filling me right back up.

I want to be a best friend. I want to have best friends.

I want to fall in love. With a man, with beautiful children, with places all over this world.

I want to be strong. Strong enough to be independent, still relying on God and others, and strong enough to be me. Not afraid to be exactly who I am.

And, more than anything, I just want to believe. I want to believe that anything is possible. That love can move mountains. That everything happens for a reason. And that every day, every moment. It's a gift.

So, yes, I've been thinking. Life is confusing, challenging, hard, ugly, dirty, and just plain ridiculous sometimes. But you know what?

Those perfect moments—watching a pure and steady sunset, laughing with tears rolling down your face, coming home with grass stains from a game well played, and just LIVING—it kind of makes everything worthwhile.

Open the door.

Streetlight by Joshua Radin.

 

I'll wait for something under a streetlight
It won't be long because

 

It's dark, it's cold it's one of those nights where

Something out there keeps me alive


But I don't know where to go

So I think I'll sit and stay here a while

Till I figure it out

So let the wind blow us
To wherever it says
We are supposed to go.

 

When you want something but can't name it
It's under a streetlight

It's something you've never seen before
Open the door

It's something you've always been afraid of

It's under a streetlight
And now all you want is more

But I don't know where to go
So I think I'll sit and stay here a while
Till I figure it out

So let the wind blow us
To wherever it says
We are supposed to go

I don't mind the wait it's fine

As long as you know

It's the wait that could be the something.


But I don't know where to go
So I think I'll sit and stay here a while
Till I figure it out

So let the wind blow us
To wherever it says
We are supposed to go

 

 

 

oh beautiful for spacious skies.

My Journey of Reconciliation

I should know much of what there is to know about America. I should have a grasp of this bizarre and fascinating culture—and I should be comfortable with it—yes? After all, I am an American Studies major. And, an American too.

Confession. I'm clueless.

I couldn't help but let the tears fall today as I drove home from the Gathering Place in Denver on I-25.

When did all of this stop making sense?

In Ghana, I journaled so much about finally knowing America now that I was on the outside looking in. I preached it. I felt like I could grasp this thing we call America now that I saw things from a new perspective.

So, imagine coming home—to the U.S.A.—and feeling a little bit like a stranger at times.

The idea of my home—my room and PRIVATE space where I can be isolated at any time—I don't get it.

Wal-mart is another monster. I sure as hell can't figure it out. Why are there like, 940925435 kinds of butter to choose from?

The food. The relationships. The culture of poverty.

Quite simply, I'm confused. Sad. Detached. Uncertain. To name a few.

I try and express this and people just look at me blankly. Don't get me wrong, and I am going to stress this: I DO love America. So very much. I am grateful to be an American. This country is beautiful. That cannot be overstated.

It's just reconciling two different worlds is nearly impossible.

To be fair, even after living in Ghana, I of course didn't figure out the ins and outs of Ghana perfectly either. Who am I, an American, coming into a new place and feeling like I can walk away with my own assumptions and knowledge about a place that I only knew for over 4 months? Sometimes, it seems so long. Sometimes, not at all. Still, I did learn. I learnt a lot about another way of life. I experienced another way of life. I LIVED another way of life, at times.

Once again, I find myself unable to fit.

I suppose maybe it's not all about fitting? Maybe, that is just another lesson in this vast, indescribable, incredible experience? Maybe fitting isn't the point.

Still, that is another topic altogether, and somehow I am going to have to find a way to live, not merely exist in this great country because this is my life now.

How do I carry everything I experienced in Ghana and live my life in America? How do you find reconciliation?

The answer, I imagine, is hidden far and wide in a deep place in this life. Somewhere between my heart, my experiences, my future, my relationships, and my spirituality. The answer just might be the rest of my life. I am forever changed. The adjusting might be the hardest part. Especially NOW. Over a month at home, and yes, it's really starting to sink in.

I'm happy, and believe me, coming from my life, this cannot be feigned. But with the happiness that comes with being in my home, playing with my dogs, hiking mountains, reading books, and relishing all that I love about Denver, comes the challenge of adjusting, rather, RE adjusting.

It's okay to cry, my family told me tonight, as I tried to verbalize what was going through my heart and mind. It's okay to cry. It's okay to feel this way. It's okay. I am normal, they say. And, I believe them. I also believe everything will be okay, and that this part of the journey is just as important as any other moment. Now is the time that I am carrying along the stories, the people, the experiences and processing. I am not alone, and for that I am grateful.

It might be hard, it might be uncomfortable, but it's important that I stay strong and push forward. Lord, please help me. I cannot do this alone.

Cheers, Michelle

Dear Michelle,

You once told me

may you pick up your heart and place it in their hands

leave it

leave your heart in Ghana

may it be beautiful

may it be right

 

may you look forward in expectation of home

may every step towards it be marked by peace

that peace that passes all understanding

I promise it is there

 

These words—and this promise—are written in my journal, etched slowly into my paper so that I could really take all of it in. You told Rachel and me these beautiful things right as we prepared to leave Africa. You wished us well darling, and I know your words and sentiments touched us both very deeply.

Your words somehow held onto what my heart was feeling inside.

Your words made coming home a little more reassuring.

Which is funny, because you wrote to us miles and miles away, tucked away in the heart of England, seemingly a world away from Ghana. And yet, you captured the moment. You captured the sentiment.

Yes, our last semesters apart have been starkly different.

You have danced in daffodils, I have danced in dirt. You have picked up the British way of saying things, I learnt a little of Twi. You embraced being cold, I embraced being hot. You gallivanted all over Europe, I gallivanted all over Ghana.

But, I suppose that is the beauty and mystery of some things, because even in our differences, we also experienced similar things, too.

We grew as women.

We saw a new place in the world.

We discovered God in a new way.

We met amazing, incredible people.

We adapted. We adjusted. We thrived.

We loved. This much I know is true.

You, Michelle, I think, carry with you a little British in your soul. Even before England, you have always been such a lovely, kind, and graceful woman, and it seems like all of these are evident from your time in Chester. You were meant to be there. Quite simply, England was for you, and you were for England.

Now, darling, it is your turn.

There is a time for everything. A time to plant and a time to uproot (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2)

May your beautiful seeds that you planted in England become pretty flowers. May they bloom, as you have, and grow and soak up the sun that is so precious and dear. May the relationships and friends you have come to cherish stay with you forever. May your stories radiate in your mind, so that you can tell your family and friends about your journey in England. May your prayers be answered, so that you can find peace and comfort in your last week in England. May you find happiness. I know you already have, but may this happiness fill you from your hands to your toes, leaving no part of your soul untouched. May you laugh hard and long, giving you the undeniably wonderful feeling of a headache from laughing too hard. May you say goodbye, and know that really, this is just the beginning.

It's true, you know.

This is just the beginning of a long journey, just one chapter of a great story. Your months and time in Chester will forever stay with you. I hope you remember the small things, the little wonders that make living so worthwhile. The cool air on your face, the feeling of watching the English countryside pass by you, and everything in between.

So, I may lack the way you have with words, but know I, as many of us are, are praying for your safe return to America. There will be bluebonnets to be loved, a family anxiously awaiting you with a big hug, and lots of really good Southern food. It will be hard to come back. But, you, Michelle, know better than anyone that there is a time for everything.

Enjoy, no, embrace these last few days you have.

You are a changed woman, and I can't wait to trade stories, give hugs, and drink wine with this new Michelle Stiles. Stay beautiful my lovely English girl.

Cheers and love.

 

 

American Honey

Amurrrrrrica.

I've been back for a month.

I've been feeling, experiencing, seeing, and questioning a lot.

These are figments and pieces of my thoughts, emotions, and feelings as I have adjusted to America again.
They all come from my cute, gold, flowery journal.

Peace and love.

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It just took over 72 hours for it all to really start sinking in. I can’t really pinpoint what triggered it, but I was at the gym doing crunches, and then BAM! Someday by Rob Thomas came on my IPOD and I glanced around and saw white, and I thought of Rukia. Closing my eyes, it was like I was in Ghana again, back in another world. The tears came fast; I headed to the bathroom to be alone. I was supposed to stay for Pilates, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to explore; I didn’t want to be trapped. Maybe I was afraid of being alone with my thoughts. Whatever it was, I left. I got in my car and headed home. Soon, I was on my bike. I wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, but I found myself at the soccer complex near my house, just off of Arapahoe Road. The fields are green and lush, reminiscent of the soccer fields I played on just a few hundred feet away, just a few years ago. Now, where I once adorned shin guards and blue and white for Colorado Storm Soccer club, stands Target, Best Buy, Dick’s, and Sunflower Market. Hello, infrastructure. As I bike over a creaky wooden path and park my bike against the old brown bark of a tree, I just stare. Immaculate and well groomed fields are everywhere, as kids of all ages are learning the game of soccer. Coaches, players, parents, everywhere. Will everything always go back to Ghana? Because my mind reminded me of how almost one week ago, I too was playing football, in Ghana, mind you. I played in Kissemahn park, on rock filled dirt, with stones marking the goals. I played with Godwin, with Daniel, with Forgive. My friends. My children. Football rules. Period. Grass or not, they will play. One game, two different experiences, two worlds.

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Relatively speaking, I’ve suffered little in my 21 years of life. I’ve grown up comfortably, I successfully graduated high school, and I’ve found great opportunities at Hendrix College. I’ve always had a roof, a family, a support system. I’ve fallen in love with God. And, I have friends that are unquestionably my soul mates. They get me. I’ve had struggles in my life, no question. Life is hard. But SUFFERING. What does that mean to me? I have been a witness to suffering: The Gathering Place, Pascagoula, New Orleans, Vietnam, Birmingham, Conway, Kissemahn. Suffering is everywhere. I have seen pain and true brokenness. And, I have also seen some that have nothing and possess everything. I pray I have the heart to feel, eyes to see, and to find solidarity from the suffering in this world.

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Summer always has a certain smell, feel, and vibe to it. I think a lot of that is a true sense of FREEDOM. Less responsibility, more time in the sun, and lazy afternoons. Or was that what summer WAS? Summer was always about the pool, friends, family, and relaxation. I’m struggling to find any of the above. Other things are looming, and adjusting into the fanciful expectations of summer after months and months in Ghana is challenging. I’m not alone, I know that, but sometimes even with all the love and my family around me, it’s been hard not to feel that way.

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Walmart.

Why?

Out. Of. Control.

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Back in Colorado for the summer. Only this time, this transitioning period is new. Unmarked territory—full of tension. Tension, not in the wow, I feel uptight and uncomfortable sense, but rather in the I’m a crossroad, becoming sense. I’m coming off a whirlwind experience in Ghana. In a couple months I will head off to my senior year in college. I’m a woman. Don’t be fooled, I am not afraid to jump in and make sand castles with the kids, or even take part in an occasional puppet show. It’s just, I’ve grown up too. So, fitting here has been hard.

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Amidst the excitement and joy of our family as we took pictures outside the Ritchie Center in Denver, I glanced over and saw a woman in beautiful African garb. Complete with the headdress. I got so excited, I tugged at my grandma, wanting her to see the beauty of Ghanaian fashion. She smiled and seemed excited too. More and more, I am wishing I made my diva dress into a Ghanaian women’s outfit. I just don’t think I could ever be that fabulous. I mean REALLY. It was nice to see the vibrant colors, styles, and designs again. So beautiful.

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I’ve been sad, anxious, and confused. Unsure of where God is leading me next. Yet, fully aware of the passion inside of me. There is so much ahead. It’s insane, really. There’s also so much here.

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As I was asking God for peace in my heart, I realized that even if I don’t fit, it doesn’t mean I don’t belong. This is home. It always will be. So, as I deal with this tension I can find grace in knowing I am here for a reason. I am home. And it might just be as sweet as American honey. Like the wise and poetic Lady Antebellum says.

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I talked with a Liberian woman, Ida, who has been a favorite at the Gathering Place for years today. Her accent, her dress, she was a give away. I knew she had that West African woman spirit, seriously. The minute she mentioned plantains, I had to approach her. We had an instant connection, and for me, an instant admiration. A Liberian refugee, bringing her children her to America and making a life for her family here, I was truly humbled. I asked her how in the world she adjusted to this crazy American life. She scoffed, laughed, and simply said, “I didn’t really have a choice. You do what you have to do, and you just keep on loving God.” Two days later, she brought me and the rest of the family area staff fried plantains and a Liberian stew. West African women might just be some of the strongest, most intense, passionate, and kind people you will ever meet.

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God never ceases to amaze me. On the same day that I got to talk on the phone with the children of Kissemahn, I got to spend all day with 4 children at the Gathering Place who I developed close relationships with two years ago. I finally got to see them again—Betty, Jesus, Janet, and Lizzy. Needless to say, the blessings and beauty of this world come unexpectedly sometimes. That’s the best part, isn’t it? I forgot how much I loved being called Auntie Heather, and I forgot how great it was to hear prayers in Spanish. Life is beautiful.

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Maybe if all of America knew about Ghana time, life would be felt a little more. Are people that rush around, barely looking away from their closed tunnel vision, numb to what is going on around them? Why don’t people say hi to each other more? Why don’t we just STOP and just enjoy? Hospitality goes a long way. I know this. I know this, because the other day, as I got into my car, absorbing all of the thoughts racing through my mind, a man in a wheelchair waved. I felt loved. I felt the way it felt when people spewed out “Akwaaba!” and “How are youuuu?” in the markets of Accra, or even walking towards Blessed Bless to get an egg sandwhich. Yes, hospitality is a gift, and something I hope offer more to the people around me. My family, my friends, and complete strangers. It might just slowly help the world become a better place.

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I feel like I am trying to vicariously live my Ghanaian life through the Black Stars during the World Cup. When the camera crew shows the flag, and Ghanaian football enthusiasts I get teary eyed. Do I need counseling? No, not really, but it's funny that I feel much more strongly about rooting for a team that I lived in that nation for over 4 months, versus my OWN nation, in which I have lived for well over 20 years. Ghana makes you do funny things.

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It’s Father’s Day. I feel even more grateful and blessed with a wonderful father than ever before. My dad is a silly man, most people would tell you that, but they would also say that he seeks to understand me than a lot of other people. We are close, not because he knows the intricate details of my life, but because he has a deeper understanding of what makes me happy. My dad came to Ghana for me. It was the most wonderful act of love he could have done, and now, he understands, more than anyone, how weird, strange, and hard it is to live back in America. That makes things easier. Even in just that week and half in the land of the Black Stars, he caught a glimpse of Ghana, and what it’s like to live in a completely different part of the world. He gets it. Sometimes I just need a hug when things feel overwhelming here. And he knows that. So, I’m extra thankful today. I also have a wonderfully supportive stepdad in Randy, and a wonderful Grandpa too. How did I get so lucky? The men in my life are strong, compassionate, and loyal. They have the things that I hope to find one day in a man, and I think that’s a pretty cool thing.

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Hidden Treasures

It's no secret my family tree is complicated. If you have ever been my friend, you have probably been confused. That's mostly because, yes, my parents are divorced but also both sets of my grandparents are also divorced. My parents are remarried—so voila! 6 sets of grandparents. Confusing? Yes. A blessing? Absolutely. It's also no secret to those close to me that my Grandma Genevra (my dad's mother) is my kindred spirit.

 

From the time I was little and as I grew up, she was a guiding force in my life. From little things to big things, I learnt a lot from her. So much of me is from her. It runs that deep.

For the past 7 years Grandma Jenny and the rest of our family has had to deal with MS: multiple sclerosis. It is the hardest thing I have personally dealt with in my life. Which, says a lot, because I am not the one suffering directly from the disease. But, that's not what this is about. Not today.

 

I'm writing because tonight I reconnected with her, and not in an expected way.

 

Grandma is practically paralyzed on her left side now. She has very little control of her body—no longer can she form many coherent, words, sounds, or sentences. Just last week when I popped in to see her at the nursing home, I watched as she tried to brush her teeth. A struggle, and also an impossibility for her now, she must solely rely on others for her care giving.

 

When we went to Josh's baseball game in Highlands Ranch she could barely see. Her back hunched over from her depleted muscles kept her from keeping her head up. It's getting harder to take her out. But, Gary (essentially my grandfather) does it every single weekend. The mountains, Denver, Boulder, you name it. They go.

 

I was thinking about all of this as Lance and I dug through some stuff in the garage. We were having a garage sale, and dad wanted us to sift through some boxes. I found old china, my old dolls, and old kitchenware. Nothing totally unexpected.

 

That is, until I found one of my Grandma's old purses. A stylish, sophisticated, coffee cream color purse, it screamed Grandma Jenny.

 

Giddy, I opened it up.

 

It's amazing—it smelt of Grandma. Her scent, like I remember it, a mix of Chanel No 5 with the sweet smell of rose blush. I hadn't smelt her like that in years. I kept digging.

 

This purse was clearly hers before she got really sick and the MS took a turn for the worse. She had a Colorado MS magazine, and a letter from her doctor too. She had two pairs of sunglasses, big, and diva-esque, as per usual. My Grandma always exuded classiness.

 

Grandma also kept everything. Old receipts, letters, notes, and God knows what else. All in her bag, too. I even noticed in her old checkbook how her writing progressively got shakier and shakier as her muscles gave out more and more. An old billfold. Pictures. In one of them, she is completely glowing. It's Christmas time and she is looking admiringly at Kaitlyn, my cousin and one of her other granddaughters. Strong, vibrant, protective, and compassionate.

 

There was an envelope in her purse too. Dotted with various phone numbers and miscellaneous information, I opened it up. She had an article cut out, a check from my uncle that never got cashed, and old pictures. One of the pictures was when she couldn't have been older than 22. She is wearing a gorgeous red dress with black heels, holding a pair of white gloves in her hands. She is posing next to a grand piano, with her hoop earrings, bright red lipstick, and glowing smile. I never knew this young woman. I only knew her as my grandmother, and yet here is evidence of a life well spent as a beautiful woman. I felt like she was really here again. I grew up wanting to be like her. I still do. Finding this purse and finding mementos and remnants of Grandma before MS made me incredibly happy. Sometimes it is hard to separate the disease, but it can be done. MS doesn't define her.

 

I struggle with what has happened every day. She always crosses my mind at some point. When I see someone sewing. When I want breakfast for dinner. When I see CSI come on. When I go to the library. When I play sports. When I watch old ladies work in the their garden.

 

No, she's not dead, but in dealing with this disease you lost a lot of that person—inevitably.

She isn't gone though. I was reminded of that as I perused through her old belongings. For the first time ever really, I am at peace. I don't feel anger. I don't feel so sad. It is what it is. I still have with me everything she taught me. She let me dream. She let me know anything was possible. She held me. She showed me the small things in life and told me that these are what makes this world beautiful. And love too.

 

Always love, she would say.

 

So that is what I will try and do. For so long I have been angry about what happened to her. But years have passed, and time keeps going. God is working in my life, and in hers, and I am finally letting go. I can't change what has happened, and I can't change what she might be going through. I can still love though. I can always love. Here's to love.