To Smile is to Awaken

I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite-Buddy the Elf

(I included a photo of Judy Garland because of the music link at the end)

This  morning I was heading down South University Avenue to grab a coffee at my favorite Starbucks Coffee shop. They know me there. By name. I love that. They love that I always tip. No matter how much or little I spend there. My order is always the same. Venti dark roast (preferably Komodo Dragon Blend), five pumps of caramel, two Sweet and Low and room for cream. I have a Gold Card so I always get my syrup for free.

As I walked down the street, I smiled. A genuine one. I’ve been told that smiling is infectious. I found that to be true today. Each person that I came in contact with, either smiled back or said hello. It gladdened my heart and made my smile broader. It’s simple really, to smile. I found that the more I’ve smiled today, the more positive I’ve become.

Life hasn’t been easy these last few months. With injuries to my body, mind and heart. Day by day life gets easier. If not easier, better. I’ve learned that I can’t change those around me. That I must change. My attitude, my mind, my heart, my life. For if I do that, my positivity projects to all of those around me. What better way to start that process than with a warm smile, a kind word, and a genuine interest in what someone is saying to you?

This week, Sexy Soul Star, one of my favorite bloggers asked the question are you a “Waker” on their FB page. Meaning do you have the gift of waking those out of their metaphorical slumber. Below is what I posted on the Sexy Soul Star Facebook fan page. Please check the blog and the FB page out. Such beautiful photos and powerful words come from this fantastic man.

I do believe I am one of these “Wakers”. I’m not trying to sound arrogant or anything. But I feel the urge to help people whenever I can. I speak the truth, give support and nurture. It’s what I was born to do. One of my daughter’s dear friends came to me recently and told me that I helped save her life. That she was close to suicide and then read one of my blog entries. Told me it changed her life. I’ve never felt so helpless and helpful at the same time. I guess that’s why I tell my story on wordpress. To change one life with my words, means that I’m a success. 

My friends even if you can not find the words to convey your feelings, at least smile. For even to smile is to awaken. Yourself and those around you.

Sweet Child O’ Mine, A Meeting with an Old Friend

She was drunk. She had hoped it would help her sleep. She had hoped it would help her to be able to finally climb into the bed that she had shared with her husband of over 20 years with. She was so tired. So fucking tired. Her husband had been convicted of hurting a child. Her youngest son had run off in response, while her oldest stayed by her side. She’d been barely holding it together for too long. Living in a little cocoon. But at that moment of trying to get into bed, she finally broke down. Finally, she laid on the floor and wailed. Her oldest son, her child, her baby, had to see her in her weakest state. Drunk, and sobbing uncontrollably because she couldn’t get into the bed she had shared with a man who was now in jail, as he would be for years to come. She begged her son to call her mother. He did, while taking care of her as well. He waited for his grandma to get there and put his mother to bed, so she could get some rest after living a nightmare that actually came true.

She walks into the bar and I see her as she once was, when we were just teens. Striding towards me, she is statuesque, blonde, violet blue eyes, and wearing a huge smile. As she zips to the table, so many men turn their heads to look at her. Some of them appear to get whiplash as a result. She’s a ravishing beauty after all that she’s been through. We hug for what seems like forever. We haven’t seen each other in 26 years, but you’d never know it, by the sounds of our laughter and the constant exchanges of “I love you.” I think to myself, “Oh my God how did I ever let this light out of my life?” We were best friends at one time. But life pulls us in different directions. Even though we lived just a few towns away from each other, our lives were busy. She was married, and so was I. We’d each had two children. We were part of our community, and our kids kept us plenty busy.

I’ve already ordered her a Bud Light. I’m sipping white zinfandel and water, because I have to drive home after our meeting. We sit down and start talking. She goes first because she has a story to tell. One that is difficult to hold in. I let her have the floor. I let her go, and let go she does.

But this story is not about her ex-husband. This story is not about her sons. This story is about her. A beautiful woman, that was my best friend during our teenage years. She and I fell away as high school friends often do. We find lovers that we marry and plan on staying with for the rest of our lives. We have children that mean everything to us, that make us better somehow. That we in turn make better by raising them up right. We become involved in the places that we live, in our communities, in our children’s activities, in our lives. It becomes our lives and nothing else matters. But then the unthinkable happens: your husband is accused of taking advantage of a young woman.

She told me that she knew that the light had switched in his brain somehow. They’d been married for 20 years and he started becoming abusive – mentally at first, and then physically. But she had been living with the mental abuse, or as she called it, “passive-aggressiveness” for so long she knew how to diffuse it. For some reason though, this time she no longer could. He started hitting her. Why after so long? She has no idea. But he did hit her. He made her feel small, like she was inadequate. He turned into a stranger. Someone she didn’t even know. She stayed though, for her kids, for the idea that they were “pillars” of the community. They took good care of their kids and the kids of their friends.

When her husband eventually went to prison, she hid herself away. Her youngest son started his senior year of high school shortly thereafter. He told her that he was dealing with some aggression at a home football game. That was what brought her out of her funk. She said to her self, “no one is going to make my child pay for the sins of my husband.” So the next football game, she went. She dealt with the animosity, so that her son didn’t have to. She is one tough momma bear and she loves her boy immensely. While she was there she saw a good friend of the family who, taking her hand said, “If you need anything, anything at all, call me.” She looked at him and knew that he meant every word he said.

She did eventually call him, and they became inseparable. He brought her back to life. He helped her figure out her way, helped her figure out how to continue to take care of her boys, even though she was damaged. He helped her to realize that the man she had married all those years ago was no long the same man. He helped her figure out that the men that were contacting her with offers of help, were only wanting to take advantage of her. To fuck her, own her, hurt her even more, and then disregard her like yesterday’s trash. If she didn’t have this wonderful, flawed man in his own right by her side during this time, who knows what mistakes she might have made.

She finalized her divorce as quickly as possible. She lived in utter poverty for two years. Sometimes, without even electricity, warm water, heat, or food. In short, all the damn things that we normally take for granted. She had nothing. Every time she went to an interview, they would uncover her history and the job offer would disappear. She would think to her self, “They have no reason to judge me. I am NOT the sins of my husband. I am ME!”

Taking a break, we both look at the crucifixes around our necks. As our conversations have progressed, we keep touching them throughout. This recognition turns our conversation towards the topic of faith, and therapy, but mostly faith. We realize as we hold hands across the table and cry, that our faith is what’s gets us through. I told her I haven’t taken my crucifix off for 14 years. When I had to have an MRI recently, it killed me to remove it for even that hour. She told me that her original crucifix broke, and she found herself lost without it. She then acquired the one that she wears now, and she finds herself touching it daily. It’s her center, as it is mine. She says that without her boyfriend, her faith and her therapist, she would have never made it through this part of her life.

She’s grown. She’s changed. Yet she’s still the wonderful and fun girl she always was. With a twinge of jealousy, she looks at me and says, “You are so lucky. You get to grow old with the man that loves you. My ex-husband stole that from me.” She does tell me though that she has been redeemed with her new love. The man who simply took her hand at a football game, and said if you ever need me, call. God, she is so glad that she did.

I think she’ll make it, I do. I think she has found her happiness. She’s found it in her children and in this new man that accepts her for what she is – good woman, with a tough past. But then again, who doesn’t have a tough past? Who doesn’t have a broken road? Isn’t it astonishing when that broken road leads us to the right one?

As I leave her, we hug some more. We once again exchange our “I love you’s.” We promise to not leave 26 years between us again. And we haven’t. We talk almost daily. She is of my heart and one of the strongest women I know. I love her now and forever. What her husband did, doesn’t define her, or her grown up babies. I admire her strength and the ferocity of her love. She is a good woman, a strong woman. And she always will be.

***Edited by t from aslongasimsinging.wordpress.com. Read him. The man rocks my world, and makes my pretty words more beautiful with his touch. This may be my last post for awhile. I promise to come back. Just not sure when. Take care my dear readers and followers.***

You’ll Swoop from Incredible Highs

‎”You’ll swoop from incredible highs when you’re just glad to be alive, to those lows when you wish you were dead. And just when you start thinking that you’ve accepted who you are, that changes, too. Because who you are is not permanent”
— Andrew Davidson (The Gargoyle) 

I’m really busy today and don’t have much time to post but I’ve been reading one of the most incredible books. It’s called The Gargoyle. t from As Long As I’m Singing wrote a top 10 book list that I’m trying to work my way through. Of course I had to read a tragic love story first, because it’s the kind of girl that I am. I LOVE love. Especially impossible love. Redemptive love.

I’ve been thinking a lot about redemption this week. About changes. About why I’m still here. About how I could have killed a 19 year old boy that was just going to get a pizza. About my life. About slowing down. About losing two best friends. About, everything. And re-connection. And love. Of course about love. I forgot about the love for myself. The one person that I’m supposed to support I forgot about. Me.

I’ve been so busy flitting from one shiny thing to another I forgot to take care of myself. To stay in touch with old friends. I forgot about God too. I forgot to pray. I forgot to ask for guidance and forgiveness. I forgot my way. Do I believe my car accident was divine intervention? Yes, I do. I know it was. I could have killed a boy. I could have died. I looked down to fuck with my stupid phone and that was all it took.

I have no lasting injuries from the accident. I actually slept better that night than I had in years. The next day, as I lay in bed listening to Roger get ready for the day, I wrote one of my best posts about comfort. The comfort of him. Of his being in the next room. It really was one of my best. I took a pain pill and drifted back to sleep. Roger went to hang out with my mom. They’ve known each other longer than we’ve been married. It’s a long story of how we met. Some day I’ll tell it to you, I’m sure. After I woke up I called the young man that I hit to make sure he was okay. He was and I thanked God.

I’m still thanking God. For the fact that I was injured and he didn’t have a scratch on him. I thanked God for that young man having the where with all to call 911 while I sat in my car in shock. I thank God for that young man, although visibly shaken, kneeling down and holding my hands while I sat in my car. I thank God for that young man that pulled me out of my stupor and my car. For standing in the middle of the road with me and waiting for the police. He and I didn’t let go of each other.  I asked him how old he was and he told me 19. I reached up and touched his face, and said, “My God, you’re a baby. I could have killed you.” After that the police, ambulance and Roger arrived. It was chaos and I remember nothing.

It took a friend telling me she was worried about me to make me realize that maybe there really is something more to my incredible highs and my incredible lows. My impulsiveness. My need to be always doing something and never slowing down. It’s all about fear. Fear that there is something wrong with me. Fear of not being happy. Fear of growing old. Fear of getting fat again. Fear of fear. Fear of love. Fear of not being loved. Fear of not being pretty. Fear of being full of myself. Fear, fear, fear. Fucking stupid fear!

Talked to Harry and Rory and told them that I forgot about God in all of this. Said I needed to pray. I’ve been praying so hard, it hurts. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to get all Christian up in here and stop saying the F word.  I am a Christian and I always have been. It took me smashing my head up against my driver’s side window and the thought of possibly killing a young man to realize that I need to slow down.

The accident was a divine intervention, yes. It was my epiphany. I’ve been receiving them in so many ways, but I ignored them. I just wanted to keep feeling good. Keep feeling everthing after being numb for so long.

Now I don’t feel good. I feel like shit, and I have to realize it’s okay. I don’t have to feel good all the damn time. Because if we don’t have the bad times, how the hell can we love the good times? How the hell can we tell the difference?

I miss my friends B and K. I sent them a message this morning. Still haven’t heard from them. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will. I know they read me. I hope they know that I love them. They’re my family. My sisters. And I miss them so. Today I’ll pray for them to come back to me. I’ll pray and pray and pray. For them to come back me. And for me to come back to me.

Flitting of Moth’s Wings

“I belong to another”, the goddess of fire said.

“It’s the end of our world, so that no longer matters”, the god of air replied.

They stand, inches apart. Naked. Their pale skin already burning from the morphing of the moon. It is an inferno. The sun, the star that used to warm them, is cold. Dead.

The goddess is with her god, finally. She knows she has always been his number one. No other goddess ever compared to her. Her beauty or her light. He always mattered to her. She always wanted more. But was tied to another life.

She professes love; obsession. Want and need. All of it, without fear.

His dark eyes bore into her violet ones. He says nothing and everything, with his gaze. He responds by leaning forward, brushing his lips on hers. It feels like the flitting of a moth’s wings near an open flame. That’s all she needs to confirm the intensity of his love for her.

They grasp each other’s bodies in want. In need. They only have a few moments. They cherish every second by kissing, touching, fondling. This is their destiny.

The end is coming soon, but they do not fear it. For they know that it is their beginning.

With their confessions given, the moon explodes. Their bodies catch fire, but their souls ascend. They become light, energy, and after life.

With their world ending, a new one begins and their love becomes infinite.

I’ve Become the Lionhearted Girl


In some way, I’m there with you. Up against the wall, on a Wednesday afternoon-Heartlines

Her hair is like fire. Her lips red and look like they’ve been bruised by too many kisses from a lover. She’s barefoot. Her words wash over me like the feel of Heaven. She is a goddess, an ingenue and I want to be her. Fiery and passionate. The words that form in her mind and emanate from her mouth and body, resonate through my entire being. I wish to be like her. To write like her. To have people feel my words like I feel hers.

I stood in the gallery of the Fox Theater last night, with Bette. We paid handsomely for our tickets to hear Florence , this chanteuse. She is a siren and I am beckoned by her call. I feel no fear as I hear her. I feel only love, warmth, beauty. It is like she is singing for me, and me alone. I am more than happy to allow my vessel to crash into her shores. Over and over again.

I hear the words I must become the Lionhearted girl, Ready for a fight, Before I make the final sacrifice. And I think about all the shit I’ve been through in the last few years. The changes, love returning, the children moving away, the lives I’ve touched, the new friends, the old friends, the passion being rekindled. About finding my passion in writing. About, everything. I’ve become the Lionhearted girl. I have. I fear nothing, except, for myself. And my mind. The chaos. The never ending thoughts. The fiery, passionate redhead’s music calms me though. Makes me feel safe in my own mind. She dances, whirls and twirls. I know she is feeling every word too.

Her encore was Never Let Me Go. A song of the ocean and of deep, abiding love. Tranquility and peace. Her lyrics wash over me and make me wish to be thousands of feet below the surface. To feel the calm. To feel arms envelop me and make me feel loved. I raise my hands up, and sing her words. Wishing they were mine. And to feel closer to them. To her. I swear as I peer down from the balcony, she looks right at me. And sees me. I am entranced by that red-haired beauty. The music fades, the lights dim and she says good night. The crowd is roaring, and the spring loaded balcony that we are standing on is swaying. She walks away, but I wish for her to stay. She is no longer in front of me, but her words still resound in my ears, heart and body.

Bette and I take our leave. We walk with the masses of others entranced by the music. We make our way back to our car laughing as usual. We both have sadness though, and Florence’s music usually brings it out. It did a few times tonight, but then we remember the good parts of our lives. We make our way to US 75, and at a stoplight I look up and see that the moon is full. I think of the concert, the music still ringing in my ears and I snap a picture of that moon. That beautiful moon that I know is being seen by the ones I love. And then we head home.

On the Edge of Glory, The Real Story

Another shot before we kiss the other side
Tonight, yeah baby, tonight, yeah baby
I’m on the edge of something final
We call life tonight, alright, alright

Put on your shades ’cause I’ll be dancing in the flames
Tonight, yeah baby, tonight, yeah baby
It isn’t hell if everybody knows my name

 It is the story of a couple’s love ending in this realm and moving into eternity. It is the story of Lady Gaga’s grandmother watching her husband (Gaga’s grandfather), the love of her life die in front of her. They had been married for many years, and were completely devoted to each other. She held him, gave him her love and care for the last time. And then let him go. Lady Gaga, and her grandparents believe, that their love will continue in Heaven.

It was so interesting to hear Gaga speak so passionately about the love that her grandparents felt for each other. She is so incredibly family-oriented. She’s quirky, funky and weird. But her music speaks to me. It was nice to hear her speak in a recent ABC interview about this song. That it wasn’t about two lovers getting it on for the first time. It went so much deeper than that. I knew I liked her for a reason. I think she’s brilliant, bold, funny, and fiery. She’s not beautiful, but that’s okay. In her own way she is. When she sings, she is. And when I heard her explanation for writing this particular song, I loved and admired her even more. The next time I heard the song after the interview, I was awestruck by the words. They took on a completely different meaning. I identified with it even more.

I am a woman that has been married for over 23 years to a man that is ten years older than me. I know that I will one day stand on my Edge of Glory with him. Unless I get some terminal disease, or get hit by a bus, he will most likely die before me. I know that I will stand on the Edge of Glory, hold him close, and send him home. I don’t fear death much anymore. It’s because of Roger, and the life we’ve lived. He’s taught me not to fear it. He’s taught me that life is to be celebrated. So I will stand  on that Edge, I will hold him for as long as I can, and then I will let him go. For I know that when it is my time to crossover, he will be waiting for me, to love me for eternity.

I Still Love You, New York

I remember the day the world stop turning. I remember where I was, and how I felt. The helplessness. I remember watching it unfold on television. I realized right then that our lives would never be the same. The security I felt, was gone. The arrogance of knowing what a great country I lived in, was gone. The innocence of my children, was gone. What it was replaced with was fear. What would happen next? When? Where? Why? How?

We had news feeds going on all of the televisions in the SSW. Classes were eventually canceled for the rest of the day. Staff were told to go home. We weren’t getting anything done anyway. We were too devastated. So many of my colleagues and friends were trying to get through to loved ones that were in NYC, and DC. Everything was jammed up. No calls in or out. When I got home I turned on the news. We had satellite television so our local stations came out of NYC. I live in Michigan. Go figure. I was riveted. I watched every bit of coverage that I could. I sat and cried. I listened to the screams and the cries as the towers came down. I saw the horror on the onlookers faces. The dust, the debris, the screaming, the running, the blood, all of it. I thought of the human wreckage. I thought of what to tell my children when they came home from school. The questions that they would have. Like why would people we don’t know want to hurt people that they don’t know? How do you answer that? How do you tell a 9 and 10 year old that there is evil in this world that can’t be explained? How? I thought of the intense hatred I felt for whoever did this to us.

A few years later I stood at Ground Zero. It was Fall. The air was cool. The sky partly cloudy. The patches of blue in the sky were lit by a beautiful Fall sun. I looked into the tomb. The group of teenagers I was with, were being respectful. Which was unusual. Hell, it was unusual for this sparkly, crazy momma to be respectful. But we all knew we were at a grave site. That it was our duty to be respectful. We looked at pictures, flowers and other artifacts that were placed on the various fences. We took pictures. K and I cried. It took us back to that day. It was strange being there. In such a loud and vibrant city, it was so peaceful. We went across the street to St. Paul’s Church and went inside. There were shrines, notes, flowers, posters, pictures. Everything you could think of. We didn’t speak. We just took it all in. We lit candles. I know, I know I’m no fan of organized religion. But I’m a Christian first and foremost, so I lit a damn candle. I said prayers for those taken from us, the survivors, the first responders. Everyone of us.

I think about the folks in the towers before they collapsed. I think about making the choice to jump or burning to death. I’m sure I would have jumped. I would have grabbed my Broseph’s R and K. My two favorite colleagues that I wouldn’t mind dying with. I would have wrapped my arms around them, kissed them both sweetly and passionately. Hell if you’re going to die, you might as well go out with a bang. I would have locked hands with them and jumped. We would have prayed to sprout wings on our descent. But known we would have earned them on impact.

In the days, months and years that followed people have asked me, did I know anyone that died. No I didn’t. I knew none of them, but I knew all of them. They were humans sharing my planet, my country. Therefore I mourn for them. They were people with families, with lives to live, bills to pay, babies to be born, and shit to do. So because they were all of those things and more I mourn for them. We all do. We always will. I still believe I live in the greatest country in the world. I do. I still believe that if you work hard you can make it here. That we have endless opportunities and we have endless possibilities. Planes crashing into buildings and killing thousands did not dampen our American spirit. I believe it only intensified it. It also brought other countries to our side. We did not realize how much we were loved until tragedy hit. But isn’t that the way it usually happens? You never know how strong you are until tragedy does hit? And hit us it did. Every single one of us, whether we knew someone personally that died or not. It changed us. All of us. Forever.

No Light, No Light

I have no idea why but this song resonates in my heart, head, body, and soul. I feel every single word. Every single word. It’s like religion. A spiritual awakening. I want it to envelop me and never let me go. Please read the lyrics, and watch  the video. She is quite the ingenue. She’s magnetic, eccentric, and fiery. I want to be her. I want to have those kinds of words emanate from my brain and onto paper. I don’t know if I ever will. But I can guarantee I’ll die trying to find those words. I’ll die trying to feel every single damn word. I will….

Florence + the Machine

You are the hole in my head
You are the space in my bed
You are the silence in between what I thought
And what I said

You are the night time fear
You are the morning
When it’s clear
When, it’s over you’ll start

You’re my head
You’re my heart

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes
I never knew daylight could be so violent
A revelation in the light of day

You can’t choose what stays and what fades away
And I’d do anything to make you stay

No light, no light
No light

Tell me what you want me to say

Through the crowds I was, crying out and
In your place there were a thousand other faces

I was disappearing in plain sight
Heaven help me, I need to make it right
You want a revelation,
You want to get it right
But, it’s a conversation,
I just can’t have tonight

You want a revelation, some kind of resolution
You are the revelation

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes
I never knew daylight could be so violent

A revelation in the light of day,

You can’t choose what stays and what fades away
And I’d do anything to make you stay

No light, no light
No light

Tell me what you want me to say
But would you leave me,
If I told you what I’ve done?

(And would you leave me,
If I’ve found what I’ve become?)
Cause’ it’s so easy,
To sing it to crowd
But it’s so hard, my love,
To say it to you, all alone

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes
I never knew daylight could be so violent

A revelation in the light of day,
You can’t choose what stays and what fades away
And I’d do anything to make you stay

No light, no light
No light

Tell me what you want me to say
You want a revelation
You want to get it right
But, it’s a conversation,
I just can’t help tonight
You want a revelation, some kind of resolution.

You want a revelation.
You want a revelation,
You want to get it right.

But, it’s a conversation,
I just can’t help tonight.
You want a revelation, some kind of resolution
Tell me what you want me to say

When I Grow Up I Wanna Be Just Like Marjorie Jo!

Anyone who doesn’t miss the past never had a mother-Gregory Nunn

My mother-in-law, Marge.

She’d laugh when I’d say the word fuck in regular conversation.

She taught me to be strong-willed. Stubborn. Outspoken. To fight if necessary.

She told me when I was wrong.

She liked a good drink. Or two. Or four.

She taught me to make my specialty, Pineapple Upside Down Cake. It really IS the shit!

She taught me that life has no guarantees. That you have to live every day the best you can.

That you may get sick but you can’t ignore it. You have to live even when you are dying. Force yourself to get out there, even when you are in pain.

She taught me to be strong, even in the face of death. I saw her put up one hell of a fight, every damn day of her illness. Colon cancer. Even when she knew the inevitable end was coming.

I sat in on the consult the day we had to decide to turn off the machines. It was my sister-in-law, Anita and I that told her three boys that they had to let their mom go. That she needed to be with Dad. She had waited a long time to be with him again. If she had been able to get up out of that bed, she would have kicked our asses for waiting for so long to let her go. It was a week, but it felt like an eternity.

On that mild November day we turned off the IV drips, the monitors and all the machines keeping her alive. We gathered around her. Prayed, laughed, shared our happy and sad memories. We waited for her last breath. For her release. I moistened her tongue with water. Applied chapstick to her dry, cracked lips. Told her how much she meant to me. That I loved her.

I had to leave the room. I headed to the maternity ward. I had to see new life. I looked at the babies in the nursery. I smiled. Realizing that life really does go on. They gave me hope. My brother-in-law walked up to me. Told me it was time. Mom was going to die soon. As I walked back into the room, she took her final breath. There were tears. Relief. For her and for us. I smiled, because in those first few moments after she died, I knew that Dad had found her. He took her hand, and their love story would continue on in Heaven.

Why and How are Heart Connections Made?

When you smiled you had my undivided attention. When you laughed you had my urge to laugh with you. When you cried you had my urge to hold you. When you said you loved me, you had my heart forever….

To share a connection of the heart is to live. Not just love. It is so much more than just that simple word. I see  Marlena, my dear friend, connect, or imprint if you will on a young man with a gentle soul. She’s married, but she sees potential in this young man. This broken person that needs to be lifted up. For him she is an impromptu mother, asexual lover, friend. She’s all of these things and more. Her husband approves of the relationship. The connection. There is a need to draw him near to both of them. To give him their love. Make them a family. To prove that he is worthy of love, of life, and to be hopeful of his future.

Why and how do we make these connections?  We make them, when we, the broken, reach out. Or when we, the unbroken, the stronger, reach out to the broken. We then, in turn by giving and getting help,  ask to be fixed. To be healed. To be made stronger.

I have found these connections in the strangest of places. In the strangest of situations. With a variety of people. Why? I’m not really sure. I think it’s because I’m the passionate momma. I talk to everyone as if they are equal to me. I seek out the broken, the hurt, the sad, the grieving. I help them. With my words. With my heart. With my profound need to connect.  Because I’ve been hurt I try to repair others that have been in similar situations. People are naturally drawn to me. I like that I’ve connected with young, old, boys, girls, animals, children. The list goes on and on. I will give you my heart to connect with but don’t hurt me. Don’t take advantage of me. For though I may still act as though I care, my heart will disconnect from you.

I mourn for those that can’t find and nurture these connections. How sad and lonely they must be. You become stagnant and your heart dies. We all must connect in some way, shape or form. If we’re not put on this earth to make these connections, then what are we here for? It cannot be to merely exist. It must be to thrive! It is to leave this place better than when we arrived. By leaving our imprint. It is to make your heart connect to make you human. And to make that human, love. That really is the ultimate goal, isn’t it?