Day 42 - Senior Olympics and 3 more symptoms

Dad's started running, and I'm very impressed. He started with only 50 steps, but is now up to 50 steps 5 or 6 series on his usual mile walk. I heard about the Senior Olympics (they just recently cut out javelin after a long jumper got stabbed, I think), so I'm going to research it and get the news to Dad. I think he should start training. At 84, there he goes. I can hardly think of a better inspiration for my life (except for Mom). He taught himself how to program computers, took up classical guitar, violin, piano, painting, airplane building and flying. He was the one that got me to get an iPod, after he showed me how easy it was. So, what events should Dad enter? Definitely the 50 yard dash (I wonder if they call it a "dash" at the Senior Olympics? Maybe the 50 yard "quick walk"), maybe shot put (he threw all through college), maybe the 100 yard dash. I'll check it out. Just imagine - anything's possible, in this quirky life, you just have to want it badly enough, and believe you can do it. Yay, Dad - you are my hero.

I woke up early this morning with that burning heartburn, but now I know better. I have talked with 4 people this last week that have the same symptom, and this is what I think it is. I call it the energy twist, and though I haven't heard or read of it anywhere else, I've seen it in my clients and in myself for the past year, and it keeps getting more intense. The energy comes in through the top of the head, twists at the temples, crosses at the throat, twists at the shoulders, crosses at the sternum, twists at the hips, crosses at the lower abdomen, twists at the knees, across the shins, then twists at the ankles. The result is a twisted body. Here's why I think people are experiencing the heartburn. When the energy twist starts (it goes in cycles), the diaphragm freezes up, leaving no give for the small intestines, which then herniate into against the esophagus, causing the stomach acid to back up - ouch. The result? Lump in the throat, can't eat, burning, nauseous. There you go. The 3 new symptoms? Itching ALL OVER - seriously. Dry eyes. And the heartburn/hiatal hernia phenomenon. So my current list is up to 60, and I'm sure it will continue to grow.

Day 41 - new beginnings...

We tried to get to sleep last night, but it was the night before the first day of school. Bill's red backpack was stuffed full of kleenex boxes, sharpened Number 2 pencils, washable markers, folders and notebooks. 9PM. Another chapter of Harry Potter read, prayers said, Bucky the turtle securely in his tank (we just moved the turtle up to Bill's room so he'd have company), eyes closed. "Count to 60, Mom," Bill said. I did. Then he said, "Count to 180, Mom," so I did. Then he said, "Just count to yourself until I fall asleep. I want to see how long it's going to take." So I looked at the clock - 9:24PM. Tick tick. 9:35. I slip out of the bed to head to my own. "Mom," he whispers, "I can't get to sleep." He finally did, only to wake me up crying at 3:23 - "I haven't gotten any sleep," he says.

I think this child has just acted out how I've been feeling for most of the summer. I have felt something coming, building, and I'm excited, but a little scared, because I don't know what to expect. I do everything I'm supposed to do, take care of my family and my clients and my life, then I close my eyes to rest, but rest won't come. I can't transition from the conscious, doing mode to the Spirit, being mode. I want someone else to count for me, to be able to be my witness, to stay awake and watch over me, COUNT for me. Melissa does that for me, Dear Steve does that for me, my sweetest Bill does that just by being himself, my bestest mom and dad do that for me, but no one can do it FOR me, because it is MY first day tomorrow, not anyone else's, and I am the one who will be walking into that life classroom to take the next steps in the next grade. I have support, but I am alone, and that is as it should be. Because with every step I learn something more about how strong I am, about how capable I am, of what I can do, all by myself. Kind of like learning to ride a bike with no training wheels.

So I feel the cool air as I walk my 45 minutes, hear the Osmond's singing "One Bad Apple" and think to myself, "I can do this, yes, I can." First one step, then the next. Then the next. Pretty soon I'm down the road, heading to the next place.

Day 39 - Struggling into the New

I'm sitting alone as I post this entry. Steve's almost off to work, everyone else is asleep. Kari and Brian came in last night. I've missed her so much. She hasn't spent a summer here since her first after high school. I don't blame her, but the knowledge that she will never spend more than a few days at a time in the house makes me sad. The thought that I have to dust her room every now and then because there's no one there to keep it lived in and dust-free. Yesterday was a tough day (just ask Melissa), and I don't know why. You could blame the rain, blame the clouds, blame blame blame, but I look inside myself for the answers these days, and mostly can just strive to sit with my discomfort, as Pema Chodron encourages. Take some deep breaths, know that it will pass. But I have to DO something about something, don't I? Well, has that ever worked before? Le Duh - no. So, what can I do that's new, fresh, not my predicted behavior? Searching my brain, coming up blank. How about "doing nothing?" Doing nothing with my discomfort, my resentment, my frustration, my fear, my sadness, my anger, and just continuing on? Can I do that? What other choice do I have?

What was yesterday? Yesterday was fatigue. Jordan phoning us 1 1/2 hour past curfew, then leaving again, me not getting back to sleep until 4:30AM. Not getting to go for a walk because Steve left for work and I'm responsible for taking care of Bill for the summer. Now I hear what you're saying - get a babysitter, and I answer you back, "Sometimes I get tired of being responsible for all of the things I'm responsible for, yet I don't know how to get off that hamster wheel. How do you just let some things drop, like housework, errands, cooking, cleaning, childcare? How do you choose what's fair to you? How do you talk with others in a calm voice? Why does it all have to be so difficult?"

I imagine sometimes that I'm a nun, with no possessions at all. How did I accumulate so much? I ponder that as I sift through the piles of papers, important pictures, letters from friends, dishes I never use, enough blankets to keep a small city warm. What does that say about my insides? Does everyone have a lot of stuff? Donna calls my brain a fast-flowing river with white caps. I suppose she's right. I take a deep breath and try to stay present, but Rusty is barking, I'm wondering if I should empty the dishwasher and clean up after everybody who stayed up later than me last night. I don't think I will today. I think I'lll wait until they wake up and ask them to clean up after themselves. I think they'll be glad to do that. I'm thinking they will. I wonder what will happen today, and I walk the fine line between manifesting my abundance, and just enjoying the ride as it unfolds. The sun is shining, the rain has washed the dust away, and it's a clean start again.

Day 36 - The Walk

It is 8AM. I'm wearing my short gray running shorts and Harvard sweatshirt. I've got my iPod earphones securely in my ears as I head out the door. It is a clear blue sky morning, crisp - I feel fall in the air and it makes me happy AND sad. I turn the corner and head east, toward the cemetery. 100 Years comes on the iPod and I have to start deep breathing when I hear "I'm 63 for a moment..." and I think of Mom, and of reading her 1977 diary, when she was 54 years old. There are so many similarities between my mother and me, among them being our propensities for feeling overwhelmed with clutter, having lower back pain when we're stressed out, and alternately feeling overly responsible yet loving to stay busy. I don't know how she did it, as I read her daily schedule: grocery shopping, speaking at PEO, the construction worker consultation, my basketball game. Every day is like that - a blend of community, family, and a little personal.

I think of all this as I keep walking, and tears start forming. I don't care anymore - feeling these tears, so I let them fall until I can't see, then swipe my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt and keep walking. I look down at my iPod and find "Learning the Hard Way" by the Gin Blossoms. This should've given me a clue as to what was to come, but I was totally blown away when I heard my OWN voice speaking to me. I decided to listen to what I had to say (that's a relatively rare thing), and it was a 4 minute piece somehow mysteriously plucked out of the middle of one of my 30 minute channels I do for my Next Step empowerment groups. I was talking about entering into this new world that requires trust because we're somewhere we've never been before. We used to bash our heads against brick walls because we were in a limited state, but our best bet is just to gently walk around the walls so we can keep going. We have one foot on dry land, one foot on the boat, and that Spirit Boat has set sail. If we don't have the faith to let the old go, we'll keep feeling split.

Trust has been coming up a LOT for me lately, so now, while I'm walking past Lindenwood, it's the perfect time to look at it. I feel my shoulders tight, still torqued from my stairs fall last week, but I'm not worried. I've cycled through too many of these things to do much more than just acknowledge each state, if I even need to do that. Suddenly I saw this whole transformation process like slow-starting waves, undulating up and down, gently at first so we can get used to the new rhythm. Now they start to pick up in intensity and frequency, and we may get scared, but it's the same rhythm, just faster and harder. So we are prepared to keep riding these ascension waves, we can TRUST. So I see that I DO trust, even if I don't always SEE or KNOW; I DO know, or rather, some part of me knows, and that's enough for me.

I round the corner, right by the house that has the incredibly soft, lush green lawn, and head west again. Shakira tells me hips don't lie, so I do the obligatory shoulder shimmy and hip shake, just a little, while I keep walking. This is my walk, my 4 mile walk that is for me alone. A time to feel the air in and out of my lungs. A time to take deep deep breaths, to feel my chest expand, to take in the sky and the trees and the sidewalk. A time to just clear my head (well, you know - relatively clear it) and just be in my body. I continue for another uneventful mile, but as I head north toward the cemetery and our block again, I look over and see a red truck, a man standing in front of a fresh grave. At first I think he's taking a picture, because his hands are in front of his face, then I see that he's praying, his head bent. He's standing perfectly still. The grave looks fresh, but I don't want to keep staring, so I turn forward again. Mom's going to be buried in Bismarck, so I won't have a cemetery to go to, I won't have that close gravestone to pray before, so I think I'll create a shrine out in my backyard for Mom. I'll plant some of her favorite plants - some irises, bleeding hearts, coleus. Maybe get a bench so that I can sit and just be there with her. It's nicer in our backyard anyway.

I look down and see another dragonfly perched on the sidewalk. "Don't forget it - this is all an illusion," I remind myself, laughing a little as I continue north, continue home.

Day 36 - dragonflies and falling...

Our front lawn is covered in dragonflies. They are supposed to symbolize illusion, their irridescent wings beautiful to look at, but possible to see through. I think they are here for me, as I continue to acclimate to my new vision and life. I look out through my eyes sometimes and I'm tricked into believing that everything is the same. But when I take a moment, breathe deeply and adjust my bearings, I see that my world is not as it was. Colors are deeper, things have more dimension, I FEEL my surroundings, we're all the same thing. Is that strange? Sort of to me, but not so strange. I'd been feeling it all building for at least 2 years. 5 years, I guess, when this whole thing started in earnest. It started with heart issues. Even 17 year clients were running to their cardiologists. Skipped heart, pounding, racing. Those issues can continue today, but yesterday when Melissa worked on me, I could feel her words of Spirit housed in my heart. No wonder I feel so much there. You have to trust - what other option do you have? Spend a billion dollars at the doctors, only to hear them tell you you're fine? Trust that you're physically okay, no matter what you're feeling (remember the 57 ascension symptoms?), trust that your process is unfolding in exact, Divine Order, trust that you're exactly where you need to be right at this moment. Trust trust trust.

Sometimes I forget my new life and think I'm separate from others. I get crabby and resentful and scared. I forget we're all One. I forget it's always all right, no matter what it may look like on the outside. On the INSIDE, it's always good. I'm living more on my insides these days, but sometimes I forget.

Like when I forgot what happened on Monday. Bill was walking slowly down the stairs, holding onto the bannister. "I want to see how far I can walk down and still hold on," he said. Pretty symbolic. So I started walking slowly behind him. There was no hurry. I was wearing my cute mustard colored suede skimmer flats. On the third step my left foot slid right off the carpet and I started falling down the stairs. I don't remember anything but hearing a loud "bum bum bum" and ending up twisted to my left, my left hand holding a rung to the left of Bill, my right hand holding another rung to the right of Bill. We both just stood there frozen for a moment. I remember it hurt. I'd torqued my whole body. I couldn't feel my left hand, and couldn't lift or grab anything for the rest of the day. What surprised me, though, was the next day when Tammy was working on me. "What's up with your clavicle?" she asked. Then she asked about my sore shoulder, then my sore arm, then my swollen wrist, knees, and ankles. I started crying, it started hurting so much. I'd forgotten I'd fallen down the stairs. I imagined my sore knees were from my long walk the night before. I didn't even notice my swollen, stiff ankles or throbbing left wrist. What does that mean? It could mean nothing, but I wonder if it means I'm not as much in my body as I thought I was. Tammy thought it was hysterical that I'd forgotten something like falling down stairs. How can you forget that?

What stands out in my mind, however, is that the fact that I'm in pretty good shape, to be able to slide down that many steps without actually falling, and catch myself. I have a great appreciation for the elderly's fears of falling down stairs. It really could've been bad, and to feel this twisted around feels intense enough. I imagine if I was 10, I wouldn't be feeling anything right now. So if we believe there are no coincidences, what's the point of the fall? I was being mindful, careful, slow. I apologized to my sweet body after the fall, cradling my arm for most of the day. I hear the words "slow down" in my head, and I think that is it. I have so much energy these days, organizing my fall classes, workshops and speaking engagements. Scheduling clients and setting group dates, organizing and purging. On and on. Yesterday I had 2 hours of quiet time, and I spent it on the phone and visiting with my sister. I wouldn't have traded those moments, but in the back of my mind, a nappy looked really good to me. No nappy for me.

Slow down. See through the illusion. Slow down enough TO see through the illusion. Live your life congruent with your new surroundings. Don't be afraid. Be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid. Well, the forces already came to my aid, and here I am, ready to keep going. I look out my window and see another dragonfly zoom by. I wonder if my mom sees dragonflies in Bismarck? I think I'll ask her today.

Day 35 - Grand Adventure - finale

It's always a joy to drive up to Mom and Dad's house because I know I'll be seeing them both again. I'd gone to Wendy's for lunch for everyone, so we were all set with anticipated cheeseburgers, frescattas and a few french fries. I'm so glad Bill can see his grandparents as much as possible. I feel sorry that he's only 7, and won't get to build a lot of memories with them. One, however, that he'll hopefully always remember is playing "chicken and pig" with them. Two dice, a piece of paper and pencil (usually the names of the people are some nicknames or codewords or initials - on this day the names read "AB, for ABay, Bill's nickname; ZB, for Z Bapa, Dad's nickname; and MM, for Moo Moo, my nickname). The first person rolls both dice, and counts the total. If one die is a one, the person's turn ends. You can keep rolling, adding up the totals each time, until you want to stop. If you stop before you get a one, you're a chicken. If you don't stop until you get a one, and lose your points for that turn, well, you're a pig. We've got a little rubber pig that we lean on his front legs so that we can turn his curly-tailed butt at whomever happens to be the current pig. If you get TWO ones on a roll, you lose ALL of your points. The first one to get over 100 wins, but everyone else gets one more turn to beat them. Bill got 7 (count 'em, 7) snake eyes (double ones) in three games. He was a good sport about it. Dad got a snake eyes when he'd gotten over 100 but was rolling a few more insurance rolls. We always laugh and make snorting noises at each other, or clucking noises, complete with our hands under our armpits. elbows flapping. I love "chicken or pig." Mom can't play anymore because she can't see the dice, but she sits on her easy chair and listens and joins in when she can.

The boys went fishing off the dock, but nothing was biting. I took some precious pictures of the three of them (Dad, Steve and Bill), and I'm always touched at the look of love Dad's face as he gazes at whoever else is in the picture. I couldn't see through my tears for some of the pictures. When Bill hugs Grammy, he leans his head sweetly onto her so he's leaning on her heart. She hugs him tight, and he hugs her tightly back. There's none of that "I have to do this, so I'll tolerate it." No - he loves his Grammy, he loves his Bapa, and he knows that they are two of the most incredible people he will ever have the honor of spending time with. I know that, too.

My 47th birthday was sweet (Steve brought back white cupcakes with rainbow frosting and sprinkles - I took a miniscule bite off the cupcake part to be polite), and I wouldn't have wanted to spend it with anyone other than my parents. They said they don't remember when the last time any daughter spent the actual DAY of her birthday with them, and I was surprised, but overall just happy that I could look at them, laugh with them, hug them, yet another time. I will always remember this birthday.

I took back a big tote box of diaries, pictures, and slides, and started in on those yesterday. But that's a story for another day ...

Day 34 - Grand Adventure - Part 2

... so we got up and headed north around Lake Sakakawea. I thought we'd actually get a glimpse of the lake, and oh wait, THERE it is - I see it, oh, it's gone. On until New Town when we passed through Burgers, Fries and Shakes for well, a burger. The across the bridge. Interesting to note that Bill froze up when we went up and onto it, remembering 35W. I told him to take deep breaths, and said that bridges are overall safe, and that I love them. A switch for me to be brave and assuring someone who's afraid, but I totally understand - stuff happens, and we can't always control it. But I knew we were coming to the Killdeer Mountains, and I do love them so. To think there's actually varying terrain in North Dakota. Bill didn't know they were here, so it was great fun to go winding, up and down, through the greenery. We'd come up to the crest of a hill and look out over an amazing vista of rocky striated rocks. "Isn't it beautiful?" I'd ask Bill, and he'd look up from his movie and say, "uh huh," then look down again. But sometimes I know he actually looked, and was impressed.

We drove right into the heart of Dickinson, the town I lived in right out of college. I've forgotten Dickinson, newly married and pretty clueless, but memories came back as we drove south. "This is where I used to run every night," I'd point out to Bill the street by the mall. "This is where I used to visit the nursing home, this is the clinic I used to go to." On and on. I know Bill didn't care. I hardly cared, but I was just glad I sort of remembered some things.

I picked up a pen at the Cenex gas station, a memento, and headed west the 40 miles to Medora. I love western North Dakota with its raw power. It just feels like you would be strong if you lived there. Theodore Roosevelt thought that, anyway. We'd kept the impending thunderstorm to our south, and I somehow knew that we'd totally miss it. I didn't really want to be driving through the "mountains" in a thunderstorm. Okay, I don't want to be ANYWHERE in a thunderstorm, much less a metal car (yeah, yeah, I know about rubber tires, but still ...), but we totally missed it as we pulled into Medora. It was misting and gray, but fine. We shopped around, got saltwater taffy and black licorice pipes, went to the playground and played two rounds of mini-golf. Bill got a hole in one on the first hole. I hit the deer's foot and it bounced to the back. Oh well. We hunkered down pretty early, after a steak dinner, and watched High School Musical One. Oh, can it get ANY better than this? Again, the night was QUIET, I mean STILL. I was expecting motorcycle whirs or doors slamming, but blissfully nothing until morning. We packed up and headed east to Richardton Abbey.

I'd been there twice before with Kari and Erik when they were younger, and we have pictures of them with Father David and the cats, but Bill had never had the honor, so we sent for Father when we got there. He shuffled in and looked surprised to see us. By now he's 80 (he was 65 when we first met him), but still had that twinkle in his eyes and that fabulous deep-throated chuckle. I took a picture of he and Bill ("he has good energy" Bill said later), then he showed us the garden where the cats hung out. Yes, pictures of Bill with the cats (I swear I'll post these pictures when I figure it out). The Assumption Abbey is just beautiful - I can almost feel God MORE when I'm in there, like God would be chilling in a pew, saying, "Well, now, THIS is more like it." We dipped our index fingers into the holy water and made crosses on our forehead. "Why do we do that?" Bill asked, and I stammered. Father David said it's a reminder of our original baptism and what that means to us. I nodded my head. I was raised Episcopalian. Close but no cigar.

We bought 12 resin sheep in a cardboard box and two bottles of wine for Donna's birthday, then headed to New Salem and the big cow. We kept climbing up the hill to the summit. It was an amazing view (yes, there were pictures), and I would've loved to have stayed there for a while longer, but Bismarck, my parents, and my birthday party awaited, so we climbed down and continued our grand adventure...

Next... the party and other sundry events

Mom countdown - Day 33 - Grand Adventure - Part 1

I can't get my photos posted here (they're amazing), so until I can figure it out, I'll just have to start the "Grand Adventure" without the pics. Bill and I started out on Thursday and headed to Jamestown on I94. We visited the big buffalo, bought a mood ring (Bill's always calm) and fed a baby buffalo. Then we headed north to New Rockford, and the North American Bison Cooperative. There was a deliveryman at the offices, so Bill stood there the whole time holding the door for him. Bill's amazing that way - he holds doors for everyone, everywhere he goes. Nobody told him to do it, it's just kind instinct and I love that about him. We bought steaks and hotdogs and headed to Fessenden. We were too early for Rosa's Pizza, so stopped by the public pool and Billy had a little dip. He met a boy his age and they had races off the diving boards. What is it about children that lets them make instant friends? Nobody asks what political party you belong to, or what church you attend, or how much money you make - no, kids just see each other and say, "let's have a splashing contest." Why can't we do that more?

Rosa's pizza was really good - the crust was amazing. We played "war" with the pink playing cards and sipped on our water, but we still had a ways to go. We headed back into the car and headed south to Garrison. I'd been on Highway 83 before on the way to Minot, but never turning off to Lake Sakakawea, and that was the purpose of this whole trip - go on different roads, see the sights, have a grand adventure. We stayed at the Garrison Motel, played Galaga in the arcade room, watched the grand premiere of "High School Musical 2" (I'm thinking I liked the first one better), and fell asleep to a strange phenomenon - NO NOISE. I'm so used to us living next to the interstate, the drone of trucks and cars a constant presence. But I like NO NOISE.

We ate breakfast at the local cafe (I had an omelet, Bill had pancakes), then drove down the street to take pictures in front of Wally, the country's biggest walleye. It was an exciting moment. To think I'd grown up just a few miles south of here and had never seen Wally? Life is curious sometimes, but this trip was changing all of the known and predictable roads I've traveled, allowing us to stretch our horizons a little bit, take some chances, be bold. After all, do we want to get to the end of our lives and say, "Gosh, I wish I'd..." then fill in the ellipses? I don't want to do that. I want to live a full life. There's a saying somewhere about reaching the end of your life, all worn out and panting. That's my goal, just like Andrew Weil says, "Live long and die fast." So this is the part where we're living a long life. Dying fast can come in 40 or 50 years, I'm thinking.

We can't get ahold of Mom because there were probably no towers around, but she called Steve to make sure we were okay. We ended our day having put over 260 miles on Sir Lambert, our Highlander. We were tired, but happy. We had deli sandwiches from our cooler, ginger chews and heart shaped spelt gingersnaps, Aquafina and funny stories. How could it get much better? We were soon to find out ...

Mom countdown - Day 27 - preparations

I called Mom today. The first thing she said was that she'd felt restless and unable to sleep last weekend, and remembered what I'd said about this last energy shift, so talked to Dad to see what he thought. God love them both - in their mid-80's and talking about this "new age" stuff. Heck, even I thought it was strange 10 years ago. But once you start living it, and seeing it, it doesn't seem strange anymore. In fact, I told my clients yesterday that there really is no "normal" anymore. Think about it: what do you consider normal? Maybe what's happened to you before, experiences you've had, thoughts you've thought. Well, try fitting the current concept of time into any neat little box - it doesn't fit so neatly, does it? Or the increased occurrences of coincidences - is that normal? It seems to me that the further we stretch our possibilities, the larger our range of normal becomes. I think we'll figure it out eventually that there IS no end to the possibilities. So far I still wonder, "is THIS the edge of the jar? Okay, now is THIS?" when in fact there IS no jar - there never was, even if we were under the illusion that we were separated and isolated in little glass jars. We've been set free, but we're blinded by the light, stunned. They say that if you put a fish in a small tank, she'll get used to her boundaries of the tank. Even when you move her into a bigger tank, she'll still swim in the same area that would've matched her old tank's size. Interesting, isn't it? Maybe it's the same with us. Limitations.

I try to live with no limits, but I'm sure I still do. I'm human. I have control issues, I tend toward perfectionism, and can worry a lot if left unattended. But it's different somehow in this new energy place I find myself. I still feel some of the old "stuff," but now it's endearing, a part of all that makes me me, and I don't want to change anything anymore, even if it would make things easier. I think in the accepting of all of my parts that it becomes possible TO make changes. What would I change? Not a single thing today - the sun is shining, I'm wearing my black Converse sneakers and feeling bouncy. Bill and I are leaving on our adventure tomorrow, and everybody's alive and healthy. And even if someone dies, it will still be okay. More than okay, I'm quite certain my life will still be perfectly beautiful.

Mom countdown - Day 26

This was the big "pop" day, and I felt the dreams last night as they bled into each other. I slept deeply, only waking once at 3:30 to Bill's continued sneezing. I got him some kleenex and stumbled into another dream. The only one I really remember is seeing what looked like a large diary of Mom's. I could see photo after photo of her. Alone, with friends, with Dad, with us. I've had dreams like that before, of me looking at a book with family photos - I'm sure it's symbolic. But this time I saw her handwriting as well, and I could FEEL her energy emanating out of the words and photos.

"Oh Mom," I moaned, and started crying. I could feel the pain emanate out from the center of my heart, then through me and back again. I couldn't stop crying, nor could I stop looking at the pictures or handwriting. Is this preparation? Is this search and destroy grief energy? Will this make the blow easier when I get THE call? I don't know, I don't know, I just don't know. All I know is that it FELT real; I could feel it throughout my whole body - body, mind and spirit. This energy of love and anticipated loss, but it was okay. I woke up, sad, but felt okay. It's all okay, you know? It all just changes. Everything changes, everything. I'm not the same person I was even yesterday - I've said some things, thought some things, done some things, made some choices, didn't do other things. Does it matter? I think the only thing that really matters is that we're here NOW, and that we have open hearts, and willing hands that can hold and hug and help. I am here today, and Mom is here today, and Bill and Steve and Kari and Erik and Jordan are here today. And all of my friends are here today, YOU are all here today, and that makes today a very good day.

Mom countdown - Day 25 - 32 messages

32 messages on my answering machine. 32 times to hear Mom's voice. I started saving them in the middle of April, right before we almost lost her the time before last. I play them all back sometimes. It makes me happy, hearing her voice talking about the pictures she's found, how she and Dad saw TWO trains while in the A&W parking lot, how there's nothing new but she just wanted to call. My mom leaves long messages, just like I do. Melissa's machine cuts me off after 30 seconds - goodness, I can barely say hello in 30 seconds. But my machine doesn't cut you off, so I've got 32 one-sided conversations with Mom - about 40 minutes of Mom. I wonder how many messages I can hold on this machine and if I can record them over to my CD recorder so I can keep them. A friend's husband died, and she paid the money each month on his cell phone account just to call it up and hear her husband's voice telling her to leave her name and number. I understand it, I do, and Mom's not even dead yet. There's just so something ALIVE about it all, you know? Like if I listen, that means she's alive, right?

So today I get organized, do more birthday psychic readings for the goddesses in attendance last week, see some clients. It's a lovely cool, sunny day - I'd have the rest of the summer be just like today, if I had a choice. I'm spending the rest of the day looking out through the eyes of Spirit. It's a conscious decision, and I know we do it anyway, even if we're not aware of it. So I choose to be aware today, then maybe tomorrow, and the day after that ... So far it feels very smooth and almost dreamlike. If I ask for a word-of-the-day for myself, it would be "tranquil," which means "free from agitation of mind or spirit, steady, stable, calm." I'll take it. I used to do WOTDs every day, added it to the Next Step Groups (they loved it, and so did I - gives you something to think about). I think I'll give myself more WOTDs.

I finished reading "Tallgrass" by Sandra Dallas, but it was tough going. I don't know if I was feeling especially tender, but several passages made me put down the book and cry. It's about the Japanese evacuation, through a young girl's eyes. It's a very powerful book, and I read it slowly just so I could enjoy the feel of the words through my brain. I can hear the words as I read them. I don't know if everybody can, but if it's really good writing, it flows and feels smooth in my brain. If it isn't good, it bumps and jolts and is hard to keep with. I do so appreciate good writing. I have my newspaper column, but I'm looking to write something more substantial, like a novel or a how-to book for the new energies. I've got so many projects, so many ideas, not enough follow-through right now. So I'll just keep to my life in front of me and keep going. Maybe the fall will bring the new crisp winds of expansion and new beginnings.

Mom countdown - Day 24

It was a dream day yesterday. The weather was warm and sunny, and as I lay down in the back of the Rialta watching the pine trees, I thought I couldn't be any happier. Bill and Erik tossed water balloons and splashed in the lake, Erik and Steve waded in the Mississippi and got attacked by a log that was hiding from them. Steve and I kissed and whispered silly things to each other, sitting on a towel on the sandy shore. The Rialta drove like a dream - I can't wait to take her on more trips. That single day made the rest of the summer all right. It doesn't matter that we didn't take any other trips - we had yesterday.

I usually don't have allergies, but man, am I blocked up today. My ears are full, my eyes are blurry, my nose is runny and my eyes itchy. The neti pot helps a lot, but I just know this is part of the energy "pop" that's coming next Tuesday or so, right around the height of the meteor showers. I'm trusting that everyone's "allergy" symptoms will clear by then. Some say it's because of early harvest, and I think why can't we be open to other possibilities? Everything that's happened to anyone this past intense year people have attributed to the weather. We're tired - it's the change in the weather. We're achy - weather. Dizzy - weather. Can't sleep - uhmmmmm, weather? Can we move beyond weather and talk about other options? Can we just stay open for a day or so? What would that feel like?

Bill and I are leaving Thursday for a get-lost-in-North-Dakota trip, heading up to Mayville, then straight across to Lake Sakakawea, on up to the North Unit, then down to Medora, then on to Mom and Dad's on Saturday to celebrate my 47th birthday. I hope Mom doesn't die on my birthday, or even around it, but if she DOES die soon, I actually hope it IS on my birthday. That would be fitting somehow - she brought me into life on the same day that she might leave this life. I know it will happen when it's exactly the right time. Ellen came over today and brought fresh corn out of a friend's garden. She said that maybe we're holding Mom back, and we may all need to tell her we'll be okay, and I agree, then I think, but WILL I be okay? What does "okay" mean? I don't want to be just "okay," I want to be spectacular, fabulous, awesome, but maybe "okay's" all I'll be for a while. I just don't know. So I'm programming my brain again to think I'll feel BETTER after Mom dies - I'll be healthier, happier, more peaceful. Why do we have to assume the worst in every situation? Look for it? No - I won't do that, I won't go searching for bad anymore. It's ALL good - I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't live my motto, and I know it IS all good - that means, it all just IS.

So today I live IS, and wait for the piquant meatloaf to get done cooking. I am so hungry. And today, my mom is still alive. And that is a very good thing.

Mom countdown - Day 23

I feel very calm this morning, having slept pretty well. What's interesting, however, is that whenever I DO wake up in the middle of the night, it takes me just a moment to realize I'm awake, then I can feel my mind engaging, searching every recess to see what's going on. It's asking, "Is everything okay? Has anyone died? Is anyone sick? Is anyone hurt?" and for those moments I feel something like small panic, hoping my mind doesn't find anything to be worried about. I can feel my heart start to thud a little bit, but I just take deep breaths and expand myself until my sweet little brain's done with its morning chore. So I wonder what will happen when someone HAS died? What will my brain do with that information then? I may want to make a proactive plan, like having a script written out for my spirit to follow. It might go something like this: "Yes, brain - we know someone's died. We know it was expected, and we also know that she is in a very great place. Would you like to connect with her right now?" Then Spirit can take Brain to that expanded field where we're all connected, and my Brain will be able to BE in that place with the energy of my mom, and it will calm my Brain to know that this is not the end. Maybe if my Spirit takes my Brain by the hand, lovingly, and says "we" a lot, so Brain doesn't feel so separated and alone. Brain shouldn't - it's been going through deeksha for the past year, and it's a new Brain - the new Brain 2000, if you will. Wireless mouse, expanded memory, unlimited internet time, unlimited program capabilities, tutorials, 24 hour tech support. What more could I ask for? Nothing else.

This moment is perfect, it is complete and whole, as I sit here in my soft white pajamas, listening to the Timmy Turner movie on Nickelodeon, waiting to take my shower so we can pack up the Rialta and head to Itasca. The rain has cleared, but I DID love the soft thunder roll as I opened my eyes this morning. It made me hug Steve closer and kiss his shoulder.

I found the pictures we're going to use on the back of Mom's memorial service. The first is a baby picture of her - she's got a wide grin and her eyes are bright. The next is of her around age 5 - she's in a brown winter coat outside, her head cocked slightly to the right, the same brightness in her eyes. The next is my favorite - it's soft, her hair curly all around her. She's looking off to her right with a Mona Lisa smile. I think it's her high school graduation picture. The last is more recent and shows her with a wide brim hat on, her face obscured mostly in shadow, but with that same mischevious smile on her face that says "Life's a hoot, isn't it?" I want them to put the youngest one up at the top of the page, then swirl them downward to the bottom. I put them in order and filed them with the rest of the funeral home papers - the obituary, the memorial service, the urn and flower catalogs, and the price list. Now I only need to find the main picture for the front of the bulletin. I haven't found the perfect one yet. Tomorrow I'm going to write what I'm going to say at her funeral. She likes seeing everything beforehand, so I'll e-mail it to her. It's okay, today it's all okay, and feeling that way makes my heart beat slower.

Mom countdown - Day 22 - Goddess Great

What an evening! Over 60 goddesses gathered in our backyard. It was warm, but a light breeze kept us cool. All goddesses were greeted with different colored beaded necklaces and star bindhis in rainbow colors. There was some drumming, some angel cards, some Guitar Hero, lots of laughing and connecting. I'm SO glad I had the party. I was nervous at first, I don't know why. Having everyone over to the house, I suppose. But it was pretty clean, at least. The boys went to Space Aliens and then Barnes and Noble, then enjoyed showing off by climbing Sam, our beautiful silver maple,and doing some flips on the trampoline. Brenda joined them on the tramp for a few jumps. I feel energized, fired up, not sad in the least. Everything's okay today - I got to see a lot of my dear friends yesterday, and that was exactly what I wanted and needed.

I called Mom this morning to give her the account of the goddess party. She was worried there would be too many women, and I said, "Is there such a thing?" and she laughed. Steve said there would be too much female energy, so he left for a bit, but I just laughed at him - women LOVE my husband, so when he came back early and stepped outside, he was surrounded. Jack, our Maine Coon, was in his glory, with all that goddess energy - he stayed close to us, with eyes half closed, paws crossed over each other, purring. What a day, what a week, what a life. Nothing can get me down right now - I'm so grateful for everything and everybody. I'm going to do the 60 mini psychic e-mail readings for all the goddesses, then get to work on Mom and Dad's stuff, then back to studying nutrition for my Clayton College courses. Just ask me about manganese and its benefits...

We get new tires on the Rialta this afternoon so we can take it for a test run up to Itasca tomorrow. We'll bring fishing poles, swimsuits and maybe some bikes. Erik's coming, too - I love our family - it's big and crazy and not so moderately dysfunctional, but there's love. Crazy love, maybe, but lots and lots of love.

Sigh. I'm happy today - inside and out. Life is big and messy and crazy and well, lifelike, but it's mine.

Mom countdown - Day 21

I will be so glad when this current energy shift pops, around August 14th, according to my sources. It feels positively like my life is bulging, if that makes sense. I look around at my life, and at my friends' lives, and everyone seems to be going through a lot of intensity. I know it's all for the good, this last releasing and purging of the old energies, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder if I'll be able to handle it all. I want to be there solidly for Mom and Dad - I love them more than anything. I want to be there totally for Steve and the kids - I love them, too. I want to be there for all of my sweet, wonderful friends - I need them. Then there are those few times, when my life is quiet and I can feel my heart beating, that I wonder if I'm strong enough to walk through all of this. I want to do it with dignity, with strength, with optimism and clarity, just because, then I feel weak inside, like I just want to curl up in my warm blankey and go away for a while, maybe pretend that my life is something other than it is. Then I think that I don't want my life to be anything other than exactly what it is right now. It's breathtakingly beautiful in so many ways - I still feel peaceful and expanded, even in the midst of the stress. I feel myself speaking very calmly and gently in those stressful situations, and really FEELING calm and gentle. In other days I'd probably be less peaceful, to say the least.

I wish my sleep would get better - I dreamed some really crappy dreams last night, but not surprisingly, Melissa said she did, too. That helps me not feel so alone. So what's going to happen around August 14th? We never really know exactly how this energy will manifest, but from what I can tell, it's going to be like a "pop" to release us from all the dense energy, like letting the rubber band that's been pulled back, go, so it can move the object inside of it forward. We're the object, so far as I can tell. Then, our momentum will take us into our new lives and experiences right away in the fall. It feels as if fall will be lighter, more open to manifestation, allowing us to move forward and not just tread water, which is what it feels like right now. I'm not making many plans right now, just catching up with my work, putting out the purple plates for the goddess gathering tonight, organizing Mom and Dad's papers that I took home. I trust the Universe to unfold my life in exactly the perfect way, while I remain open and poised to embrace it as it comes, not pushing the river, which is what I used to do. Not anymore. Now I'm resting on the mattress, letting the current carry me downstream, my hand relaxing over the edge. And it feels really nice.

Mom countdown - Day 20

I couldn't sleep last night, so went downstairs and watched two episodes of "Sex and the City" and the start of "Tin Cup." At midnight, I thought I really just SHOULD try to sleep, and it worked until 5AM when the burning started in my chest. I drank some water and took some papaya enzymes, but remembered that it couldn't be indigestion if I hadn't eaten for 10 hours, then I remembered what happened last time: one of the last near misses with Mom I'd pulled a rib out, then Tammy noticed my torso was twisted and I had a hiatal hernia, so she pushed down on my sternum and fixed it. When that happens I can't eat, and wake up in the middle of the night with the burning sensation.

So I'm sitting here, having lost 2 pounds while in Bismarck, and thinking about not being able to sleep, and the burning in my chest, and not being able to eat, and I'm wondering how I can rise up to a higher level to live right now. I feel like I've downslid a bit because I just don't want mom to die. When I think about never getting to be with her again on the physical plane, I just can't tolerate that thought, then I realize that's my limited physical thinking, and it would be helpful for me to rise up and see it from my expanded perspective, and I can do it somewhat, but then my chest burns and I think I'm not doing it enough, so I take a deep breath and close my eyes and see myself and Mom on a higher plane, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes. I hold that image in my mind, freeze it into my heart and vision so I'll have that reality for the times to come. We ARE together in that expanded place, she WILL always BE here, and it WILL be okay. It's okay right now, it really is, but just sometimes when I think about how fast this whole thing goes, this brief life, I see my dad sitting at his computer desk, playing Alan Jackson's "Itty Bitty" and singing along to it. "It's all right, to be itty bitty," singing about how fast the whole world just spins around and is over.

On the way home I listened to a country station because Erik said country's good to listen to in the summer, and three songs in a row sang about how love is the most important thing in the world, and it makes everything else seem little, so love is what I'm focusing on today, praying and hoping that I can eat something besides purified water. I'm cleaning for the goddess party - it's up to almost 70 women, I think. I lost track around 55. It's going to be a good thing, this party. These women, most of whom I know, some I won't, gathering in my backyard to laugh and connect and come together for a brief moment of communion, to feel not so alone, and to remember why we're all here.

Mom countdown - Day 19

Today was a tough day. I felt really great all visit, organizing jewelry, recipes and cookbooks, and photographs. We read some recipes and I got the ingredients to make salmon loaf for Mom and Dad. We found the picture of Mom putting on baby David's clown makeup, complete with rainbow wig. But then I knew I had to go to the funeral home. I called to make the appointment and cried right away. I was embarrassed because I hadn't cried the whole visit. The funeral home is beautiful, overlooking the Missouri River with a lot of windows. I took notes - what kind of flowers do we want, what cemetery will she be buried at, what urn, what poem for the back of the memorial service bulletin, what picture for the front, how many death certificates we'll need to send out. I tried to keep a clear head, but I started fading in and out, dizzy. Sometimes I'd just start crying, and Lois, the funeral director, would politely look away until I stopped. "It's just so hard," I said, "but we really want to get this stuff taken care of as much as possible." She said we had a lot done already, then made xeroxes of the urns I liked, as well as some flower arrangements and I left.

I was fine for a while, then I got indigestion. Then I couldn't eat. Then I got really dizzy. I didn't figure it out until I told Steve and asked him if he thought I was all right. He said that of course I felt that way - I'd just gone to the funeral parlor. I didn't think my body would react that strongly, but it did. Mom and Dad asked where I'd been, and I tried to keep it light, only it didn't work too well, but we did find a poem that she liked - it starts out "Do not stand at my grave and weep - I am not there, I do not sleep." It's a beautiful poem - all about how Mom will be in the winds that blow, and in the sparkles on the snow. But it's hard. I want her to live forever, I love her that much, but I know that's not the way it will end up. None of us get out of here alive. But still, she's my mom, and I'm trying hard not to be selfish, but man, it's hard. That's all - it's just hard.

Mom countdown - Day 18

I'm here in Bismarck, listening to the thunder rolling across the beautiful prairie sky, watching the fat raindrops pelt down on the thirsty grass. Mom calls it a "million dollar rain" just like HER dad used to call it. It's so much fun to be here with Mom and Dad - we organized all of Mom's jewelry and even tackled a huge pile of loose recipes. I love organizing - it makes me feel productive and useful, like I somehow have control over my world. I know it's all an illusion, but still ... Mom looks really good, but doesn't walk around a lot. She does stretches and leg lifts when she's up, and that's good to see. I told her how great she is to be this spritely and optimistic and with-it, considering. I don't know if she appreciates how fabulous she is. I don't know how I'd feel if I were in her shoes.

I brought them the tagboard with all of Mom's pictures on it. I didn't say it was for her funeral, but I heard her telling some friends on the phone that that's what it was for, and how beautiful it was. It doesn't seem real to me anymore, walking right to the edge of this life and peering over, then walking back for a while. That's the dangerous thing for me - getting lulled into this immortality thing, thinking Mom will somehow live forever in her physical body. I look at her, kiss her soft cheek, and imagine she'll see Kari's children grow up (not that that's anytime in the near future), or see Bill graduate from high school. I know she WILL, but not on this physical plane. But for now she's here, and I get to hear her stories, and hear her laughing her raucous, full throttle laugh. I'm constantly amazed at her optimism, her total and utter acceptance and faith in her life situation. She's here today, she says, and that's good enough for now. She thanks Dad every time he gets her her pills, or her food, or fixes her pillow. I wonder if I would be that polite, of if I'd be crabby and resentful that I'm leaving and everyone else gets to stay. How would we ever know how we'll react when we get to the end of our lives? I read somewhere that how you are NOW will determine how you act as you get older. So, if you're crabby now, you'll get crabbier as you get older. If you're sweet now, you'll only get sweeter. Well, if that's true, my mom definitely went the sweet route.

So, I'm enjoying the sweetness for the next few days before I head east again, not knowing when I'll be back this way. But Bismarck is so beautiful, I think as I walk here down by the river among the cotton trees - it's the most beautiful spot in North Dakota, I think, until I head further west, or head down Enderlin way, or head up north... okay, so ALL of North Dakota is beautiful, and if you don't believe it, well, maybe you just haven't lived here long enough, or traveled far enough, or maybe taken the time to see the beauty in the fields or the huge, wide open sky. I've lived here 46 of my 47 years, and I wonder if I'll die here. But I've got another 50 years to figure that out.

Mom countdown - Day 15

What fun to stay in a dorm again, with a 7 year old, and 6 college students. I could still hear whispers and giggles coming from the living room around 2:30AM, but was grateful for a place to stay, as the Metrodome was still booked from all the victims staying there. We had a great breakfast with Kari's boyfriend's Mom and sister, who are traveling to Austria with Kari, then drove to the airport to drop them all off. I did pretty well until I paused one second before turning away, then started crying. I don't know why I'm so sad, but maybe it's just because there are so many endings and new, new beginnings. I don't always do so well with change. Kari said the same thing to me. You wouldn't really think that about me, maybe, because of my work - it's ALL about change - not knowing where to take my next step, walking every step of my life in blind faith in the unknown, just KNOWING that it's all right, all the time. Maybe that's why I like to see where my physical feet will be every step, because my spiritual footsteps are always walking on air, like "Raiders of the Lost Ark." He can't get across the chasm, until his foot accidentally kicks some dirt out into the air. AFTER the dirt is kicked onto the space, it becomes real, so Indiana has to walk into seemingly thin air, trusting that each step will appear AS he's walking on it. Now that's blind faith, and that's how life feels right now, doesn't it? One step at a time, looking down into just air, wondering how in the world you're going to make it across this energetic, spiritual chasm, yet knowing you don't have any other choices.

So I walk, and I breathe (I've forgotten to breathe for the last two weeks, I decided, driving back from Minneapolis, taking deep breaths and feeling like my lungs were coming back to life), and I make sure to list my gratitudes each day (driving through the driving rain on the way down to Minneapolis Thursday, right after I heard about the 35W bridge, I drove through the whole storm just listing what I was thankful for - it helped me stop thinking those scary, storm thoughts), and I remain present to each precious moment with my children, my husband, my parents, my friends, clients, neighbors, myself. I remain present to my life, and for right now, that's the most important thing I can do.

I'm resting overnight before I head to Bismarck tomorrow morning. I'm just a little too tired from the last two days with Kari - it was fun, but a little bit of running around and a touch of drama from the whole bridge thing. I can't wait to see Mom and Dad again. But I'll be anxious to schedule my 20 clients that have asked for readings - yikes, and I thought it would be a slow summer? What was I thinking? Hah.

Mom countdown - Day 14

We were supposed to have left at noon, but I was exhausted, dizzy, nauseous. I was wrapped up in my fuzzy flower blankey, couldn't get off the couch. I kept fading in and out of consciousness until 3PM. We were supposed to meet Kari at Noodles at 6PM, the cute little restaurant next to our hotel by Kari's college. We got on the road at 4. At 6:26, Steve called in on my cell. "Are you all right?" He sounded very upset.
"Of course I am," I answered. "Did you think I'd gotten into a car accident?"
"The 35W bridge collapsed."

It took a minute for the news to sink in. 35W is the bridge that runs next to the Holiday Inn Metrodome, the hotel we were staying at, just around the corner from Noodles, the restaurant we were supposed to be eating at. There was absolutely NO chance we would've ever been on that bridge, except for maybe a fluke "let's go for a walk across the bridge after dinner" kind of thing. But we WOULD'VE felt it, seen it, been right there in that climactic energy, and I know, I just know, that we were protected from that intensity by being physically prevented from getting out of the house until after the event took place. As it was, we were still 45 minutes away from the Cities when we heard the news.

What's amazing to me is that Dad called in 3 minutes after Steve called. "Are you okay? Is Kari okay?" I told Dad to turn off the TV - don't let Mom watch it. Ironically, it upset Dad more than Mom, I think. That was his home turf, where he grew up. I'm sure he knew that bridge, even thought it was only 40 years old, he'd traveled it to visit his mom and dad. The stories are absolutely unbelievable - the woman and her 3 month old that walked out of their little red car - without a scratch AFTER the pickup landed on top of it, the woman whose car spiraled from the middle buckled part of the bridge, into the water (apologies for my grammar), and crawled out, unscathed. The people rushing to get the kids off the school bus stopped next to the burning semi.

I had a feeling, so called and cancelled our reservations at the Holiday Inn. "I think they'll be taking the survivors there," I told Kari. 5 minutes later on the news they said they were taking the survivors over to the Holiday Inn. Another little miracle in my world - imagine being in the middle of all of that. It might've been all right - I thought I could do Reiki on some of them - I'm sure most of them were in shock. Witnesses said there were a lot of cars that stayed on the bridge as it fell the 64 feet, then the people just got out of their cars and walked away. Seriously, just seriously - I've got goosebumps on my legs as I'm typing. I wonder about the symbolism of it all, in the midst of these energy shifts, and I'm struck with the thought that the bridge between the old and the new has collapsed, and we can never go back. It also strikes me that there were so many miracles of people being delayed, of missing it by 5 minutes, 1 minute, being faster, on and on. It felt like the 9/11 stories to me, about getting a flat tire and so missing the train, etc. Do we ever doubt that there's a great unseen Hand in our lives, operating everything? These sweet college kids we're with were talking about "what if," and I said, "I don't believe in coincidences. I think that whoever was supposed to be on that bridge, was on the bridge, and if they weren't supposed to be on the bridge, they weren't." They just looked at me.

So we stayed with Kari last night, sleeping in her room. That was sweet of her to let us do that; saved us $400 in hotel fees for the two nights. We're off to hear her research presentation in a couple hours, then off to look at the bridge and take some pictures to show Dad. I'll try to post one here. It's very powerful, very humbling, very incredible, and I think, "yup - that's life right now - powerful, humbling, incredible."

Mom countdown - Day 13

We met at Chitra's last night. She had tealights lit all over, and we sat on the deck, the 5 of us. Magical women, all, from all over the world, gathered together in a miraculous friendship based on trust, love, unconditional support and respect. I love these women, I do - I have never spoken ill of them, I would defend them to anyone, I trust them to tell them things I have never told anyone. It can be too risky, you know? To say something that might come back and slap you in the face later. It might be taken wrong, it might be twisted, skewed, turned into something that wasn't what you'd said to begin with - like the childhood game "telegraph." But these women don't do that - they listen, even if they don't understand me. They care, even if they don't believe in the things I believe in. They support me, even if I don't ask for it.

Why am I writing about the fab 5 this morning? Because I'm leaving today, and won't be home for a week. I'm sad because there were so many things I wanted to do this summer, and I haven't gotten to do any of them. So when I'm sitting here, and I think about these 4 amazing women, it makes me happy, and it gives me strength, and it makes me smile to remember some of the things we laughed about last night. And it's a safe haven in the middle of the tumultuousness. And it's important, it's really important. I don't quite know how we all got together, but I knew Donna first, maybe Julia, then Chitra, then Marie. Together we're an unlikely crew - we don't look alike (although I tease Chitra that people get us mixed up all the time - trust me, we DON'T look alike), we have different backgrounds, religious and political affiliations, family situations, ages, but it doesn't matter - it just doesn't matter.

I told them about "that" Friday night last night while we all stood in the kitchen. I haven't cried for several days; I've felt very calm and happy for the most part, but telling them how I REALLY felt that night, telling them EVERYTHING that happened, I couldn't stop crying, and it was okay to just tell them. I hadn't told anyone the whole story, but last night I did. Donna lost her mom a little while ago, so she knows. She said to tell Mom that we'll take care of Dad, and that it's okay to go, so I will, even if I've already told her that several times. I'll tell her again.

I love my friends - they are my stability and my rocks and my sanity and my center. Thank you all, my dear dear friends - I love you all.