#family | RealStuff by RealMe

Renewing The Circle; A Lost Mother’s Daughter

Nurture, Nature, and Embracing Womanhood

Painting, Oil and mixed media by Andrea Polla

In her own light she was conceived again and again as she grew into her truest self, following her own oath and quest to live life in tune with her deepest heart. She began with no knowledge of who she was or who her mother was despite living together for sixteen years. She knew only that to survive she had to follow the pull through a very twisted and sometimes treacherous journey.

Love is often hidden in the crevasses of the wounded ones, felt, yet not expressed in a manner that a girl or child can decipher. This girl was LittleMe, Lm to her readers, and while facing the rebirth of her own sweet creation, she tore unintentionally yet necessitous the perinium of her mother’s flesh that bore her time after time.

The blood shed, the young woman’s cries reverberated in her dreams; she knew instictively that her beginnings were frightening for her young, lonely mother and that parenting was thrust upon her with reluctance at a time when few could choose to pull the helm in their own direction. Her mother had indeed been married but she knew her choices were complex.

Although a student on scholorships at a good college in the southern USA, her husband was the one who stole from her the sense of ownerhship of her being and he put himself first, not just in their relationship but in all life matters from an early age and forward. It would not take long for him to play cat and mouse, yes and no, hot and cold leaving her with blatant instability. His actions led her to take me and carry our lives in her own hands. This was both an undeniably brave and challenging decision and a burden that would weave in and around our relationship for years to come. Although she had parents they were not suited for her to run home to; daily life was a struggle to keep us sheltered, with food, clothes, and with money to use for her first old car’s gasoline. Often it was two dollars worth at a time to get to work. The Green Hornet was a beauty bought for much less than it’s value from a coworker whose father had died. She got me to my babysitter’s and herself to her two jobs without help from the one who I called “Daddy”. He would claim to others how much he helped us, lie and make her feel foolish and belittled and there came a time when I would grow into a fierce yet wobbly doe and would see him for all he was sincerely not. His lies were like candy or chips you know you should not be indulging in yet you continue because they taste so decadent and good in a detrimental way. Too many consumed make one sick but the craving remains even so. He was my addiction.

I never truly let go of either of them in my deepest heart however my brain knew what was best for me and pushed them away, down, down, down and put their imprints that hurt Lm into small boxes and locked them with keys I can not use. Only Rock has the key now and LittleMe stands disgruntled on the bottom step of her dank stairwell always wanting more. She will always wish for things to change, to be seen and heard and believed. She will always want love and truth in it’s highest form. Lm continues to forgive clinging to hope with a desperation which deturs her from fully healing. Rock doesn’t think she will ever let go for she, the Black Sheep, the kindest and most endearing of all had her pain wrapped up in a paper bag and set out to seek acceptance fully believing she would find all the answers and eventually all the keys to fill the holes in her heart out in this world somewhere with divine light. Rock patiently stands beside her as once again her heart is aching with new pain invoked by the mother of Lm, the grandmother of Lm’s struggling only child has broke her trust again.

Lm’s young adult has been suffering after coming out of the proverbial closet as transgender. Throughout years of required investigations in the Swedish system, the back log of others waiting after the coronavirus choked socialized medicine to a mere drip of dysfunction. Doctor after doctor, endocriniologist, psychiatrists, depression, dysphoria and self loathing became a never ending roller coaster ride in an abandoned amusement park for her daughter and for Lm. Seeing her own child hurt repeatedly has contained all of Lm’s emotions regarding her own deepest self so she may be available and strong for her daughter.

The circle of love and pain begins to churn. Nurturing yet admittidly not knowing the answers has brought Lm to a stand off with her own mother visiting for six weeks from the southern USA. The same area were drag queens are prohibited, the same south where the bill was passed that genitalia must be checked before entering toilets in public places, the same south and country where carrying guns to school instead of sneaking in bubblegum is more common.

Lm’s daughter is Black and Cuban, adopted from birth, her fragility and social anxiety is hightened as the world she experiences judges her everyday because she is not white and priviledged. The world is full of haters. Lm’s heart is full of love and it grows bigger making room for all of the LGBTQ+ community, wanting to hold them all in her shadow, protect them from harm and discrimination.

The mother that never knew Lm truly and with whom she still forgives daily has now crossed a line that has caused profound pain for her beloved daughter. While out for an appointment, Lm’s mother and her daughter were left home together. Lm had made it clear before her mother visited that she had to follow the rules of her household, not push her bounderies or she could not visit. Despite jumping through hoops, rolling over and fetching for her mother for eighteen days she felt it would be okay to leave the house to do errands. Then a text message came from her daughter whom I will refer to from now forward as “B” for blessing arrived. Lm had just sat down in a café and ordered a glass of white wine when B’s text pinged on her phone. Expecting the usual, “Mom can you pick me up some chips?”, Lm reads that her Meanmom has resurfaced and was verbally inappropriate with B. Meanmom went to her granddaughter’s room twice uninvited and told her that she was put on this planet by God for a reason. Okay, she can think that. Then she did her double back flip of harsh whiplash and used her tongue put in her mouth by her God to proceed to say B was a disappointment to her, to us all and that she would wind up on the streets and was worthless. Rock stepped in and double checked all drawers to the memories of Lm’s shitty childhood full of belittling and physical abuse from Meanmom were secured so she could focus only on her daughter’s needs. The pain grew exponentially even so and she for the first time delegated all of her disgust and unspoken words to her most trusted confidant, her husband. Rock was proud Lm did not react by lashing out at her Meanmom or by letting her own tongue spew regrets. Her husband who has now adopted Lm’s daughter stood up as a father should, in the way BadDad never did for her as a young adult, and became the kind of person she admires. Dear Swedish Italian Viking, my favourite human spoke to Meanmom while Lm comforted her daughter and now she is even more in love with her Swedish Italian Viking husband. Now Lm must consult with Rock and decide how to proceed forward on this day after the incident with Meanmom scheduled to be here for another month. Luckily, Meanmom stays in the little house on the property and not in the same house with Lm, B and her husband. What makes all of this so important that it needs to be written down? Lm is growing stronger and is not afraid as often even if triggered. Most importantly is that Lm adopted her baby with her first husband 25 years ago and he disowned B when she came out. Quit, broke her heart and has been swallowed up by bigotry. That loss for B was enormous. After much time passed it became clear the bigot would not contact B more and Lm’s dear husband asked to adopt her.

Think of all the children, the young adults, the humans of any age terrified of living life as who they truly are because they are transgender, gay, or define themselves with a pronoun other than “she” or “he”. Think about the Black skinned, the brown skinned, the Asians of any descent, the hate that gloats and seeps it’s ugly sickness into the hearts of those fighting to live their best life depsite it all. I sit wondering how Lm ever let her guard down, began to trust once again the mother that bore her, that gave her this life; the one that says she loves us yet scars our hearts repeatedly with her hateful words. Lm can’t forgive, Rock pushes emerging ME to stand up for my daughter and I feel the closing in of the circle, the one I’ve tried to keep open with room for my mother’s imperfections; yet when my child, no matter her age is feeling badgered, broken and lost Lm can relate to the stain her grandmother left on her heart yesterday, the final stain at least from her grandmother. The circle will change; womanhood should be inclusive not exclusive. Am I disappointed in Meanmom or in myself for believeing that continuing to allow her the priviledge to be part of our lives was or is the right thing to do. I don’t know the answers now. Rock unlocks the door at the top of the stairwell and Lm is released into the sunshine; he trusts that she is growing into her first true grasp of what it means to be reunited with her deepest self, that she is integrating and we will integrate and continue to rise above all that broke us into dissociative fragments as a girl.

Rock proudly states, “She is becoming her own shield.” Will Rock soon be obsolete?

Rock, Rocks in His New Hat!

Posted on April 5 by ROCK

Spring doesn’t jump out at you in Sweden; sudden changes and abhorent weather shifts keep even the most stoic of us guessing. Rock doesn’t guess, speculate or ponder such uncontrolable forces as Mother Nature. He only has his eye on Lm. She is deep in her mind, remembering Easter egg hunts as a child in the United States with her cousins. She has one foot in the “Bible Belt” and another running with all her might north then to the edge of the Atlantic, fleeing to Sweden where everything yet nothing makes sense. In the southern states Easter meant a knew frock, white patten shoes and rejoicing after church in the sunshine with her cousins and family. Croquet and hunting colored eggs, jelly beans and fake green grass in her basket to stuff her findings in were just some of her fond recollections. Avoiding the ham with pineapple was her biggest challenge since she always won at croquet. Deviled eggs and chocolate pie can fill a belly and that’s what she loved. It was one of the only times of the year that everything went smooth. No fighting, no disasters and no face smacking for being a smarty pants, that is until she got a “D” in Algebra in eighth grade. Fearing her mother’s wrath she and a friend decided there was no way out and the holy week leading up to Easter they decided to run away. Hitch-hiking fifteen year olds in Nashville is not the safest choice. Two men in a pick-up stopped and let them sit in the middle. Rock slaps himself silly with astonishment as he has no clue how in the hell Lm and her friend, both with full make-up and cute little jeans and perms survived. An APB was put out notifying the state police. It just so happened Lm was not as stoic as she was behaving and asked to use the bathroom. The men in the pick-up obliged and pulled over at a gas station. When Lm got out a cop car pulled up and she was spotted pronto. The men were not charged, (huge question, eh?) and Lm and her friend were driven back to the suburbs where their parents met them at the one room police station. From that point they were forbidden from meeting outside of school which didn’t change their inner chaos and drama. That particular Easter Lm’s mother and step-father took her to an Easter buffet in a restaraunt. They slid their trays down metal railngs and picked out what they wanted from the massive amount of food in heated deep food bins. Lm only remembers the silence, the lack of extended family and her muteness which encompassed her early teenage years. She was not feeling particularly renewed, springy or at all joyful. Her mother looked sad in the way mother’s do when their kids totally screw up and they are in shock due to not having an inkling as to what to do next. Lm is sad because she, even now can’t replace that memory with a better one. Rock reminds her that curried eggs are her favorite and she shoves him and his new purple hat away. She wakes everyday wanting to try again to be better in every way; isn’t that what Easter is about? We get a fresh start if we are lucky; some of us sink into the past. Rock knows his job is to keep Lm in the now. Snow is falling in Sweden and there will not be an egg hunt outside or croquet, but maybe, just maybe she will shake off her dark past and embrace what she has now. Maybe. Rock wishes everyone a shot at reviving their inner beings. Peace and Happy Spring!

Snow Storm Song

Posted on February 17 by ROCK

The wind whips through the forest, my heart is warm, alert. The birds found cover somewhere on Mother Earth. Cold, fabulous display of Divine Nature having her way. I am beneath old quilts from my grandmother, have a fireplace and my forever lover. I welcome the scream of the Northern Sea, I am not afraid of what shall be. My heart beats with the waves, ne’r afraid of meeting my grave. Test me, taunt me, make me wince! Nothing will change the world I’m in. Rhapsody, tragedy, an orchestra of might, relieve us each dream and every damned night. Ghosts of future flying by, names of past in a flurry, twists of love in a fury. Receive my regret, my heart’s desire, give me hope in my head awhile. I love my life, my love and wonders, all I beg is that they are covered; from the bellows deep and wild, protect my hearth and my child.

I Will Remember, too

Posted on January 8 by ROCK

#Grief, #LettingGo, #Husband,#Wife, #Family, #Pain, #Continuance — Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.com

Your Love

Your love pushed me through walls of pain, caused me inexplicable grief and forced me to face myself. Your love has kept me believeing that life can be better, that past’s can be put to rest and life is worth living still. Your love is constant, even when you roar, stomp or confront my bitterness. You are surprisingly tender and need me when I least expect it; I feel honored by your vulnerability. Now, I face more pain; pain not from threat, regardless life breaking. I sit and watch you live from the sidelines and want so much more for you. I want to roll in the grass, make love in the forest, move my body in sync with yours…but I can’t. I can smile and feel the tears spilling from my eyes, laugh sometimes at your ridiculous attempts to amuse me, but I can never be the lover you once knew, your strength or release. For this, my true love, I am sorry. For it is not me who leaves you, alit by the frame of my spirit that awakened when I saw your arctic eyes, felt your strong embrace and the one I have known as my lover from our first kiss. No matter where pain takes me, nor the realms that seperate us, know. KNOW. You are the love of my life in beauty and in sorrow.

Why Does TRUTH Matter?

Posted on December 10 by ROCK

The Philosophical Dialogues Between RocK and Lm ; Part I

Rock is calm, in control and direct; he nudges Lm after days of her hiding so deeply within herself that she hasn’t eaten properly. She developed this unhealthy habit as a teenager along with over exercising, mega dosing herself on over the counter diet pills and eventually she was given “black beautys” by her worst addiction, TJ. That’s the TRUTH. Her first love was older, maybe twenty-one going on twenty-two when she met him on the city docks in Annapolis, Maryland; he fulfilled all the longing she had for her father’s attention. When BadDad had visited her in Nashville she was treated like a wealthy princess, shown off to his friends for her beauty and good manners which he was proud of. When she ran away to live with him he had married the wonderful Elle and she longed to be with her baby sister, D. Expectations were quicky extinguished. BadDad was curt, often critical of Elle and used Lm to find younger girls to hit on. Lm never knew how to deal with this and just pushed it into the stairwell with everything else that tried to break her spirit. She was naive and desperate for love; TJ was smooth, like Old Spice commercials, a sailor, a good drunk, a good Catholic, and a sex addict; he introduced Lm at barely sixteen to a wide variety of drugs. TRUTH. “You could have overdosed!” Rock is actually still surprised Lm is alive. “Yeah, well I didn’t, did I?” Lm is snarky, angry at TJ to this day. He was the one who slept with everyone she knew, in fact he slept with other girls while she waited for him in his best friend’s room. His best friend was a good person and although drugging and drinking, too he maintained some sort of faint resemblance to decent ethics. She would go to him (aka “Moby”) and sob; he always comforted her and he didn’t hit on her which gained her trust. Soon TJ introduced her to crystalmeth, cocaine, hashish, uppers, quaaludes, hard liquor, acid (LSD) and the habit of daily pot use. Her mornings were black coffee, amphetimines and saltine crackers, just enough to start the day. Lm’s father couldn’t do much because he wasn’t around enough and well, he had no room to talk. Lm new about his teenaged lover, his mistresses and flings and tried to bury the secret life he led behind Elle’s back. Her desperation for being seen, loved, adored, and wanted was now a sickness and TJ took full advantage of it. He would show up at her school in his old station wagon which he and Moby named “the Whale”; they started a painting company and lived on an old boat docked not too far from her house. She had been transferred to an elite private school after failing religion in tenth grade. She refused summer school and thus was tossed to the next VIP high school and it was life changing. She made friends, met really nice nerdy boys she liked but TJ had a good grip on her. She felt obligated to him and missed out on much of the fun with her new classmates. Other than BadDad and a few drunks hitting on her, TJ would become the one who broke her into small fragments of a girl, he would groom her just as her father had and she would take all of his emotional and mental abuse in a grotesque self deprivating way, for she had no identity; she was only HIS. Rock forces Lm to nurture her inner child, sip some tea, come forward with all TRUTH day by day. Why does TRUTH matter? Rock says, “Denying your own experiences leads to a deep sickness.” He is never giving up on Lm and promises to help her heal and in turn she can heal others. It’s dark twenty-four hours a day right now and Lm is also physically unwell. She can’t accept her pain within her heart, or that which engulfs her soul; how is she to accept her physical pain? Rock wants to hold her but he can not. He wants to teach her to hold onto herself. Rock said, “Lm, if I could punch TJ in the snout, I would; but we of all people know violence solves nothing.” Our only secret “mean” wish is that TJ and BadDad suffer for what they did to us. Lm whispers, “Why must I suffer in my dreams all alone?”. Tonight she may not sleep; it’s her only gaurantee that she won’t wake in a cold sweat, with those fat salty tears burning her fair freckled face.

Not EVEN Close!

Posted on December 8 by ROCK

Rock watches from the corner of his eye as Lm takes a long inhale of a pretend cigarette. She is satisfied she is back in her dank quarters, just the two of them without disturbance. Rock has told her she is far from healed and that acceptance of her past eases her presence and will lead to a healthier future. ” Oh yay”, Lm replied, ” a healthy future is so enticing!”. Lm is not believing in Rock or the future full of smiles, love and peace anymore. She is overcooked, baked to a crisp and hard. Rock assures her that if she continues to tell her TRUTH, her story, that she will overcome all of her pain. Lm knows that even if one person saw beyond her soft blue eyes she’d be leary. Everyone, every single person in her world is backing away, and she knows that she has only her pain mentally, physically and emotionally to count on waking her at three a.m. She pulls out a drawer full of photos and sees herself at seven with BadDad and the nice girlfriend at a protest. She’s sad, looking down and he is oblivious. The word of the day, her life and relationships, with her mother and father is oblivious. Obviously oblivious.

Step Back People; This is My Investigation

Posted on November 16 by ROCK

D
N
A
...and me, you, us.
I feel you in my heartbeat, in my deepest known self
ID
EGO
...I knew there was someone missing; don't know how
I
Love
You.
My brother; damn how you look like him, how you look like me.
Damn.
I miss YOU.
We've never met in real life.
Skype, chats so polite and cautious are what we know.
I am selfish; possesive,sick with sorrow and desperate.
Thank the Universe, "God?". Mostly let's praise your smart birthmother, that you did not know HIM.
The man with the sperm, the lies, the narcissitic persona; the overtaking birthfather we share.
Lucky One. He flooded anyone near him with his tsunami of FIRST.
I am jealous that you had a father who loved you, NO MATTER WHAT!
A Mother that was so amazingly grateful you were placed into her arms
Still you were the son of the one who was unable to give many of his genetic creations that he "kept" a sense of importance, of being wanted.
He always was more important. I am so grateful brother you were given love, a family life that was whole.
I am broken, as I never knew this profound love from our shared birthfather.
I was his pawn, sidekick, the one who knew, saw who he was; I carried too much Truth,
I was disposable to him as he bounced from woman to woman, lived lie after lie.
You were saved.
May I, if I am given one last gift, sit next to you, hug you and protect our connection?
I am the gun with empty chambers,shooting at the bad but never succeeding in stopping the beast.
I am the sister, the mother, the wife, the daughter who will, if I must, load the pistiol, take the fall to keep us ONE.
I give you and all of BadDad's secrets a free card; It is not your fault that he did not care about us
He is a fault, a barren soul; let's recreate our world without his demons.
Triggered and Trust are both silent emotions.
LittleMe
Beckons you home, waits on the front porch far away
With her heart entwined with yours.
B
R
O
T
H
E
R
ILOVEYOU.

Flashes of Love; The Guide to Reawakening a Woman’s Heart

Posted on November 5 by ROCK

In the smallest of moments, in the hands of the keepers of Time, I am lost in my vivid dreams, my memories of another me, another you, are like digging through a shoebox of polaroids stuffed in the back of my mind. You look through me, not inside me; my own struggle is real, a curse with a cause. I pull my strength from a place so coven, a spiraling space that wedges between me before and me now. I want you to know this fierce attempt to feel alive, better than I truly am and carry me like a small girl afraid of rough waters. Words fling about, nothing to you, yet everything to me. I long for you to revisit me, my depth of consciousness, my blood pumping through my heart. Listen to my love, my emerging crone, LISTEN to the time passing through us, see my bravery, my determination to be part of an unleashed continuance. Mortality is a shell, a clause embedded in our soul, in the fine print. Perhaps some may be aware in flashes dismissed, yet I am in that flash of light we cannot dance in again. I see, breathe each breath too exposed to life’s inevitable pain. I walk with such consciousness, entirely engulfed in each glance, each movement of your eyes, your being; I am amuck in a cast of my own spell. Slipping backwards into the wanderer I have always been I ask again, I plead once more, look through our Love, savour the youthful reminders, hold on to me, to US, come with me as I cross this new threshold of time. I enter with faith a chapter unknown; in my hands I hold a piece of vitality, a bit of curiosity, a smudge of fear. Do not take my time, my devotion in vain. Each touch, every hurried second my eyes are open so wide, a destiny born into my gut, unshakable and relentless it is never off duty. Scroll again through all you know of you, of the course of life, togetherness and ask yourself again and again, ” where are we?”. In that instant let me guide you back, BACK to me and without measure, allow me to take your hand to my heart and walk forward as far as the clock, the silence of being allows. See the beauty, grasp our unknown and open this next door with me. Hold it open, help me step into hope, discard the pain and see me, you, us into the new realm of Love.

My Daughter’s Dream; My Dream.

Posted on October 18 by ROCK

At night I close my eyes yet am wide awake wanting a miracle to make you happy, to be whole and live the life you want to live. To unlock the chains of stigmatism, of bigotry and divisiveness I would slay fiercely. I want to wake to see you smiling, holding the hand of another, laughing and having plans that don’t include me. I want you to be loved as I love you, your heart to feel cosy and warm; I want this life to begin for you with acceptance and commitment. Will the barriers which bind you to unhappiness release you soon; will the sun shine and your warm brown eyes have no tears? I lay solemn, my pledge to see you through your journey unwaivering. I would be lying to myself and to the grand altruism deemed LOVE if I said it will all be okay. I don’t know if it will be okay, that you will thrive or that this world will give you what you need. My heart is heavy, my mind restless; I never stop thinking about you becoming who you are without more pain. I would pray, yet my beckoning turns sour when each day I see your soft eyes vulnerable. The God I once knew would not cast such pain on you. Goodnight my love. May you sleep and dream of rainbows and all the things that keep you strong; I close my eyes yet my heart is open for you every hour, every breath and will never be calm until I know you are satisfied.

Night Mirrors; Sleepless Reflections

Posted on September 27 by ROCK

Four a.m. rain, nine celsius; usually perfect sleeping time for this weathered woman. Sipping ginger tea, disturbed by my relentless coughing, I avoid my bed and waking my husband who needs to work in two hours. From my soft sofa, a burgundy wine red, drowsiness sets in. Plumped up with pillows under an old cosy quilt I stare out a window into the black where the opposite panes behind me are lit with led lights and reflect before me. I want to be small, a Christmas Eve long ago and my mother to be sneaking around, making my morning perfect. She eats the cookies and downs the eggnog, maybe wonders if she’s got it right. Is she enough? Would this have been her little girl dream? Her’s weren’t doused in decor, perfection and excitement leading up to morning fun. My dog with her red bow, the pancake batter, fruit before stockings, albums pre-stacked, ready to drop one after the other, Bing Crosby always first. She has pretty cards on my bonus Dad’s plate and mine. She knows I will wake early and probably puts the coffee maker’s little paper bag in and pours the water, only needing to wake, push the button and join me under the tree. I too, tried to get it right year after year. People pleasing I learned from Mom. It never felt right except when I finally became a mother. I had a doggie too, a red bow, pancakes and coffee. The first year, so perfect. A four month old, the first husband smiling while opening his new sweater as our baby made sweet sounds on a soft blanket in front of the crackling fire. No hoopla. Just a new bone for our dog, the gift of motherhood and dreams were full, all good, with smiles; it would be perfect. That first Christmas as a mother I held my cherub and we watched, “It’s a Wonderful Life”. Each sleepless night was a dream come true then with the long awaited child. Life in the world could be imperfect yet I would forge on, recreating reasons to be joyful, to see good and not look at the late night reflections. It was another morning, at forty years old, a Christmas of struggles and loss; my five year old watching “The Snowman” and cuddling with our doggie, sippy cup with apple juice in hand and already asking for peppermint sticks. I was a woman, staring at the deep Vermont snow with more coming down. This had been all I wanted. Why was I feeling it was impossible to make my husband learn to love through adversity, not resent the world for turning us upside down. Couldn’t we right it again? He’d lost his job the previous autumn and being post 9/11, despite his impeccable skills as an electrical engineer finding work was a dead end; he was Arabic. We’d met in a university town, he a foreign student working on his master’s and a brilliant graduate teaching fellow. He also was in charge of the cartography library and was a quiet, gentle soul. Being from north Africa he was working toward success, his culture beautiful in so many ways we learned to incorporate it easily into our life via cuisine. To this day my young adult’s comfort food is cous-cous with cinnamon and butter. That Christmas it all changed. He sat angry, not hiding his feelings as our child opened presents he resented my buying. I had worked as a writer for two local papers, taken care of those in palative care in their homes and even cleaned someone’s house each week. The bills became monster’s and no matter the music, or the lights on the tree softly lighting each evening he fell into a place that had no room for my dreams or his own. I had pleased and pleaded to keep hope alive and soon I no longer knew how to set the table just right, smile in the wake of tears, cheer up anyone at all. I had failed. Did my mother feel she had failed, too? Did she wish she knew all the answers? I had left home at sixteen and broke her heart. How could I ever fix that? I knew I had to change my own approach. My husband found a job in another state and I stayed behind, afraid to follow I took a small apartment in an old Victorian house in a new town. On weekends he would drive to see us and for awhile I thought maybe it could work. I looked for work and nothing was available with a child and no one reliable to help me out. The story is one of those that many know, you are somewhere, uncertain and just taking baby steps and holding out for an epiphany. Mine came about in a very long and loaded journey, a new country, messy Christmases that I couldn’t fix, clashes of cultures, always bending, trying, pleasing and believing in miracles. Now I feel much older than I am, often in poor health, I dread everything, every holiday as I know it can’t be like it was when I ran from my room, hugged my mother and bonus dad and let my doggie open her present first. I look at the sky now, it’s beginning to show a deep yet slowly lighting blue. The led lights on a timer will click off and I will make coffee. My second husband of fifteen years will wake and ask how I am feeling and then he will work. I will worry about my NOW. Not yesterday or tomorrow. I hope for nothing much but for my young adult to find their path, to be okay and content like that very first Christmas cooing with baby toes high in the air. I want this family, despite the buried knowing of what this “wonderful life” can do to each and everyone of us, to recognize our love is NOW. I stopped wanting it all, however I do keep believing that pancakes and coffee can turn things around. Good morning! Lm and Rock are cheering all of you on. May you stumble into something good, just right and feel the way you need.