The Unlikeliest Friends

Being young has its advantages and disadvantages.  I think one of the biggest issues being young is taking certain things for granted.  We are all guilty of that for sure, but one of the biggest detriments to maturity is friendship.  It may just because we’re growing up and figuring things out.  We accumulate relationships with like-minded people.  Temporary and long standing Friendships.  Many times it’s not effortless.  We may even start out not really caring for another person, but growing to really like them over time.  For me, this is the BEST kind of friendship.  Maybe for some reason or another, you both were completely fine on your own and didn’t want or need another friend.  Maybe you didn’t necessarily care for the other person, first impressions and all, but over time you realized that person was kind of cool.  You may have been thrown together out of no fault of your own and eventually realized that you couldn’t live without one another.

This would be the case with my dogs, Jaxon and Harles, aka Harley, Carl, Bubble.  The poor dog will almost answer to anything.

Jaxon came first and like most “only children”, he received all of our attention.  His brother from another mother came a few years later.  Now Bubble can be a beast, very alpha and domineering.  Jax is the opposite, which I’ve written about in a previous post.  Bubble came into the family feeling the need to prove he was King.  Jax was not happy stepping down from his throne and so the relationship went, until recently.  They’ve both had a surgery in the past 2 years and I’m not sure if that’s what brought them together, or if it’s just a mutual fond regard, but I truly believe that they are now inseparable.

They both sleep in bed with me, and Bubble tends to sleep a lil longer than Jax.  In the morning I go to the kitchen and make my coffee, Jax by my side.  Bubble continues to snooze in bed.  I’ve actually seen Jax go into my bedroom and pretty much make noises in order to wake up Bubble.  In the same respect, I’ll be napping in bed with Jax, and he’ll leave the room only to return with Bubble.  A year or so ago that wouldn’t have happened.  I can remember Jaxon letting Harles stay outside all day once, when I forgot to bring him in before leaving for work.  Now you might ask how Jaxon “let” Bubble stay outside.  Jax is like Houdini in many respects, and is actually able to slide open my patio door.  He’ll never do it while I watch, but he’s done it many times when I’m visiting my neighbor, and I find him waiting for me at the gate when I return home.

I may not know the real reason why these two unlikely friends have become so close, but I’m so happy that they’ve finally accepted each other and have more than what seems to be a casual, convenient friendship.

Always one of my favorites….



This Place About to Blow


For the past approximately three years I’ve had a lot of stomach issues.  I’ve been diagnosed with a variety of illnesses, but one thing still holds true, NOTHING HAS CHANGED!

Fast forward to this week.  My daughter introduced me to a new breakfast invention.  You see, for the past few years I’ve eaten yogurt with granola.  Literally every day.  I would crave it.  I’d go to bed dreaming about it and wake up thinking about it.  My delicious dessert like breakfast.  Over the holiday break (I was off work for about a week and a half), I stopped eating my daily feast.  And guess what?  Yep, I STOPPED having stomach issues!  All the while I thought I was doing something good for my body.  Keeping the overgrowth of yeast away with my greek strawberry delectables.  Cranberries and almonds dancing around the oats was good for me, right?  Who cares that I was probably consuming about 800 calories for breakfast?  I was so bloated and gassy by about 2pm that I couldn’t eat dinner.  And so the cycle began.  Snacking on horrible chips at night because I couldn’t “stomach” a full dinner.  Waking in the morning famished and ready to eat the heaven on earth bowl of goodness I desired so much.

But I’m not going to talk about my lack of good caloric choices. Nooooo, I’m going to talk about my newly found breakfast.  Vanilla yogurt, oatmeal, blueberries and chia seeds with a lil milk.  Mix that sucker together and you’ve got yourself a great morning meal with a lot less sugar and a lot more protein and fiber.

Did you hear what I said?  A LOT MORE FIBER!

Do you know what a bunch of fiber added to your diet all of a sudden does?  You don’t?  Did you click on the video link at the beginning of this blog?  Well go do it now, I’ll wait…..

tap, tap, tap….

You back yet?  Good.  Now watch this:


I am counting down the minutes until I can haul this puckered ass to the car and let loose.  I mean my stomach is gurgling and my ass cheeks are getting the workout of their lives trying to close over this old, apparently less tight than it used to be (a LOT less) ass.  I’ve prayed to God that I don’t have to sneeze.  I will pee my pants and probably let out the loudest, longest fart in history.  I’ll have to quit my job, move to a fart friendly country and live out the rest of my years attempting to be the first person who develops an anal exercise.  You’ve heard of kegels for your vagina?  Why not something for your asshole?

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve walked to the kitchen and started putting dishes away because I had to let out a quick fart, and I’ve even impressed myself in the morning with some of the longest farts I’ve ever heard.  (My youngest son would be so surprised).  I remember years ago when I had walked into his room to put some clothes away and accidentally let one escape.  He asked if I farted….and I did my best impression of “mad mom-how dare you” face, told him absolutely not and exited the room.  He never asked again.

I’ve waited til my husband went to the kitchen for a drink and silently let out some air while I moved around on the couch, pushing my toes against the leather ottoman so that if he snuck back in it would appear that the noise coming from me was from something other than my anatomy.

I know that it’s more acceptable for men to fart than women, but I think that that’s only because we don’t want to draw attention to our body’s natural reaction to having something it deems undesirable in our body.

And who knew that my body decided mother fucking chia seeds was undesirable?  How do I know it was those dreaded tiny teeny bastards?  I googled it, of course.  Seems a lot of people struggle with Chia Farts.  I even googled how to get rid of gas fast.  I contemplated ramming a hose (no, not up my ass) into my mouth and turning it on to re-invade my gut with a flushing type of remedy.  Unfortunately, or FORTUNATELY as the case may be, no such hose is available here at work.  So I drink water out of a bottle.  You see water is the ticket to getting those minute, agony causing pricks moving through the internal pluming.

Do you know what the water is doing to these cute lil guys?  You guessed again…’s making them swell up in my stomach and now I look like a big ole red Christmas bulb, round as can be.

I have to laugh, because working where I do, I work with about 5 people all in the same room, and it’s very very quiet.  Except for my stomach which has decided to start gurgling and making very weird, almost sounding like human words-sounds.  All of a sudden.  No warning, I can’t open a drawer or try to dial my desk phone on speaker to cover it up.  I’m violently typing and that’s not even working.  It keeps saying, “ohhhhhhhh, or ewwwwww”. Long too, as the air is making its way through my intestines.  Can you believe I ate these little fuckers at 8:30 and the air is only half way through my gut?  I think the water might be making it worse.  They’re growing fins and starting to swim against the current.

I’ve often thought of writing about my airy issues, but felt that it wasn’t the best topic to talk about, being a prissy girl and all.   You all know I’m only doing this (typing) to try and cover up SOME of the noise, right?  Where does all the gas go if you NEVER let it out?  It’s probably absorbed somehow into the body.

I’m not editing this, because I have to leave work now.  I shouldn’t have to stop for gas on the way home, I’m guessing I’ve got enough to drive to the state of California right now.

Click to laugh!




The Price You Pay

I’ve voiced my opinion once or twice before regarding healthcare in the United States, specifically Highmark in Pennsylvania.

I feel like I’m turning into my grandparents when I say, I remember when….(insert memory here).  But I seriously remember when healthcare was affordable.  I don’t know specifics as to why premiums have skyrocketed from lets say 25 years ago.  Seeing a primary doctor (general practitioner) and paying $20 for my entire visit, start to finish.  I would have blood work AT the office, get lots samples of a drug prescribed to see if it worked prior to purchasing it from the pharmacy.  It worked pretty smoothly.

There were things that didn’t work smoothly, such as people with pre-existing conditions being turned down for insurance. Your children had to attend college full-time to STAY on your insurance, otherwise they were kicked to the curb as soon as they turned age 18.  I’m sure there were plenty more, hence the reason for the Affordable Care Act.

Looking back now, I believe it should have been named the Accessible Care Act.  I don’t honestly know if the reason we are paying such staggering amounts of money is due to the fact that no one could be turned down for insurance, no matter how sick they were?  I don’t know the reason.  ACA is not working.  Period.

If I remember correctly, the original ACA had been revised several times so that the Republicans would allow it to pass.  What did the original look like?  I’ve heard it was 1400 pages, so maybe nobody knows what it stated.  The Republican party is very quick, as well as President-Elect Trump, to point out that it needs to be repealed.  And certainly there are quite a few changes that I see myself that need to be done.   I wonder how much of the suggested repeals were in the original document?

At any rate, my complaint has an agenda.  My current “out-of-pocket” (OOP) is 2600 per person per year.  After that is reached, I pay 10% of the charge.  Last year I reached my deductible by July 1.  The difference in fees that I paid prior to July is an exorbitant amount of money.  I just recently  called a script refill in to my pharmacy on December 31, 2016.  That date is important because I intentionally had the rx request in to the pharmacy BEFORE 2017 because I knew the new deductible would kick in and once again I would be paying out the ass for my medications.  Unfortunately for me, the pharmacy didn’t have my medication, it had to be ordered and wouldn’t arrive until Jan 3, 3 days too late.  Prior to January I paid about $8.00 for these meds.  Jan. 3 I was asked to pay $1000.  Yep, a grand.  I was told that it was much better than if I didn’t have insurance, without it I would pay $3000.  And the pharmacy tech was being serious.

What do you think that I did?  Ofcourse I didn’t get it.  Now here’s the kicker….the rx is for a medication called Duexis.  This is a pill which contains 800mg of ibuprofen with famotidine added.  Famotidine is Pepcid, which helps heartburn that you may get from taking the NSAID (non-steroidal anti-inflamatory drugs)  So there you have it.  What on earth could possibly make this medicine price in at $3000? I read this recently, which  explains it a little bit.  Apparently taking twelve 200mg motrin and four generic pepcid pills will do exactly the same thing for me, at about $0.51 cents compared to about $51.00!  So basically you are paying for the convenience of taking one pill instead of 4 every 6 hours.

I’ve been taking Duexis off and on for about three years.  I had no idea that my insurance company was being billed about $1500 each time I had this prescription filled.

This is just one example.  Just one medication of the thousands of medications that are out there.  One drug company of the THOUSANDS of drug companies that could possibly be gauging the consumer, the provider and anyone else in its way.

Do you still wonder NOW why we pay such high premiums for health insurance?  Can you imagine the mark up on medical supplies?  MRI machines? The list is endless.  When you allow a company to charge what EVER the hell they want to, especially something medical related,  where the consumption of such medicine could mean life or death for someone, then you allow someone other than God to make the decision about the quality of life.  The life that we live is being negotiated and predetermined by people and corporations whose bottom line is the almighty dollar.

How many spaghetti dinners and chinese auction raffle tickets are we going to continue to attend and sell in order to make up for the financial devastation that potentially terminal and debilitating illnesses carry with them?  Trial medications that HAVE saved lives not covered under your insurance plan?

But hey, at least they won’t cancel you, right?  You will get a second mortgage on the already too small home that you live in, replace the transmission in your 12-year-old car instead of buying a newer, more reliable model. Vacations will consist of a Sunday at the local park, if everyone is feeling well enough.  Do all the things you need to do to get by while you are paying the mountainous pile of astronomical medical bills that will NEVER be paid off in your lifetime, no matter how long or short that is.  And all the while the makers of  medicine and testing and supplies are vacationing in Dubai every couple of months, living in multi-million dollar summer and winter homes and taking a stink-less shit on a 22k toilet.

To be clear. I don’t have a problem with people making money, just not at the expense of the health and welfare of the people they profit from.

I believe we’ve been priced right out of our comfort zones, and there’s not one damn thing we can do about it aside from bending over and taking it up the tailpipe.  I don’t particularly like the personality and morals of Donald Trump, our new President.  I have no idea what kind of business man he is, but I do know that if he does a complete 180 and suddenly cares about the medically financially strapped Americans who face financial ruin rather just saying he does, I hope that he uses every ounce of his bullshit, bullying tactics to make the situation better, more affordable and legitimately fair for all people of the United States.







I Don’t Belong Here

There have been a lot of thoughts rolling around this noggin the past few months.  I’m wondering if anyone else has had a similar experience.

When things get rough, I mean when all the things that normally get under your skin get to be so overwhelming that you can’t find an inch of peace anywhere, what do you do?  I guess I’ve got kind of a process that I use to try and relax.  The first mode is sleep. Sleep until you can’t sleep anymore. This usually doesn’t work for more than a couple of days.  The second mode is feeling sorry for myself.  Woe is me.  Why me?  Pity party to the max.  That doesn’t last long either, maybe a week.  Then the questioning creeps in, causing me to make some sort of change.  The easiest things to change are things that you can control.  I’ll clean a closet or a drawer and throw a bunch of stuff out.  Purge.  It’s usually in a way that I feel I kept something for a reason, but the reason seems stupid to me now. Not necessarily not legit, just not legitimate enough at the time.  This step of the process takes the most amount of time.  It’s not because I clean a lot, my friends and family KNOW that’s just not me.  I find no enjoyment in keeping an immaculate home 24/7.  I just don’t.  But this step continues for a while because I do it until I don’t wanna do it anymore.  And not everyday.  Maybe every few days, or once a week.

I’m a person who can’t have a constant diet of the same thing all the time.  I don’t want to run with my child to games and practices every single day of every single week of every single month.  I don’t like cleaning the same carpet of the same rooms and dusting the same furniture that I’ve been dusting for 30 years.  I know I have to do it.  I have to drive to practice and I have to dust my furniture, I just don’t like doing it all the time.

But this particular irritating stall in my brain circuitry is finishing off with some completely new dilemmas.  I get very frustrated with conditions.  Easy things, like applying makeup.  After wearing makeup for some 40 years, I’m sick of it.  I wore only mascara to work the other day.  Back when I was in my 20’s, I wouldn’t have opened my front door without a full face of makeup and hair teased to outer space and back.  I’m embittered about my marriage, but I’ve talked about that before.  No use beating a dead horse.  I’m discontent with my job.  I am paid a few pennies more than some employees with 90% less responsibility than me.  That worked for a while when I assumed that my dedication would be noticed and I would receive a raise/full time employment.  I’ve given it six years, that’s five too many.  I am stymied by my health, the neglect and disregard by the medical profession and all that that encompasses.  Supporters of each of the Presidential candidates and their comments on social media make me wonder how this world survives with such racism and ill will. Truly and honestly quite scary.

All of this and more is utterly draining me.  Sucking the life out of this worn down, bedraggled body and mind.  I know a few of you are thinking, “depression”.  Maybe you’re right.  But maybe, just maybe it’s a lifetime of needing to look a certain way and act in a way that is adequate for the people around me to “put up with”.  Maybe it’s smiling when you just wanna run away.  Listening to the world and it’s noise and commotion and just wanting quiet.  I find myself enjoying quiet more than anything these days.  I’ll drive without music when my brain is so overstimulated that one more conversation or fire whistle or car horn would probably push me over the edge.  I don’t want to cook or bake or create.  I can’t even imagine how the girl I was years ago existed every day without going completely insane.  Being, looking, acting, baking, pretending.

On the outside I might appear like I’ve got this “life” thing down, that I know who I am and what I want and how I want it.  I don’t have a fucking clue.  “Do what makes you happy….”  Seriously?  Can someone please tell me what makes me happy?  I don’t have an inkling.  What do I enjoy?  Well, I enjoy dancing.  Until I get tired (which is pretty quickly) and then I don’t enjoy it.  I enjoy being with my kids, but they have lives.  Hopefully they’re doing what makes them happy.  Hope they know what that is.

So I think this is a “funk”.  I think it’s just a temporary despondency and I’m hopeful that it all gets worked out for the better.  In the meantime, I don’t want to be anything to anyone.  I don’t want to be pulled in a direction, I don’t want to be presented as “pretty”,  I don’t want to hear that I’m nice or that I’m not.  I don’t want to be expected to do the right thing, but I have no plans to do the wrong thing.

I’ll bet most of us have thought of just getting in the car and driving, running out of gas and walking and just getting as far away from the life that we are making and leading and existing in.  Sometimes it sounds so nice to just get away from everyone and everything and be free of all the bullshit that is in our lives.  Live in a cabin in the woods away from society.  I think when you reach that point, you probably DO need a break of some sort. I wish it were as easy as just saying it to make it come true.

I love this song, it makes me happy and I’m not sure why.  This man sings it phenomenally well, with such passion.  I think he’s been where I am before, you can hear it.  Listen closely, it’s just between the ending of one word, and the beginning of another.



Marital Amnesia

I don’t typically write or post unless I’m deeply affected by an event or a feeling in my life.  Apparently I haven’t felt deeply about very much lately.  I guess I just go about my day to day activities and then BOOM, the title of a blog impales my brain and all I do is think about it until I finally write about it.

My own personal experience with marital amnesia might be different than others that you read about.  To be honest, I had never heard of it before, so I thought I was having an original idea.  I guess in this day and age there are very few “original” ideas.  I do however think that this form of marital amnesia should be admissable in a court of law, just in case you get yourself in trouble legally.  I’ll allow that to be my disclaimer for now.

I can say that I have marital amnesia when I’m so used to the way that my spouse reacts to me and around me, and then he turns and changes it up.  Of course it’s temporary, sometimes just an hour or a day.  To say that I’m hopeful is probably a pretty big understatement.  Every now and then, he will be fun.  He will let loose with a spring in his step and smile on his face.  Not the stupid humor smile that I’m so accustomed to seeing day in and day out.  He’s different.  I hesitate to say “normal”, because what truly is “normal” anymore? And what’s normal for me or him might be totally abnormal for someone else.

I was texting my daughter last week and sending pictures of her sleeping-all-day-on-the-couch father, and she asked how I’ve put up with it all these years.   My reply:  because when he’s fun, it’s wonderful.  I take that crumb that he throws my way and want  so badly, so when he IS fun or nice or whatever I’ve always wanted, I forget about all the times that he was a complete asshole.  How strange is it that a person can be pretty much mentally persecuted, but one tiny glimmer of hope will make them forget all of the petty neglect and virtual feast or famine affection?


I couldn’t put that at the beginning of the post, I think I would have scared a few away initially and that’s not my intention.  I mean, how many of us have honestly said that under our breath but never had the opportunity to say it out loud, to them or anyone for that matter?  Start writing people, it’s cathartic in so many ways.

So when I thought about my title for this blog, I usually always like to post a song to go along with it, to truly get the whole “feel” of the post.  Nine times out of ten, I’ll be driving to work or home and a song will come on that will just completely consume me and make me WANT to write.  The following is an older song, but one that I have always, ALWAYS felt such an enormous attachment to, mentally.  I watched quite a few versions of this song on YouTube, and to be honest the original has the best vocals but there was one on Jay Leno which featured the lead singer starting the song wearing a black leather straight jacket.  My gosh, what a visual and so very fitting for this blog, but I can’t make you listen to the off key screaming, it’s just not tolerable.   The words might not be completely literal for my perception of this kind of amnesia, but the emotion of the band’s lead singer and the beat just makes me wanna scream, “how’s it gonna be, when you don’t know me…anymore”?






I started walking at a cemetery by my house as a way to continue my desire to thwart the evil attempts of menopause and it’s hideous side effects.  That’s another blog for another time.

I was walking for the first time since Zumba classes ceased at the cemetery by my home, parking on the side of the narrow roads on the upper back side of the property. Years ago I parked there when walking with friends and it just seemed like the best place to start.

There are lots of nice hills with an even path for foot trafic and the whole area is just very relaxing and for the most part you don’t have to worry about cars driving by with the occupants viewing your sweaty body and heavy breathing.  In fact, most of the people there have moved on to another place and it’s just a peaceful space for me to be me.

I finished one lap around and was coming back up to where I started my route and noticed a new grave, mounded with dried up dirt, wilted flowers and a makeshift headstone.  As I walked off my path to the grave, I realized who had just been buried there – a 16 year old boy from the township that had recently passed from a racing accident.  I remembered reading about the unfortunate cause of his death and thought about how devastated his family must be.  His father got him started in racing and the picture on his obituary showed him in full racing garb in the middle of a jump.  I thought about his mom, losing a son in a fluke accident in the middle of a crowded race track. I stared at the picture of his face glued to a temporary marker and I immediately got chills.  The hair on my arms and on the back of my neck spiked and I could feel goose bumps on my calves.  I looked around at three glass solar objects positioned around his grave, not lit up yet since it was just turning dusk.  I particularly liked the glass bird at the foot of his grave.  I couldn’t wait to make another lap around so that I could see the bird gleam.  I stepped away from the grave and back on to my path and began walking, all the while receiving an odd kind of message.  Hearing a boy talking to me, but there were no words.  He was not audible to my ears but to my heart.  It’s difficult to explain the way that he came to me, using me for a message.  This has never happened to me before, and although I was not scared, I was uneasy.  He said, “I’m still here, I haven’t gone over to the other side yet”.  I thought to myself that it was odd that he was telling me that, but I felt blessed that he could come to me to tell me that.  He told me that he was sending signs to a woman with light colored hair, and she was having trouble believing what she was seeing and feeling. I asked him for a sign so that I new that this wasn’t just something I was conjuring up in my head.  As I cornered the turn at the top of the path  I saw a robin bird.  Earlier in the day I was telling my friend’s grandson to say, “hi buddy” when he sees robins in the yard, they’re my buddies.  It just seemed like a neat thing for him to remember me with, since my name is Robin.  I used the ‘sign’ of the robin as a sign to me that he was with me.  The robin flew from the top of one headstone to another, for about four or five stones before flying across in front of me on the path to the other side.  I knew this was my sign.  I continued to walk, continuing to think of this young boy and embedding his message in my brain.  I was eventually up on the back road toward my car and noticed his grave was lit by the solar objects.  The bird was beautiful.  I smiled and got into my car.  I thought about writing a note to the family and leaving it on the grave, but I didn’t want to inflict anymore pain onto their family.  But I couldn’t stop thinking about him.  I sat quiet most of the night just reliving my experience.

I was confident that I would keep up with my intentions and continue to walk at my own pace in my own time, whenever  I needed a break from the people who still walk on this earth.  My husband was running to grab a pizza and wanted to use my car to drive there, so I asked that he drop me at the back of the cemetery so I could begin my walk.  Just as we were driving around to that quiet spot behind most of the tombstones where the young man had been planted, I noticed that there were three cars parked on the side of the road by the grave.  I asked my husband to proceed past them and let me out  a few yards away from them, where we wouldn’t disturb them.  There was an older woman sitting in a chair at the foot of the grave, a man and woman sitting up by the area of the headstone.  A couple of little kids with a young woman walking by their cars.  I didn’t want to look at them, I didn’t want to interfere in their grief.

My husband dropped me off and I began to walk, again coming up to a corner at the top of the hill.  There was a robin on the path in front of me, hopping a few feet in front of me as I walked.  I instantly knew it was the boy sending me a sign.  I was glad that he was there with me, but also with his family.  I rounded up to the top part of the lap and down toward the family, still surrounding the grave.  I thought about stopping and telling them what he said to me, but I needed a sign.  I didn’t get one.  I kept walking.  I wanted so badly to tell them that the messages or signs that they are experiencing are legitimate signs.  I wanted someone to bump into me when I was passing, or ask a question.  All three of the women there that day had light hair. That didn’t happen.  So I continued to walk.  I never walked past them again that night, I detoured around another way to my waiting husband.

I’ve walked several time at the cemetery since that night, and I’ve seen the family there one other time.   I continue to see robins on my path each time I walk through the somber but peaceful park of souls  where I spend my an hour of my day.  I know he’s still here, wherever “here” is.

While I walk I like to listen to music, and this song came on the day that he spoke to me.  I’d never heard it before that day.  I believe it to be another sign, please enjoy:




33 Short Years

Writing about things that stir more than just a brief thought can be very cathartic for me.  I work through lots of emotions and my hope is that maybe you might also begin to feel a certain way about what I’m trying to work through.

I would love to be able to talk about the Presidential debacle campaign, but I don’t know enough about the candidates and their specific ideas and hopes for our country.  I’m sure I’m not alone, there are probably many people who grab onto an idea or level of mentality and decide right then and there who they would like to vote for.  I believe it’s mostly superficial.

My thoughts today are coming from a much deeper place in my heart.  Since I’ve started writing my blog, I’ve also followed a few blogs that I enjoy reading.  Some I’ve enjoyed  because I feel like it’s an insight into their own personal reality.  Some are really great reads for inspiration and others for passion and positivity.  I don’t necessarily enjoy reading fiction, I never have.  I have the Hallmark Channel on the weekends for that.

I follow this blog:

Mary Buell fought the war that so many tragically lose.  She blogged about the real things, the intense battle that is everyday life in a world of uncertainty and struggle.  The courage that this woman showed in the face of death was unfathomable.  I can’t say that I looked forward to seeing her blog show up in my email, but I counted on reading about her optimism and funny, insightful stories.

So the other day I realized I hadn’t heard from Mary.  My heart raced as I searched through my emails, current blogs and ones that I threw in the trash…..thinking I might have accidentally deleted it.  I couldn’t find anything.  Strangely I remembered the exact spelling of her name, but couldn’t remember the name of her blog.  So I googled her.  I found her twitter and tried to determine what was going on, but all I saw was her last blog, posted February 24, 2016.  There wasn’t terribly good news in the blog, but it wasn’t bleak.  She was positive and hopeful, as always.  I was relieved, but still a bit concerned.

And then I checked her twitter account yesterday.  The picture posted was her holding her son, just a baby in this picture.  She had a full head of hair, and I knew.  I hovered my mouse over the title, took a deep breath and clicked.

She was gone.  She passed relatively quickly, having enough time to say her goodbyes.  She left a small son, just in preschool.  A husband that was with her through every single event in her life.  Her very good friend wrote her final blog.  Finished.

I cried so much last night reading her final blog, obituary and twitter posts with pictures.  I have never met Mary, I never commented to any of her posts.  I watched and listened and felt and hoped and prayed for someone who I never spoke a single word to, but I was a part of her life because she had a message to deliver.  It’s easy to listen intently to the legitimacy of a person, a mother facing death head on.  Her messages were insightful and penetrating and heartfelt.

We learn about life’s adventures by living them.  We listen keenly to words and dissect them to either work for or against us.  We make up our minds to sleep the day away or make each day count.  Nothing is forever.  Nothing.

Rest in Peace, Mary.