Fear

II bet most people would be surprised to know that I feel fear. I feel like if I say that, a lot of people would say, not you. You aren't afraid of anything. Wrong. I'm afraid of a lot of things. 

You know the phrase frozen in fear? The one time I remember being in such a state I was driving to northern Minnesota with my friend Dana and her very little daughter who was sleeping soundly in the back seat. In my peripheral vision I saw a giant blob came at the side of the car and in a fraction of a second the glass had shattered everywhere. I didn't slam on the brakes, I didn't swerve. I didn't even scream. In fact I just let off the gas till we coasted to a stop. I remember Dana speaking. Words that I couldn't hear. I parked the car looked at her daughter who was completely covered in glass and still asleep. I got out of the car and stood in the pitch black road staring at the ground. I could still hear Dana speaking but I couldn't speak back. I was literally frozen in fear. I didn't want her daughter to wake up and grab the glass. I was responsible for these two lives and I almost lost them. Almost lost myself. I was petrified. 

I wouldn't experience that fear again until years later on a lake, also in Minnesota, when I literally almost snapped my back in half. When I was completely frozen in fear my with face under the water not able to feel my legs. 

I fear a lot of things. I fear my mother will not be proud of me. I fear I won't do my job to the best of my ability. I fear Brodie will have a massive seizure and it will be the last one he will ever have.  I used to fear I would never love another human being or that I would never allow one to love me. But recently I have a new fear. And it's not one I am accustomed to. I fear I won't wake up. 

Apparently this is a common feeling or phenomenon that a person who has lost a loved one experiences. It doesn't feel common. It feels terrible. It feels ominous. It feels sad. 

My father was for all intents and purposes plucked out of the sky. He went to sleep. And never woke up.  

I live big. I love big. Everything I do I do it with my whole heart or I don't bother doing it. There is no point. Everything I do is out loud. Larger than life. Go big or go home. It has to be. Living is no exception. But recently my mortality has been nagging at me and it has created an enormous amount of fear. Not debilitating. It's just there. Like a cloak. It doesn't come in waves it's just there. Present. Tap tap tapping on me to listen. 

I don't profess to be the best person. I just try to be the best me I can be. There will never be another me. And I will not have children to leave this legacy of me through. I hate that I will never have a person say to me that he or she gets that trait from their mother. There are a lot of things I will never be. That one pains me the most. 

Do any of us know when our last day is? No. We don't. Or when. Or how. Or why. But we sure spend a lot of time not living. So when you see me out and about and your first thoughts are wow she's intense. Or wow she's so sensitive. Know this. I'm scared to death. Scared of not living while I am living because to be honest I can close my eyes tonight and that could be it. So while I am living it's going to be big. And it's going to be out loud. Or for me, it's just really not living at all. 

My wish for anyone reading this is to please live. Now. 

Our Father...

Hey Buddy! 

Lol. I've never called you that. 

Hi Dad!

It's been two years in a few short hours. Feels like 2 minutes. I've been overwhelmed? Overcome? With grief these past few weeks. I say weeks because it's seriously been that long. Weeks since I've felt anything besides pain. I don't know why. I don't know how. I just know it's all I feel. 

I tried to explain it to Mom tonight but I can't. And yet I know she understands. I hope she does. I pray she does. 

I pray for a lot of things Dad. I mostly pray that you are listening. Because I cannot imagine a world any longer in which you are not. 

Year two brings all sorts of regrets. Things I should have said. Things I wished I had said. Things I DID say. I am not sure where these regrets came from but there they were.

 I'm incredibly imperfect. Mom told me she tried to tell you so and you refused to listen. Or you wouldn't help her sort it out. I am blessed that she took it on herself and embraced me. I know you did too. We had a chat. Over an ice run for four-wheelers. Lol. Never forget it. 

I miss you. Something fierce. 

I don't know if I will ever find me again. I don't know if I ever knew who she was to begin with. I just know that my heart has an empty space where you used to be. And I also know I will never be the VP of Dick Blick. But thank you for telling that young man that night that I was. Because I will never forget it. 

My God I miss you. 

Our Father. Who Art in Heaven. Please tell my Dad I miss him. 

The Grief Blanket

Sometimes grief is like a blanket.  And I wear it wrapped around me like I am in a cocoon.  And I fear getting out of it because I am not sure I will understand how to function without it wrapped around me.  Sometimes the grief is there, but not wrapped tightly.  Just enough so I can feel it on my skin; feel its weight, but it is not overwhelming.  Like when you need just a sheet on at night…

I do not know when I will wear grief.  It is not like I get up in the morning and when I am deciding what to wear that I look at grief hanging over in the corner waiting for me to pick it for the day.  Grief climbs on no matter what color I choose.  Sometimes it is subtle and sometimes I cannot put on enough clothes to cover it up.  I do not know in advance that it is stopping by.  It doesn’t really ask for an invitation, it just sort of shows up.  So, I cannot really plan for it or prepare.  Like the dinner guest you did not know you were having, but the guilt is so overwhelming, so you feed them something even if it is something you just had to throw together.

I can tell you that at its heaviest, it can feel like that weighted “jacket” they give you when you are getting an x-ray.  But not in a way that you can just slide it off…it is attached…tied behind you, so you cannot just unlatch it.  It is there.  It’s on tight…it is locked.  It is not something you want someone else unlocking either, otherwise that creates a dependency you do not want or need.  The grief blanket is an easy thing to want someone else to remove for you, or help you with, but let me tell you in advance, that is not a good idea.  No one can wear your grief for you, or remove it from your wardrobe.  It’s an individual, personal journey.  And the road is long.

This is a tough week for me.  I know that it is not an easy one for my siblings either, but thankfully I cannot get in their heads and express their emotions.  They would not love that if I could. This was his favorite time of year.  He worked stupid hard on getting the farm ready.  He LOVED throwing the year’s biggest party.  He also loved drinking everyone’s beer and eating their food.  It was a balance for him.

The worst part about this week is that in just a few more weeks after this one, it will be the anniversary of when I feel like he was just plucked out of the sky.  I know that loss, grief, etc. works differently for everyone.  I can go along for months seemingly unaware of its presence, but knowing it is there because it feels like a soft t-shirt; comfortable, but not bothersome…tolerable perhaps even.  Then, for reasons I will never know, the t-shirt becomes a heavy blanket.

This used to be my favorite time of year.  Now I just want to have someone, in the words of one of Sisters favorite songs, “wake me up, when September ends.” 

It does not get easier.  For anyone that hopes it will, or tells me it will.  It does not.  I cannot tell you when it will happen or why, I just know it will.  And I won’t be able to explain it to someone who has not gone through it, I just hope I find the right people to be around who get it.  Who at least will understand?  Understand that although they cannot see it, I am dragging around a very heavy blanket and that sometimes I just want to crawl under it.

It takes a tremendous amount of strength to push it off and move forward.  And there can be a sense of loss just by trying to remove it too, which sounds incredulous, but it’s true. Because although there are times it can smother you, you also do not want it to disappear because then that means you have forgot him completely.  And I never, ever want to do that.

My grief blanket is heavy right now…and I just wanted you to know Dad, that I am doing everything I can to lift it and honor you by trying to celebrate this week, not loathe it.  Holy mother of God it is hard.

21 Days After...

Many of you have asked so here you go...

The truth is...if you are just reading this and don't know anything about the 21 days I'm talking about you better go back and read the last blog. That will catch you up. 

The truth is...after the 21 days I felt like a different person. The Tiff who used to live in Minnesota. Who had boundless energy and motivation. And even that Tiff didn't come easy. 

The truth is...it has now been officially 36 days and I feel like a slug. I want to blame it on making poor diet choices again but I'm not. I have reintroduced many of the things that were not allowed on the cleanse but these were reintroduced slowly and methodically. They were not all done at once either. If I had meat that was all. No bread or dairy or sugar. Now, I'm not going to say their hasn't been the occasional picnic where I've had a burger or some pasta salad or whatever but I've truly kept it pretty clean. Aside from those moments 98% of the time I'm eating organic. Grass-fed and antibiotic free meat, chicken, eggs etc., very little dairy, but what dairy I have eaten has been whole fat and natural not processed. Still eating tons of fruits and vegetables. Still consuming copious amounts of water. I've pretty much given up beer. ME. RIGHT? I had a few on my trip and some fruity rum drinks but I was too busy moving to stop and get intoxicated. 

For all intents and purposes I have followed this to the t. Dotted my i's. But on the Monday upon returning from my trip I got a migraine that took 3 days to pass. I have not felt good since. I'm trying to basically go back to eating like I'm on the cleanse and see where that takes me. But I've had no energy. I feel completely drained. I will say this past weekend I was emotionally drained which plays a HUGE part in the whole remaining healthy process but I was hoping to be so far ahead of the game that it would be ok. 

My conundrum here, if that's the right word; is that this journey was not an easy one to take. But having completed it I felt accomplished! Alive. Well. I had made it. And I would continue it. And then I hit a wall. I'm damn tired of hitting walls. My whole life has been a wall. From the time I was 7. One obstacle after another. Have I overcome them? Yes most. My mom would say all. But I'm tired of having to overcome anything. Why is this easy for some and so damn hard for others. Why do some people have nascar metabolisms and mine died the day I broke my back. There are questions I will never have answers to and if you know me at all you will know I HATE NOT HAVING ANSWERS. 

The truth is...I'm currently bummed. But I'm holding out faith it will turn a corner and I will get back on track. My issue is I don't know where I got off track. Coming back? My heart is at peace on the ocean. Any large body of water. Perhaps it needs to go there and stay. 

I have a tremendous amount of respect for any of you going through any lifestyle change because it's a lot of work reinventing yourself. Or getting back to who you once were. It's a lot of work and the truth is...some of it is not always rewarding. Some of it sucks. And sometimes you have to push through when you feel like you are sinking in quicksand.

So there you have it. The truth is...I've hit a rough patch. But thankfully, the truth is...this too shall pass. 

21 Days...

On the day before my 43rd birthday, I started on a journey that I would have never dreamed I would have started on.  In fact, if I would have been able to bet against myself, I would have taken that bet.  I lacked the discipline that this journey was going to require.  I didn’t believe in the possible positive outcomes that had been presented to me.  I couldn’t conceive that anyone in their right mind would start such a journey in the first place, certainly not me.  It was almost maniacal to think someone would CHOOSE to do this.

Let me start by telling you how much I used to love beer.  If you read that sentence correctly, you will realize I said used to.  I don’t know if I still love beer, or if I ever will again.  I loved the way it tastes.  I loved what it represented socially, because although there was a time I probably drank beer at home alone, for the past couple years or so, 97% of my drinking had been socially.  I went to Church faithfully and if you know me at all, you know my Church was not a house of God.  I am not sure that I did anything as good as I could drink a few beers with friends.

That being said, I also loved wine.  And food.  And pairing food with wine.  Again, if you know anything about me, you know I pride myself in being a fairly good cook.  I had a very eclectic palate and pretty much loved just about all foods.  Not sweet potatoes or beets though.  And that hasn’t changed. 

I met Dr. Rita at The Path in Galesburg a couple years ago; maybe it hasn’t even been that long.  My Sister had taken Bella to see her and I am not entirely sure how they heard about her, but they loved her philosophy.  The Path is what I would call a holistic healing center.  Dr. Rita is a Chiropractor.  When I began my relationship with her, I was not in the best of places, but I was working on it.  I was talking to a counselor about my anger over my father’s death.  I was trying to find outlets to deal with my emotions as well as my poor health, that I attribute 100% to inactivity and sitting on my butt for my job.  (I lost a lot of weight owning a bar, which sounds surprising, but I never sat down.)  

Sick and tired of being sick and tired, I began training with the couch to 5K program.  I wanted to run a 5k by Christmas.  I made it 4 weeks into the program before I had to stop.  I had another tumor in my foot and it was causing my gait to go wonky, so running became not comfortable to do and it was desperately killing my back.  It wasn’t worth it to lose the weight.  I felt defeated, pissed, angry…every time I set my mind to something; something came and made sure I couldn’t complete it.

I got back into my usual routines of self-loathing and inactivity because it is comfortable there…Sister recommended I go see Dr. Rita for my back pain, because aside from her chiropractic expertise she had some pretty strong feelings about what food was doing to our bodies and Sister thought I would enjoy what she had to say.  Also that she was very into the mind/body healing mantra and Sister knows how much I hate the medical profession, so she thought it would be right up my alley; holistic health.  I was very big in to it in my former healthy life; it would make sense to get back in it again.

I thoroughly enjoyed my treatments and felt some immediate relief.  The things she wanted me to focus on, things I already knew I should be focusing on, were somehow easier with a guide.  Like, take better care of myself.  Get more sleep, reduce stress, etc.  That last one is the hardest thing to do ever.  But we began a relationship that would ultimately change my life.  I started taking Vitamin D and probiotics and just overall became a happier person.

That was until this past winter, when I caught some sort of demonic virus from the depths of hell.  Seriously wanting to die by self-inflicted having a car run me over, it took me weeks to get well…I believe it was 40 some days that I was consistently feeling like death.  I had somehow managed to get a virus that no one at work hard or my family.  I dropped again into my self-loathing routine and became a walking ball of pain.  So much pain.  But I refuse to take pain pills, so I lived with it and became a very angry human being again and also because Dr. Rita thought she should take maternity leave in the middle of my 15th mid-life crisis.

I will try to condense the rest of this story, since I have obviously been dragging on with how I arrived where I did on June 7th.

Dr. Rita is a strong believer in food is medicine.  Raw, whole foods in their natural state.  She had this program she had been asking me to try, kind of from the minute I met her, although she did have some other goals with me first, her Purification program was brought up frequently.  When I found out what it was, I laughed and said good luck.  There was no earthly way I would conceive of participating in it.  I loved food and I loved beer.  And I was not going to give them up.  This conversation would go on between us for quite some time.  Over a year.

About a month before my 43rd birthday, when I was explaining to her that I wasn’t sleeping, that I was irritable, that I was in constant pain, she basically said in not these exact words, “you need to try the Purification program, it is the only thing I have asked you to do, that you have not done.”  For some ungodly reason I said FINE.  That I was not going to like it and I will be your worst patient ever.  I will make you miserable.  And we cannot start until after my vacation to Indiana with my family because I know copious amounts of beer are going to be drank and I don’t want to miss it.  Well, when can you start?  Well, June is not the best month, but I guess it is as good as any, because if you talk to me about this anymore, I will talk myself out of it.  Completely and totally.  My birthday is June 8th.  I love my birthday.  But it is on a Monday this year and I do not like Mondays, however Monday is good day to start something you don’t think you will survive.

The 21 Day Standard Process Purification Program is exactly that.  21 days.  21 Days of only fruits and vegetables (twice as many as fruit), shakes and filtered water.  ½ your body weight in ounces in water.  The shakes can only be made with filtered water.

No dairy.

No caffeine.

No meat.

No sugar.

No grains.

No gluten.

No nuts.

No ALCHOHOL.

Of course I wondered what day I would die from starvation.  And it is true, you pretty much wonder during the first 5 days, which day it will be that you meet your demise.

So with that being said, on June 7th, 2015 I started the 21 day cleanse.

I can write more about the 21 day cleanse and what I ate and how I survived if anyone wants to know, but I didn’t tell a lot of people about it initially because I didn’t think I would succeed.  Honest to God I did not.  At best I thought I would cheat.  The first five days I wanted eggs and cheese so bad it hurt to even think about them.  How on earth could I live on nothing but fruits and vegetables in their purest form.  Organic when possible even.  And nothing to drink but water.  Filtered water.  

The whole premise behind this is to remove the toxins from your body that were caused by eating processed foods.  Toxins that cause inflammation, irritability, insomnia, gas, bloating, muscle aches and pains, running nose, constantly feeling like you have allergies, the list is very long.  To clean out the liver, your stomach, etc.  To remove waste.  Many many many years of waste.  To eat and taste food in its purest form before our world changed it and added, well additives to make it taste better.  Additives that are basically killing us.  Additives that I don’t think existed when our grandparents were growing up.  I mean my Great Grandmother lived to be 100 and she ate fried bologna every day.

For 21 days you eat nothing but fruits and vegetables and drink filtered water.  You can eat these pretty much any way you want, just not cooked in the microwave.  You drink two shakes a day, which are not meal replacements, but can be used as snacks, and those shakes include whole food fiber.  You can put whatever fruit and veggies you want in them, but I am telling you now, they still taste like grass.  You are allowed good oils, like EVOO and Coconut to cook with or mix in the shakes.  You can include some Quinoa and some lentils in moderation with your vegetables.  You can use most any spice you want as long as it is in its truest form as well.

This is not a diet.  It’s not a passing fad.  It’s a true cleanse.  And not in the sense that you better be close to a bathroom cleanse but a complete body and mind detoxification.  Everything we eat, every single day, is our diet.  So all of us have a diet, but we are not ON A DIET.  Until you believe that or get that through your head, it won’t work.  This is why I could not have done this one minute before I was ready.  If you change or alter your diet for a period of time and then go back to doing things the way you did before the alteration, then yes, I guess you can say, you were on a diet…but until you decide your diet is daily, every choice you make, then things like this just don’t work.

My primary focus was not to do this to lose weight; otherwise I would be severely disappointed if I didn’t do well or succeed.  This is coming from someone who has not physically looked at the # on a scale since maybe 1998.  However, at the beginning of this I went and bought my first scale ever.  Because something told me this was going to be something I would do a lot longer than 21 days.  And something told me I would need to monitor it to make myself a believer.

I have lost 10 pounds. I only weigh once a week and that is on Sunday mornings.  Yes, I desperately needed to lose weight but I needed an attitude adjustment far more than I needed to lose weight.

I love food.  I love all food.  I love all ethnicities of foods.  But food was killing me.

In closing, I want to finish with what I have learned in 21 days.

I can survive on only fruits and vegetables.  And yes I still miss eggs.   

Water has become my friend.  And lots of it.

I love Kosher Sea Salt and Cracked Pepper, more than I ever dreamed I could.

Brodie loves vegetables.  ADORES THEM.

I will reintroduce foods and beer back in my diet and I will probably not like it. And I am perfectly fine with that! I had some beer today and I don't enjoy the way it's made me feel. 

I intend in a year to be the best version of myself I've ever been. This was a lifestyle change. And not a fleeting joke. 

I had the discipline I couldn't conceive of. It was always right there. It was buried under a lot of toxic crap. But it was there. 

And lastly I believe in me again. And it's been a really long time since I've felt that. 

 

Ostriches

The old saying often used when someone does not want to acknowledge something, someone, a situation, (usually a problem,) is that they are “burying their head in the sand.”  And it came from the popular belief that an ostrich would do that when they are scared or out of fear.  Interestingly though, apparently, not even ostriches are that dumb, because they can run up to 40mph, so they would not bother to actually dig a hole at all, they would just run.  However if they are unable to get away or say, they do not have the ability to make a quick getaway, they will “lay low” which resembles and appears that they may have their heads buried, so as to “blend in” with their surroundings, to fool the predator into thinking they are just a rock or shrub or some other part of the scenery.

Funny…people do this too.

I believe there are times in a person’s life when they must ask for help.  I am terrible at this, but when I needed help the most, I have asked.  There have been times when I needed help and didn’t ask and no one showed up and I got really pissed off because I thought the people that knew and cared about me most should KNOW when I was hurting, SEE when I was needing help, SENSE when I was in trouble, HEAR when I really didn’t have to say anything at all.  I mean isn’t that why we go through life strategically placing the different people we have in our lives?  People are here for reasons, for seasons, for lifetimes.  You pick out a life partner with the expectation of spending YOUR LIFE with this person.  You have certain friends you can only tell certain things to and you only do certain things with. We do not get to pick our family, but we have them, they are there, like it or not and if you are close to them then you are blessed.  My point is we should all have someone who we can truly be raw and honest and whole with. Bare bones, nitty gritty, truly naked and I don’t meant the kind without clothes.  And you should know when they need you and you should know when they don’t.  And you should know when to speak, or when to listen.  And you should not have to do certain things on your own, no matter what it is.  

A big pet peeve of mine when I know someone I care about is struggling or needs help, is when someone who I feel should be there for them says the following: “I will pray for you.” Like that exempts them and “covers” them from having to help that person in need, because guess what, it doesn’t.  If you don’t want to be there and support your friends/family through the shitty things, because you can’t or you are incapable, then own that and say that.  Say, “I am sorry; I suck as a human and cannot help you when things get tough.” Because I don’t think it is fair that you get to be there for just the good times and that is what this blog is about.

We all have boxes. Heavy, heavy, boxes.  (Read previous blog.)  I don’t judge yours; you don’t judge mine, yada yada yada.  But when the box gets too heavy, and someone acknowledges that openly, and they say I am going to put this box down and I am going to do the following things to make this box easier to carry, you are a damn hypocrite if you turn your head and “bury it in the sand” or run as fast as you can because you don’t want to see them put the box down, or you don’t want to help, or you don’t like watching how hard it will be for them to let the thing go.       

Life is ugly.  Not always, but it can be.  It’s not always sunshine and rainbows.  And some really wonderful people go through some really not so wonderful stuff.  And some really strong people like to bury their head because ya know what, they have enough on their plate, or they have their own problems, or they are busy, or whatever the damn reason. And trust me when I tell you that it is very, very easy to say, screw you I got my own shit here, and I would expect that from the people who are not in my arsenal, the people who I did not recruit to form my backbone…who were not there every time the dust settles.  So if I, (or anyone,) tells you I am going to put my box down, that I need help, that I don’t want to carry it anymore, and you say “I will pray for you” and then you proceed to put your head in the sand, well you can damn sure bet I have an open position in the arsenal.  

Open your eyes and ears every single day.  Someone needs something from you.  I am not talking about a lunch packed or a juice box, or a Band-Aid or phone call or a couple dollars for gas.  It’s much bigger and deeper than that and if you don’t have the space for it say so and run along.  But don’t get offended if you don’t get invited to the celebration party when they conquer the demon, or beat their fears, or climb the hurdle or whatever.  Because anyone can cheer. But it takes a really special person to keep their head out of the sand. 

The Box

Every single one us has one. Some of us store it for long periods of time.  Some of us get ours out at different times to go through it, or perhaps, put new things in it, or maybe, if we are lucky enough, remove something from it.  Some of us carry ours with us only putting it down when it gets too heavy to carry.  And some of us carry the son of a bitch no matter how heavy it is, at all times, not matter the circumstance.

Most of us, the majority I would say, cannot see everyone else’s.  We know it’s there, or we should.  We are ignorant if we think otherwise.  Or if we think someone doesn’t have one.  We all have one.  Although one of the worst things we do as human beings is compare one another’s.  “Oh, theirs is bigger, so they can carry more stuff…or theirs is smaller so they don’t have to, or theirs they can put away they don’t have to carry it, or theirs is so nice and compartmentalized and mine is so chaotic and a mess.”  

Some people open theirs up, and it’s like a giant movie screen that projects it for the world to see…here is what is inside, I have nothing to hide.  Others have theirs wrapped up and closed so tight, they either have to start a whole new one because there is no way to get inside, or they simply just do not put any more in one.  Wouldn’t that be nice?

I am talking about boxes.  We all carry our “stuff” in boxes.  Imaginary vessels that hold all of the good, the bad, the ugly, the scary, the unknown…the hopes, the fears.  Mostly the things we don’t want to deal with, because we do not have time, we will not make time, it hurts us, it will hurt someone else…whatever the reason…maybe we are afraid to believe it.  Who knows honestly, the list is endless for why these things are in there to begin with.  Sometimes we put stuff in there to forget.  Other times it is so we DON’T forget, but rather go back to it later so we can devote the right time to it. I could write forever about the reasons we have boxes, the reasons we put things in them, and the reasons we get them out or don’t.  But the real reason that I am writing about them is that once in a blue moon, maybe even more rare than that, if you are lucky, you will be with someone who will care enough about you to let go of their hold on their box a little, to show you a little bit of what is inside of theirs.  And the reasons why they let go and are showing you are so meaningless compared to WHAT is being shown.  For instance, if they have had a couple drinks, and feel “safe” enough to tell you or share something with you that that box holds, who gives a rats ass that a few beers caused that.  Trust me a box doesn’t open with just liquid courage alone.  It takes willpower as well.

Someone I care very much about opened their box and shared something very intricate, detailed, powerful and intensely close to them.  I am forever changed.  And as corny and as ridiculous as that may sound, “They opened their box…” there was nothing corny about this.  Although I didn’t know some of the information that was shared, I wouldn’t say I was shocked or taken back, but more rather things made sense that I didn’t know didn’t make sense before.  Or that I even needed to have make sense before.  And perhaps they didn’t, because I love her unconditionally and do not judge anyone and certainly do not judge another person’s trials and tribulations. I carry a lot of shit in my own box, but I am fool to think mine weighs more or means more than someone else’s… 

I do not look at her differently because of what she shared…I think her aura has changed actually…the air around her has changed, she has not.  I do not hold her in any higher regard than I did prior; I respect her just as much now as I did before.  I just understand more.  She apologized for getting sappy and sharing and I said never apologize for being human…I love when people can be real and authentic and can honestly say; sometimes my box is too damn heavy.  And this is why.

I do not know why I needed this to happen when it did, but everything happens for a reason.  I just know that if we all stood back and realized that we were all carrying around some pretty heavy boxes, I think we would be a little kinder, a little more understanding, a little more authentic, not just to each other, but to ourselves.  

 

 

When I come Home...

I don't think he will know. 

I don't think he will ever know. 

I don't think he will understand how it was just him and I against the world and we didn't conquer it...oh hell no. We didn't come close. We laughed. We laughed at how far away we were at actually conquering it that it wasn't even funny. 

It was my Father who my made me find you. It was my father who didn't want you in his house in the first place that sought you out. 

Was it because he knew I would be alone? Was it because he knew I needed you as much as you needed me? 

I didn't want to need anything don't you get it?

And yet every single damn day. Rain or shine. Day or night. Early or late. You are there. Not judging me like so many do. And I can't take your unconditional love sometimes because I don't feel like I deserve it. I got you when I least had the ability to train you. And yet you waited patiently in that pen until one day you jumped over it and said I am here. Here. 

And you've taken care of me every single day since. And you are rotten. Spoiled rotten. And maybe because I can't have my own kids and maybe because the sister before you was special needs and I didn't get her for very long either. 

Regardless. I wish I could tell you. I wish I could physically tell you how much you mean to me. I wish you knew that after the day I had or the feelings I had, that I could say, Brodie James, it means every God damn thing in the world to me that you leap for the sky when I walk in this room after being gone all day, because I promise you, I won't live long enough for another human being to make me feel the way you you do when I come home.