Uncategorized – Pilgrimages and Paths

Companions on the Path

Labyrinths are everywhere. Checkout the Labyrinth Locator at https://labyrinthlocator.com/locate-a-labyrinth. Within fifty miles of the Lehigh Valley there are listed at least 79 labyrinths.. Not all are open to the public and many are canvas and indoors. But 79!

I used to walk the labyrinth at my Christ Church parish in Reading at least weekly. We opened our canvas 11 circuit labyrinth weekly on Friday afternoon for anyone to walk. Children, adults, people who were curious about this strange design we offered, people who came with questions, people who came with burdens they would let go of on the path. Once there came a couple who were obviously in distress. The woman came in first and asked how to walk the labyrinth ‘correctly’. Then her partner entered the room with its floor entirely covered by the Chartres labyrinth and saw her walking the first yards of the path. He declined my invitation to enter the path and stood, watching his partner — each step seeming as though she was bearing a 50 pound backpack. When she reached the middle she started to cry, She still hadn’t noticed that her partner had entered the room and was watching. As she cried his face became an echo of hers — tears filling his eyes. Suddenly he went into the labyrinth and walked toward her, ignoring the circuits — just walking straight to the center. When he got to her, she looked up and saw him and both embraced. He and she both cried and as they held each other one could see both of their lips form the words “I’m sorry”. They eventuallywalked out hand in hand.

I have moved back to the Reading area to a retirement community. It’s been a week and a half since our move and we are slowly finding places for our ‘stuff’ in our new apartment. One of the things my husband would not part with was a wooden finger labyrinth that you ‘walk’ with your finger, eyes closed, in a reflection of the walking the labyrinth experience. We apparently both miss walking labyrinths.

I remember that on the PSU-Berks campus there was an outside labyrinth — not far from where we live now. I need to find out if it is still there. And then I will go and walk it. Labyrinth magic. I am ready.

On the path,

Jane

Ready, Set, Go. . . and Wait?

Are we ready? Can we ever be entirely ready? Bill and I finally came to an agreement late last year after my father died that we ought to apply for an apartment in a retirement community that would take a future burden of care off our daughter and extended family.

My parents had moved to such a community over a decade ago and had been happy with that decision. They modeled for me a lifestyle there that I could see was freeing and that offered community connections.

Bill was hesitant — in part because he had given so much time and artistry to crafting our small house to be a place in which we could age in place. But as he approached 80 and no longer spent time on wood working in his fully equipped basement — and as he became unable to do the “groundskeeper” tasks he had so loved, he was a convert to selling and moving. The house had become a burden.

So we looked at retirement communities and applied for an apartment in one we liked that was near our daughter and my sibs. We were accepted and put on a waiting list for apartments we felt were a match to our needs and finances. That meant downsizing from our 1600 sq ft house to an apartment of 1000-1200 sq ft.

Doesn’t sound too hard, does it? But because of health reasons, Bill couldn’t do much sorting of belongings. I took over finances and driving and appointment-making for the most part. To add the sorting and downsizing to that? Yikes! I’ve been able to do most of what needs to be done to narrow down what we will take. Maybe I’ve done too well . . .

We are as ready as I think we can be with ‘things’ but we are on a waiting list that is likely two years or more. Waiting. We are among the baby boomers who suddenly realize that all the working out, brain games, and workplace relationships may not be enough in later years to ensure that we can take care of ourselves and live forever in good health. The waiting lists seem longer each day.

I know my resilience and optimistic self has returned in some measure because my answer to the waiting list is to find ways to create beauty and color. I’ve continued sewing and making new things (the above felted fall leaves table runner and placemats are almost done), crafting wire and bead jewelry. And I’m about to see if I can still have fun with watercolor.

Life is too wonderful to just wait for it to pass on a waiting list. Hopefully time will allow us to eventually move into an apartment of a comfortable size and begin to connect with family and a community (I’m frequently lonely here in the Lehigh Valley — but that’s for another blog). Until then, I’m going to find ways to connect with friends here and to continue downsizing what no longer fits who we are — and creating what does. That is what gives me life.

Color!

If you know me or glance at my Facebook posts you know my love of color. I cannot imagine a world without color. Bright colors, vivid colors, striking colors, shocking colors. I am drawn to them in all forms: textiles, clothes, fall leaves, visual arts. I am not drawn to pale colors, pastels, or colors that don’t sing and jump out in front of you wanting to be noticed. I’m hoping that doesn’t change this Thursday.

I have cataracts and will be getting my first IOL (intra ocular lens) on Thursday. I am curious how I will see differently — if at all — after surgery. If all goes well I will have the lens in my other eye replaced in late November. Will colors be different with IOLs? I’m told that whites will be much whiter — thank goodness for that. My living room walls seem more pasty and yellow lately — and someone has changed the wattage in my reading lamps so that I can’t read so easily by lamplight.

Could my attraction to intense color has been influenced in part by these cloudy cataracts that all of us eventually develop? I’m curious. When I was in my early 20’s and 30’s I wore mostly earth tones and “natural” beige-y tops. My walls were painted a serene yet warm beige that I loved. That could have been because of my “earth mother” philosophy at the time or maybe a holdover from my hippie days. I don’t remember really loving and even craving intense purples and golds and so many varieties of green and blue and red until my 50’s. And it was my playing with color that led me to watercolor painting and then jewelry making with beads. And recently I’ve delighted in piecing and quilting with color rich fabrics.

So I wonder — could the increasing filtering of light and color by these cloudy lenses of mine have led to the explosion of color in my life these days? Will I wake up on Friday and be shocked by colors I’ve chosen and used in quilted creations? I doubt it. I hope my heart will dance at the glorious profusion of color in the fall leaves, the quilted table runners and the art on our walls. An explosion of delight!

Color can be a bright and colorful oasis in the midst of a terribly hurting world. Blessed be each of you in this time of chaos, danger, and transition. Take a moment to pray (whatever may be your spiritual path) for healing, justice, peace. Offer blessings for hope in times that drain that precious wisp of sanity. Imagine/visualize justice in place of lies and corruption — and peace in place of cruelty and war. Take just 60 seconds. . . right now . . . please.

Jane+

Writing Again?

So I think this is a new start to my writing. I have felt the longing to put my thoughts to paper for several weeks. My well has felt dry for over a year (the last time I wrote was August 2022). Well, not just dry but non-existent. To be honest I felt the ‘me’ whom I had been until before the first months of retirement (September 2019) had faded to a pale hologram. I no longer knew the hopeful, joyous, interconnected ME. Where had she gone?

Lots happened in those 3 years and most of it probably has been experienced and written about by multitudes of others. The isolation of the pandemic (necessary to be safe — but brutal) shaved off all those connections that were so essential to our existence and flourishing. In my life, taking eucharist/holy communion had always been life-giving. However, a strange theological interpretation by the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church kept eucharist on hold for the entire Pandemic experience. Shopping for groceries was by curbside ‘no contact’ (with humans) pickup. Amazon Prime delivered to our porch what we needed — except those things stymied by supply disruptions. Zoom kept me connected by voice and video feed — but I was starved for warm hugs and touch. Reflecting back, I was relatively safe from colds and flu and didn’t catch Covid 19 (thank goodness) but life seemed drained of color.

I slowly slipped into deep depression — something I had experienced before with the death of a sibling and the early deaths of two spouses. But this dark time came when my usually buoyant energy and physical disconnection from friendships and beloved siblings — resources that had fed my resilience in the past — were not available. Even the ability to go on retreat or go to the shore seemed impossible.

Miod-pandemic I found a gifted therapist. She was the image for me of hope. We worked together for almost 5 months until she suddenly became seriously ill and in 10 short days closed her practice. That was a year ago. Devastated by yet another unexpected loss, I was lost in grief until recently when hope seem for the future that I needed to look for and find a new beginning with another therapist. I am in the midst of acclimating to this new relationship and seeing a slight sliver of light to aim for.

Amazingly I have had several days over the past months I have felt touched by my “old self’. Mostly it has happened when I am with friends who continue to make dates with me and with whom I have been honest. I am so grateful to them and to those of you who read this who have not turned away. Life remains difficult and challenging with my Dad’s death and cognitive changes in my husband. But my life doesn’t seem impossible most days and I can tolerate not knowing what will come.

Quilting and my cat, Mr B, have been my thread of hope through all of this. I hope each of you can find some thread of hope, some small shaft of light, some voice of a friend or loved one that can pull you through any hard times you may be experiencing. And know that Love is still here.

What Are My Treasures?

When my mother died, my father gave me her Hope Chest. Hope Chests used to be a tradition in families. Each girl in the family earned money to buy or was gifted a wooden Hope Chest. The chests had a lock and key and were used for storing what would be needed when she got married and set up her own home

My mother’s Hope Chest is mahogany veneer set in a checker board design from the 1930’s Deco period. I’ve loved it – even in its unfinished state (my husband tried to repair some scratched veneer and had to give up when it didn’t meet his perfectionist standards.). When my Mom was a teenager, she put her “treasures” in this chest – treasures that she made lovingly to use when she and her beloved were married: embroidered linen dishtowels with fanciful animal designs and hearts, embroidered double sheet sets and pillowcases with her monogram, a simple cotton tablecloth and two blankets bought by her parents for her Hope Chest. And eventually at her bridal shower she received things that could go straight into the chest for her wedding that summer of 1947. None of these things were still in the Hope Chest when I received it. They had been made to be used and were used during Mom’s and Dad’s 60+ years of marriage.

I had a fleeting thought this morning, though: what treasures I would save in this old Chest? Not for setting up housekeeping. Rather for keepsakes I might want to pass on. I renamed the Hope Chest my Treasures Chest. It is small in size so it wouldn’t hold much. What would I deem my few precious keepsakes? What holds precious memories for me?

One thing I would put in my Treasures Chest would be the box of genealogy documents that I found among my Dad’s things. Dad was keen on such records and they have fascinated me with our documented ties to Jane Fonda’s family, and the royal Stuart line, and family connections in the US starting in Massachusetts’ Bay Colony and today extending west to Washington state and north to Canada. So that is a keeper.

Dad gave me a necklace awhile ago that he purchased as a boy for his mother on Mother’s Day. It took sacrifice and saving up for him to buy it and it is precious to me. It isn’t valuable monetarily, but it means the world to me and when I wear it I feel loved. I have always treasured jewelry that was worn by those I love. I believe that some energy or matter is exchanged between things worn and the life spirit of the wearer so that when I put a ring or necklace on that belonged to a loved one I feel closer to the person it belonged to. I also have my great grandmother’s wedding ring and my mother’s engagement ring – those will be in my Treasure Chest.

There’s a family quilt with flying geese design made of chambray, denim and shirting scraps that signal its origin in the early 20^th century or perhaps earlier. That will definitely go in my Treasures Chest. Many a relative (and myself) found warmth and comfort under that quilt . . . another treasure.

Perhaps copies of this blog would be among the treasures. I would like my thoughts and musings to be read – perhaps savored – by some curious family member in the future. Maybe it would be an inspiration to someone else to write their thoughts and share them.

What I am realizing as I think about what my treasures are, there are some that won’t go in the box. They are ephemeral things like the sound of my mother’s voice or the color of the sky – the bluest blue – on Sept. 11. The comfort and love I felt holding my newborn baby daughter.

Treasures I can remember but not save for others. And perhaps it is better that way. I will have my memories with me as long as my memory holds. And as I remember these lovely life-giving moments I am filled with warmth and connection to those who people my memories. And that is what I treasure.

Elfin Magic

I had started my walk in a nearby park in a rather serious mood. My head down and engaged in thoughts triggered by a podcast playing in my ear, I didn’t notice the few others who were on the trail even though I only wear one earpod when I walk so I don’t miss birdsongs or the crunch crunch crunch of a fellow walker coming up behind me.

I was well into the two mile walk when I started to notice something odd with the trees along the path. At first I thought the gleaming little Christmas ball was the only one and only on that tree. Nope. When I noticed a third tree with a shiny ornament, I put the podcast on pause and the earpod in my pocket. There were more ornaments but only one per tree.

One on the next tree on my right. And the next one on my left. And the next. And the next. On some trees the ornament was hanging out in plain sight. On others there seemed to be no ornament. But when I looked more curiously every tree along my path had a ball hung somewhere within it. There were small round balls of red, white, green, silver, and even black. Some were not much bigger than a grape while others were the size of a navel orange.

I smiled then laughed out loud as each shiny ball reflecting sunlight caught my eye. Branches bare of leaves made identification something that will require waiting until spring, but no matter. I was not looking for leaves. Rather, I was looking for this winter “fruit” — these ornaments.

I had come to my walk in a familiar park, Louise Moore Park in Northampton County, Pennsylvania (just a few minutes drive from my house). The paths in the Park are neither fancy nor wild. They amble through fields. Some are mowed to ankle depth while others have been left wild for birds to nest and scavenge. Along some sections of the path are groves of 8 or 10 mature copper beeches, maples, oaks, and pines. I wondered who had taken the time to offer these gifts along the path. It wasn’t the rangers and it likely wasn’t a paid worker. The balls were not hung with panache or professionally placed. Some were tied to branches with unraveling yet colorful ribbon, some with sparkly twisted pipe cleaners, others hung on a colored metal hook that contrasted with the color of the Christmas ball it attached to the tree. Someone had anonymously hung the path with shiny bright objects that could not be missed and that made smiles emerge and childlike delight fill hearts that needed a bit of joy.

“Have you noticed the Christmas balls in the trees?” I asked an older couple holding hands.

“Oh yes, aren’t they wonderful,” the woman said. “We were just wondering how they came to be here. Who did this?”

I smiled as I said, “I think it is the elves who decorated our path.”

“Oh yes! Isn’t that something! Elves!” And she smiled as she and her husband nodded to each other.

Later, a jogger approached, head down, concentrating on the path ahead with headphones sealing out any other sound. I smiled and asked if she had noticed the decoration. She slowed slightly, took off her headphones and looked quizzically at me. I repeated my question.

“Oh, yes. They’re cheery aren’t they?” she said. Putting her headphones back on, she smiled and waved goodbye to me.

Yes, they are cheery. I needed “cheery” today. \Others may have needed it as well. And for this simple bit of good cheer I thank the Elves who took time to make this writer’s day brighter. It was a simple thing. Something that made a difference . . . at least to me. Thank you so very, very much. Now, I’m thinking about what small Elvish thing I can do to make tomorrow a day with good cheer and smiles. . . Suggestions invited below in comments — don’t be shy if you have an idea! And be an Elf!

Strength in these times …

It is a few days after Thanksgiving 2021. Thanksgiving was a mark of hope and celebration. My sibs (minus one who was missed deeply), their spouses, my husband and daughter along with assorted nieces and nephews and a grandnephew, etc. gathered for the first time in two years with good food, hugs, and a puzzle. (Where my family gathers, there is always a puzzle.) It was a joyous couple of hours steeped in stories and memories, bad jokes and Alexa playing ‘Fishheads’ and the ‘Adams Family Theme’ . . . just silly family stuff that anyone but us would consider a bit daft.

We get along well and there is warmth and love for each person. It wasn’t always this way but having lived through family estrangements, separations, and losses, we have wisely and usually humbly found that missing each other far outweighs being “right” in whatever arguments or disagreements fractured us. And now as we find ourselves responsible for overseeing our Dad’s care in a nursing home that, although one of the better ones, still on occasion neglects care we deem important, we lean on each other for strength to make difficult decisions and cajole staff to give the care he needs.

I thank God that we sibs have each other. I am grateful that we can talk through the issues and decisions that we have had to make happen. The strength to live through life’s challenges and the times that no one should have to face solo comes from sharing them with others. The isolation we’ve felt since the Pandemic began two years ago has taught me that I need others — much more than I thought I did. Despite the appearance of strength that so many people say they see in me, when I try to face things alone my strength more readily and swiftly drains away. With people around me who care about me, my strength returns. And then I gain strength from sharing myself with others. I’ve learned that being strong is often tied to how inter-connected and loved I feel — and I’ve paid attention to how that can change.

Changes in levels of strength are evident to me in the gospel story of Mary that I’m preaching on for Advent 4 Sunday. Mary has been asked to carry and birth a special child who will embody God’s love in human form. She could have said no but she eagerly answered yes. With little thought to what the child will need from her and what challenges lay ahead, the first weeks of her pregnancy are exciting. And not knowing is probably a good thing. Who truly wants to know what the future holds when the present day already has so many challenges? As time passes, doubts begin to form about all that she does not know about mothering. Gossipy relatives question her judgment. Joseph adds his wonderings to her anxiety.

I can sense Mary’s joy and excitement and anticipation at first — yet then the rising apprehension and uncertainty that her passionate “yes” had brought. Does she have enough strength to see her through? Perhaps not by herself. And then came the nudge that she followed to visit her cousin Elizabeth who doted on her and who (unbeknownst to Mary until she arrived) was also carrying a special child. Elizabeth, well past childbearing age, also needed the courage of another woman to help her strength renew. These two women sought companionship and found with each other the strength to banish uncertainties and wonderings so normal in any pregnancy.

We women often seek other women in times of stress and an unknown future. We are living in such a time . . . a time when we can no longer be confident of a brighter future or secure in familiar routines, established holiday traditions, and customary expectations of what our day holds. My days often include feeling a new dread when an emergent Covid variant is discovered . . . or trying to decide whether to go to family celebrations and friends’ gatherings and wondering what is safe . . . or feeling exhausted as I search for a part to repair a broken appliance when everything seems out of stock due to supply issues. The world we are living in requires a constant alertness to be aware of what we need to do. Mindless automatic behaviors are a thing of the past. We live in an alien world that demands focused attention to what we do — and more strength than I usually have.

Yet I have discovered a secret source for a “strength reboot”. Other caring women. Whether by Zoom or phone or in person, being with other women renews my strength. These are women who share laughter, who share stories and observations about disappointments and fears, who are willing to explore deeply the changes that are happening within them and around them. Companioning with trusted women replenishes the strength and hope we all need to rejoin our life path in the midst of changes and challenges.

Blessings to each of you in this season when darkness threatens to triumph. May you not give in to darkness, but celebrate Light in whatever way you choose: Hanukkah, Diwali, Christmas, other. I wish for you relationships of trust with wise women (and men) that will renew your strength and light your path toward ever brightening days.

Remembering

This year (2021) — especially this Fall — has put me in a mood for remembering . . .

That sounds a bit contradictory since I’ve mentioned feeling concerned when (like most of those over 65) I cannot locate a word that is on the “tip of my tongue”. We psychologists call it “word-finding difficulty”. It can show up also when the name of someone I have known for years hides from me as I am about to introduce them to another friend. I am less panicky about such lapses now since I’ve noticed that 99% of the time the name or the word comes to me if I relax and wait for it.

Lately, though, something odd and quite lovely — linked with remembering — has been happening to me. When I am occupied with some project (gardening or folding laundry or sewing binding on a quilt) a distant memory — not consciously sought — suddenly appears in my mind’s “eye”. Such memory “pop-ups” are not anything I have been thinking about prior to their appearance. Nor are they anything that I have been wondering about. They appear unbidden. I love these “pop-up” surprises because they are usually about an experience that stirs warm emotions. If I welcome the image or memory, more parts of it seem to unfold so that it is like I am looking into an episode of my past that has been buried deep in my unconscious.

For most of my adult life, I have felt I lived several separate lives. I’m not referring to the idea of past lives nor do I mean that I’ve experienced amnesia and had to start again with no memory of a previous life. No. What I mean is that my life has been a series of starts in one direction that were summarily blocked from continuing by events beyond my control. I have had two periods of my life where I was a wife and that was the most important thing about me and then I was widowed — all before age 35. I had other periods where I was a single parent who worked fulltime and went to grad school to be able to have skills to support the two of us. I had another life time when I developed a private psychotherapy practice and was in demand as a motivational speaker and consultant. Then I lost that opportunity when I was not accepted as a female colleague by a male boss who ordered me to resign. Then (married again) my husband lost his job due to an ethical breach by his boss and the loss included medical benefits. That wouldn’t have been so disastrous but both of us had survived cancer and our preexisting conditions meant we were uninsureable. . .well, you understand.

What I’ve learned through recent therapy is that it wasn’t that I was uncommitted to the life/lives I was living. It was just that there was no possibility of continuing with them due to circumstances. So they felt like a separate life.

Memories from each of these “lives” tended to be left behind. And there were lots of good memories and happy experiences that got left behind and I didn’t remember them.. And those memories of good things are what are coming to me in these memory pop-ups and images. In a very real way, they are “redeeming” each period of my life. What had, until recently, been “lost experiences” now are coming back to remind me of adventures, friendships, love expressed, opportunities made possible by that particular blend of people, specific time periods, and my stage of development.

Remembering takes time, I’m learning. Time is something I now have that wasn’t possible prior to two things: the Covid shutdown that slowed me down; being retired and able to slow my formerly harried and scattered self. And the memories then can emerge. Mostly good memories, a few difficult ones. But they all help me acknowledge that I have had a fortunate life . . . or “lives”. I think I’ll go sit by the fire pit on my patio and see what might pop up tonight . . .

Ventral Playlist

You may be asking what a Vagal Playlist is. Most people would have no idea.

I entered therapy again recently (as a patient) and have a therapist who introduced me to PolyVagal Therapy (a la Deb Dana) . It is an amazing healing way of looking at trauma and learning the tools to manage the fight/flight/freeze responses that come with having experienced repeated trauma. I am walking through traumatic memories and flashbacks with my therapist and can calm my panicky responses by knowing what vagal state I am in and employing music or self-soothing or using my creativity with sewing or writing to move me to a safer state. One of the suggestions for something that might calm me or energize me is a Ventral playlist. I have started to make a list of music that moves me from Dorsal state (where I curl up in “freeze” mode because life feels too unsafe) toward Ventral state in which I begin to feel safer and feel what brings me hope.

So I am sharing some of the titles of music that fairly reliably help me get to Ventral. They are of widely varying tempo and genre and so there isn’t a smooth flow from one to the other. And you will have to search for them on iTunes or Amazon Music or wherever you find your music (I can’t violate copyright by sharing them here). Please let me know in the Comments section below what songs make you feel safe, give you joy, help you feel most alive.

Learning to Fall (Loren & Navarro)

Circle of Life Elton John

I Hope You Dance Lee Ann Womack

Walking in Memphis Marc Cohen

You Can Do This Hard Thing Carrie Newcomer

This Too Will Pass Carrie Newcomer

I am a God Nearby David Kauffman

Letting Yourself Be Loved (w/out lyrics) Gary Malkin

There’s Hope India Arie

Namaste The Kenedys

Remembering You Robin Spielberg

I Will Remember You Madonna

Love Can Build a Bridge The Judds

Be Still (chant) Simon de Voil

Lush and Richly Delicious . . . Yet Sad

What makes the season of fall so lush and richly delicious — yet also so sad and melancholy?

I am struggling with sadness this fall. I am loving the way the sunlight has shifted to a golden glaze on everything it touches. No more of summer’s glare. What is dying in my garden seems crowned with golden light that makes it glow despite curling edges and browning stalks.

I love the quality of the light and the rich colors of orange, yellow and red, and the way a single leaf can contain multiple colors of red, green, orange, purple. Yet as much as I want to enjoy this fall, I cannot seem to shake the sadness — and the depth of the sadness surprises me.

I am a person who is hopeful and rarely spends long periods of life in the doldrums. I don’t cry easily (at times I wish I did). Yet today in my therapist’s office I sat with tears trickling down my cheeks as I tried to explore this deep sadness that seems to have taken over me. When I came home and my husband said cheerily, “Well how was therapy?” I started to cry again and couldn’t find words to explain as he held me. I haven’t looked depressed or sad over these past weeks, but I have felt it . . . a blue-gray cloud that obscured even the lovely golden light I love so much.

Strangely, I am missing my Mom terribly even though she died 8 years ago. And I am missing my Dad who is still alive at 96 but who is not doing well. One thing I am missing is the confidence of their years of living that allowed them (especially my Dad) to reassure me when I came to him (even in adulthood) with dilemmas or hurts that I couldn’t resolve. He would listen compassionately and before we parted he would say, ” You will get through this. I know it is hard but it will be ok and you will figure it out.” I trusted that he was right because of his life experiences — and because he was my Dad.

Now I am the one who needs to offer such reassurances. Yet, I am struggling to believe in myself. I am carrying a lot of other people’s pain and struggles on my shoulders. I need to be my husband’s memory for appointments/ meds/bills. I need to be alert to and problem-solve my Dad’s care needs and medical issues. Lots more. It seems petty but I feel the responsibility (common to us first borns) to check on family and friends to be sure they are ok. Even if it is only on email or text, I try to write and reply to emails and FB posts as a way of checking in to see if others are ok. And what I crave and wish for is someone to check in on me.

I have been told that I don’t seem to need others. If true, I hate the aura that I must give off. I am not hiding my state, but I admit that It is often hard for me to talk about myself — in writing it is less difficult. I find listening — even listening deeply — to be easier than sharing what seems to me often less than the struggles or joys of others.

So I guess that shows why I am writing this. To be transparent. This fall I am sad. Very sad. I am missing the caring of my Mom and Dad, missing family and friends who used to check in with me, missing the planning for Thanksgiving and Christmas fun times together that no longer happen. I need to learn to trust that among family and friends I can open my heart and share not only the “good stuff” but also my sadness. I know it is true that family and friends would be there for me . . . I just need to take the risk and trust. And I need to trust that once again, as before, I will get through this. I will.

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