The Deepest Love


There are times in our lives that some of us unfortunately experience that take our breath away. Not in a good way. No romance here, enlightenment or euphoria. I’m talking about those times that punch your chest; and instead of reminding you that you’re alive, you barely feel alive. 

You wake up each day dreading the feeling of the floor under your feet. The aches and pains set in from your restless night of worry. 

Have no fear that I am tore asunder. I am a woman, a wife and most importantly, a mother. I am a person of strength; yet strength shall see weakness from time to time.  Those that I carry on my shoulders may at times carry me. We may find ourselves at times entangled together. When we do, have faith that we shall find a way to once again stand.

I will never let you fall. 

I love you

Serendipity 


On August 22nd my husband, Joe and I were on a four hour car drive listening to The Moth. It’s become something we love to do together as we ride along laughing and sometimes crying. The Father’s Day special happened to be replaying, in which seemed fitting since Joe’s father was dying from an aggressive brain tumor. 

David Kendall was telling his story of how he found his love of music by listening to the likes of Chuck Berry in the evenings with his father. He spoke of how he knew he was being introduced to something special, and a little forbidden given they were from a very Southern Baptist driven community. He spoke of how he cherishes those memories of time spent getting to know his father through learning to have a love of music. David expressed how the song Maybellene by Chuck Berry, forever ingrained a love and passion he wouldn’t have known had it not been for his father. Neither of us had ever heard that song featured in this story. 

The following week Joe began to spend every evening at his father’s home. He had been asked to go through the garage. The hope was that Vic would join him, if at least just to be together in company. At this point however, it was too late. As Vic laid in his hospital bed in his living room, Joe began the task of going through his father’s many inventions, tools and curbside findings. Joe discovered the tape cassette player in the corner. He grabbed the first tape he saw, threw it in and it was the unrelenting sound of Maybellene.

Last night was the visitation. A man came through the line, said his condolences and left. He then came back several minutes later straight down the center to my husband. He looked at him and said, ” It just dawned on me that you’re Eddie’s boy.” 

I know I’ve been calling Joe’s father Vic. By all accounts Vic is Joe’s father, but there’s a little twist to his family tree. Joe was adopted a couple of generations down the line in his family. By all intents and purposes, Toni and Vic are truly Joe’s parents. However, his biological father is Carl Edward Dickerson; who was killed by a drunk driver, and taken too soon. 

This man who came up to Joe told him he was his father’s best friend up until the day he passed. That he has story after story about him. Joe doesn’t know much about Eddie. Joe was just a little confused boy when he was brought into his new family. His biological mother and father suffered with addiction and wounds from the war. Around the time just before Eddie was killed, he was coming back into Joe’s life. My husband has a memory of Eddie pushing him on a swing. Joe has always wondered what their path could have been. The man who came back to tell my husband he knew his biological father, is a treasure to be had. Perhaps he can fill in the unwritten.  There has always been a little place in Joe’s heart that has been left blank.  Everyone no matter their situation wants to know where they “came from”. 

Later that night on the way home Joe told me in the dark of the car that he felt like Vic, his dad, was giving him one last gift. 

The Moth Rock of Ages

The Way You Talk To Me

Do you ever listen intently to someone as they’re telling you a story? If you’re really listening, feeling the emotions of the journey they are telling you, you’re being spoken to by someone who is empathic. Not only that, you’re becoming someone who is listening with the intent to respond. Pay attention. 

My best friend was telling me how on Mother’s Day she tried to take a nap. She wasn’t able to because her neighbor’s girlfriend recently broke up with her, so her neighbor took up drumming as a hobby. Most people would stop there.  Crista on the other hand began to explain to me the beat and she played it out for a good 15 seconds. Enough for it to be in my mind still. Enough for me to have actually thought about her neighbor today. I wonder if she’s playing the drums right now? I wonder if she’s crying or if she’s playing with anger?

I now have empathy for a stranger, because I listened to my friend with the intent to respond. 

This is something I am currently trying to work on with my spouse. We have completely different ways of thinking. I’m always dying for him to be lyrical and romantic and he’s just not going to be… to my definition. If I listen to him however, truly listen, his compassion, love and empathy is there. It just doesn’t cross my paths, but if we both take a different way every so often, we’ve got miles and miles left to explore.

My Daughter, Part 2 of Gratefulness 


It’s been at least a decade since I’ve held you in my arms, perhaps even longer.

The moment you were placed into my cradling arms, is a time in my history that I shall never forget. It’s the very moment in my life that I realized I wasn’t alone anymore. I won’t lie, it frightened me to the very core of my being. 

I have moments in time that I wish I could go back to visit. I would give anything to read to you again. To be able to bathe you. If I could just go back to holding you while you slept so peacefully against my neck. To feel you breathing against my skin. 

I received a card when you were born from my Uncle Richard. Over the years, for reasons here and there, I have dragged that card out and read it’s perfect story. Inside the card Uncle Richard wrote an excerpt from Khalil Gibran On Children. It has stayed with me my entire path of motherhood. We aren’t given direction on how to be a mother. A mother should know. It’s not always true. I’ve often thought that I was just one of those rare lucky mothers who happened to bare an old soul. 

You have the wit and beauty of someone who has seen centuries. My lovely, Rowan. The little red one. Thank you for this adventure you’ve brought me into. I’m already dreaming of where it will take me.

“You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,

which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.”

-Khalil Gibran

Good morning, morning.

I started counseling. I’m on my third counselor. The first woman sent me to another counselor she felt best suited for me. That’s okay, she had a mullet and I can’t take that seriously. 

The man counselor always sat with his back arched in his extendable office chair with his hands interwoven behind his head. He grunted a lot. I think he used to be a linebacker. I need a softer touch.

My new counselor has a huge office. All the furniture is Mid Century modern in the softest shades of grays and blues. The Kleenex box is inside another fancy box and I actually think she uses the real deal-Kleenex with lotion. Ahhh. 

She asked me to practice gratefulness. 

Okay-I have to admit to something. Yesterday I was in the yard pulling up weeds and just piddling around. I had this idea to be grateful for finding a four leaf clover, only I never did. 

Then I realized I was doing it again… I was trying to control. I was even controlling  my own gratitude based on what I specifically thought I should be thankful for. What a power struggle inside my mind. 

I took a moment to readjust my brain and lay on the grass for a moment in the sunshine. I said silently to myself over and over, “I am thankful for this peaceful moment and for having my own yard to have this moment in.”

I’m getting there.

Feeling the Wind

My last writing on here was pretty negative and for that, I apologize. I almost came back and deleted the entire thing. I decided that life is full of ups and downs and there’s no reason to be perfect all the time. Besides, that so damn tiring. 

My father is on the upswing. He’s let go of some anger and he’s becoming more enjoyable. That’s the goal. The entire point of him living with our family. Due to his debilitating ailments, he’s really never been too involved as a grandfather. That changed for him yesterday.  He sat silently through most of the household chaos yesterday as my son and daughter got ready for prom. Even though he didn’t say much, he smiled and he smiled a lot.

Seth, my son, struggles with social anxiety a lot. However a Junior in High School has taken a liking to his sense of humor and charm and asked him to be her date. When he said yes, I almost fell over. 

Rowan, my daughter is a Senior. This was to be her last dance and she was on court. My father at first didn’t want to go, but as my mother and step-father were on their way up with a three hour drive to come watch the festivities, he had a change of heart.

I’m so happy he did, and the proof was in his smiles that he was happy as well. Seth marched right down the line during procession and even looked up! He was so handsome and I knew inside my heart he was fighting with all his might to make each leg move towards the arch that ends to face the crowd. 

Rowan was stunning and when they announced her as Prom Queen, my heart burst open at what a wonderful moment in each of my children’s lives we were a part of that evening. Somehow I managed to get Rowan and Seth together for a photo and I’m so proud to show it off.

Life goes up and down and it twists and it turns, but somehow I’ve found myself wonderfully elated where my feet always land.