The Sum of All Parts

I find that I am a much stronger person now than I have ever been and ever thought I could be.  When I look back at my life, it would be remis of me to not tell my readers some of my back story.  I had been married to a man whom I believed to be the love of my life.  He got cancer and died.  That is shown in the “About me” in this blog.  Since then, I have also gone on to find the man I consider to be my eternal love-David.  My first several blogs focused on how I felt after Patrick’s death but let’s go back a bit.

I was the only living child of middle-aged parents.  Sixty-three years ago, late pregnancies were not as common.  Two days after my birth, my mother turned 40.  My father was 42 at my birth.  It should be noted that I was also the 7th attempt to have a child.  Prior to my entrance into the world, adoption and foster parenting were also tried to no avail.  And after my birth, there was a final attempt which ended in still birth.  For some reason I think it was a girl, but I'm not sure.  My mother went to the hospital and came back alone.  We never talked about it again.  Have you ever had the feeling that something was wrong, but you just couldn't put your finger on it?  That's how I felt most the years I was living with them.  I was extremely sheltered,  not allowed to stay home alone until I was in the 10th grade.  Until that time, I along with our poodle were dragged along every time they went out.  I often asked why I couldn’t just stay at home with the dog and was told I was not trustworthy enough to stay alone.  Oddly, they felt good enough to leave me and the dog in the car even in unsavory areas of town.  I guess the dog was supposed to be my protection.  There were many times I remember hunkering down on the floor of the backseat covered up with a coat or blanket to hide.  I was terrified.  My parents would fuss when they got back and call me silly.  Today, the police probably would have been called for both me and the dog.  But at that time, no one gave it a second thought.  To me,  it was scary.  But it also made me feel like it was just another way I disappointed them-  they didn’t trust me enough to stay home.  As I got older, I was not allowed to participate in team sports, go to camps, get a summer job, or babysit.  Anything that would give me independence was generally not allowed.  This fostered a feeling of  smallness and insignificance in me.  Try as I might, I just never felt I was enough.  Now, don’t get me wrong, my parents were good people.  They worked hard.  My mother volunteered at church and at my schools.  I really didn’t want for anything.  Both loved me.  Still, I walked a very thin line knowing that anytime, I could anger my mother and must endure verbal tirades and/or spankings.  It wasn’t until much later in my life that I realized I had my own version of don’t ask/don’t tell.  When I was a senior, I was elected Science Club President.  This honor also put me on Student Council.  I was so excited.  I went running in to tell my mom, thinking she would be so proud of me.  I had done something important.  Upon hearing my news, she simply asked, did you get your homecoming pictures.  I want to see those.  No congratulations, no I’m proud of you, we never spoke of it.  There was the wall, and I wasn’t allowed past it. 

When I went to college, I lived at home for the most part.  To do this, I was told I would go to Texas A & M.  There was no need for me to apply anywhere else.  If I didn’t get in there, I guess I was expected to get a job.  My dad retired the fall of my sophomore year and I was moved back into their home.   I did get an apartment but that was only for my last semester of my senior year.  But, other than that, I lived at home.  Under their watchful eyes.  I wanted out so bad I would have done anything.  Enter my knight in shining armor-Patrick. 

Our relationship began oddly.  He managed to secretly get me moved to the front of the history class, next to him.  For me it was good because I wanted to hear everything.  Each afternoon, he would follow me to my car.  He didn’t say a word.  Just followed.  It took several weeks, but eventually he gathered the strength to talk to  me.  And finally, asked me out.  We dated for 3 years and eventually in the fall of  1979, he asked me to marry him.  I said yes.  There were a couple of reasons I did this.  First, I did love him and couldn’t imagine my life without him.  There were times that he would go out with other girls.  And I did as well but this was done only when we were “seeing other people”.   This rule only applied to me.  When we were exclusive, he would see other at any time and expected me to stay at home.  But, despite all his flaws-I loved him.  Second, I was raised believing that sex was for the bonds of marriage only.  I had lost my virginity to this man and in my mind, I was soiled goods and needed to marry him to make things right-save my soul.  And, finally, I wanted out.  I wanted freedom.  I wanted the kind of relationship my friends had with their parents normal.  Needing to spread my wings grew with each passing day.  And each morning I got out of bed, had my wings clipped so I could only fly in circles at home. 

Our engagement proved challenging.  Not only did I have to deal with financial schisms, but religious as well.  Patrick was Roman Catholic, and I was an Episcopalian.  When we broke the news to Patrick’s family, both of his aunts asked me when I was converting.  I had never really thought about it or how important my religion was to me, but I was a cradle Episcopalian.  My parents had been active in our church.  It was what I knew.  However, I was also the product of the Catholic School System having to go to Mass every Friday.  The services were very similar so I figured well what was the harm, so I told them I would.  Now for a marriage to be recognized in the Catholic church, you had to be married there.  In 1980, marriages outside the Church were not considered legal for the Church.  So, I agree to be married in the Catholic Church.  I figured this would not be a big deal.  Well, I was wrong- my mother went ballistic.  It was awful.  I finally got her settled down.  But I was walking a very thin line.  Patrick’s mother wanted a full mass at the ceremony.  And I knew that my mother would NOT be on board with this.  I set my foot down.  Patrick sided with his mother in a conversation, he told me that if I did not give, then maybe we needed to call of the engagement.  I was crushed.  But I just couldn’t give on this point.  To make a long story short, eventually I came up with a compromise.  I offered a full mass at the Rehearsal and the Wedding liturgy only for the Big Day.  Between Patrick and I both, we managed to convince both sets  of parents, that this was a good idea. 

By now you are thinking, all weddings have their issues, however, this one event had so many red flags that I simply refused to see.  These flags would rare their ugly head time after time.  The old saying, “A son is your son until he takes a wife” simply didn’t exist for the Conner family.  Patrick was so enmeshed in his home especially with his grandmother.  I simply had no chanced.  We lived within a few blocks of his parents.  Ate meals with them most nights.  And, when I became pregnant with our first child, Patrick was afraid to tell his parents.  So, I had to go over there alone and tell them.  His mother was slightly receptive of the idea.  His father not so much.  But, as I told him, I told him I knew he was not happy about it, but he needed to get over it and not say anything negative to Patrick.  And, as I emphasized there was nothing, we could do about it as the Catholic Church did not believe in abortion.  So, like it or not, he just needed to be supportive.  Eventually, they were somewhat on board.  I had that line I was not going to cross.  And I knew if our marriage stood a chance, I had to keep working on compromise.  This was a lot easier said than done.  Over the course of our marriage, I had to constantly battle for Patrick’s attention.  He was Bob and Marie’s son first and our growing little family took a back seat.  His life was his parents and the bus company they were running.  If I disagreed with these people I was on my own.  Patrick was always going to side with his parents.  My response was to form a very strong bond with my children.  In doing this, I became immensely aware of the fact that should I decide to bolt, they would try to take my children.  No, this was never directly said to me, but when you are introduced to their friends as the judge, or the divorce attorney, you begin to read between the lines.  By now I was aware, I could live without Patrick, but I could never live without Ashley and JR.  They were and will always be my world.  I was willing to walk this thin until one day when my precious little girl asked Patrick’s mother if she could have an Easter Party.  She was so excited when she told us on the way home.  At that time, Bob and Marie were living in a small office building they had moved to the bus parking lot.  My concern was two-fold.  One, we had not been asked if this was okay.  As a grandmother of 4 precious and amazing children, there isn’t a lot I won’t do for them.  However, I always defer to Mom and Dad for permission to do things.  And, secondly and most important, they wanted to have a group of kindergarten children to their “home” in bus parking lot on the busiest day of the week.  This was simply a matter of children’s safety.  Patrick agreed with me.  So, the following day, at lunch Patrick began to explain to his parents that this was not going to happen, and his mother exploded.  Not at him, but at me.  I was told that I never did anything they wanted.  She was so angry, her voice got louder and louder.  I  sat calmly waiting for Patrick to take up for me.  We had agreed that this was not a good idea.  But he did nothing.  He just sat there.  His mother finally yelled that I was a “f..ing” terrible mother.  That was it.  I quietly stood up.  Gathered my purse and simply walked out of the restaurant.  Thinking that Patrick would follow me out, I began to walk the 6 long blocks back to the office.  Patrick never joined me; I was on my own.  This gave me a lot of time to think.  I had been working at the company with the family so I could also take care of the children.  I had been the whipping boy and scapegoat of many things during that time.   I worked on bankruptcy reports with a broken arm upon a return from a vacation.  Typing with a broken arm is next to impossible.  I kept being told to hurry up.  I had key rings full of keys thrown at me because I had taken aa deposit to the bank without asking if my mother-in-law needed anything.  So, during that walk, I made peace with the fact I was not happy, and I didn’t deserve to be treated like this.  So, once I got to the office, I got in my car and as I closed the door, Patrick and his parents drove up.  Getting out of the car, he came over to me and asked where I was going.  “Home”.  He couldn’t understand why.  I was hurt, disappointed, and moreover angry.  Angry at him, angry at Bob and Marie, but most of all, angry at myself.  I let myself get put in this situation.  That day, I decided that I would go back to teaching.  I completed my special education certification at night and during the summer.  I don’t think Patrick ever thought I was going to go through with the plan.  And, when I did, he was furious.  I was “abandoning’ him.  No, I wasn’t abandoning him.  To abandon someone, you must be part of something, which I was not.  Plus, we had two children with no insurance, and I was not being paid.  This would be a win-win for the family.  Education offered a small salary and pseudo good health insurance.  I pushed forward with my plan.

I’m going to let this chapter of my life sink in for my readers.  Through all of this, I began to realize, I was strong, I was smart, I was not just a pretty face.  I was worthy of love, honor, and respect.  Something which I was often denied.  Today as I look back at my life, I am a much stronger person than I ever had imagined.  Living life as I feel God wants me to live, strengthens me and gives me a new and renewed purpose.  Indeed, I have become a sum of my parts.  I am still the same person my parents raised.  Those limits which were put on me, shaped how I reacted not just to my children but all children.  As a mother I was able to give my children growing room to stretch their wings and explore the world without hovering.  As an educator, I explained that the most valuable gift I could give them was an education.  Explaining that education for me was my escape pod from things I didn’t like.  I went on to pursue not one but two master’s degrees and become a leader on every campus I worked.  After Patrick’s death, I did try to run his business.  But truth be told, it was never my dream and there was just way too much bad blood there for me to give it the 100% it needed.  I loved working with kids.  It was in my blood.  When children make mistakes, that’s normal.  But, when adults make ridiculous mistakes, I have very little patience.  So, I planned to sell the company.  I moved to Austin, sold most of my worldly possessions and returned to education.   It’s been a hard road, full of loss, but I have no regrets.  Through this journey I can see how everything has shaped me into who and what I am.  I am not just a strong and independent woman.  I am a survivor. 

 

 

 

 

Into Infinity and Beyond

 

Having a sharp tongue and a wicked dry sense of humor has been a saving grace for me.  It is my coping mechanism which I employ like a samurai sword especially when I’m in a fight or flight situation.  However, over the years my sarcasm and cynicism has been toned down a great deal.  In the past,  I always prepared for the worst-case scenario and when it turned out better, I celebrated gladly.  A pleasant surprise……  To me that was easier than having my hopes trashed. 

 But I have spent countless hours in trainings about setting high expectations.  In part, I totally agree with this theory.  However, the expectation needs to be looked at individually not holistically.  Not everyone’s high expectation is the same.  So, let’s debunk one of the common motivational sayings of our times. 

“Aim for the moon and even if you miss you land among the stars” comes to mind.  That seems like a beautiful thought.  But let’s think about it. 

Space is a dark and dangerous place, full of unknows.  I learned that from Star Wars, The Mandalorian, Lost in Space, and the list goes on and on.  Additionally, after living in the Houston area near NASA, I was daily made aware of the possible dangers out in the unknown.  Ask anyone, space can be downright scary.  And stars, those are simply burning gas balls.  No one ever explores stars.  They explore planets, moons, asteroids, but never suns (stars).  So, although those are very pretty words, they are best saved for those who don’t dissect sayings like me.  

Now that I have set the stage, let me tell you a tale.  Some of my relatives are going to find this offensive.  So, I apologize ahead of time.  I am from a long line of ultra conservative military people.  I was raised believing that divorce was wrong (I would go to Hell), all Democrats were evil to the core, and although women could vote, they needed to vote the same way as their husband.  Yes, most of my relatives are Republicans.  And I generally always voted Republican.  I was and remain a John McCain fan. 

Now, that is not to say that I was not greatly surprised by the 2016 election outcome.  It was the first time in my life, I did not watch the election results on television.  I didn’t vote.  As we had recently moved, I asked David to fill out the cards and return them for me.  But, because the powers that be could not read one of the digits on my registration, it was kicked back, and as there was not enough time to redo my application, I missed the window.  This was a God send for me.  I had no idea who to vote for when push came to shove.  It was puzzling to me that in a country as big as ours these were the best candidates we could find.  And, as far as I was concerned, neither deserved nor did I feel was qualified to be president.  So, as I lay down on election eve to go to sleep, Hilary Clinton was in the lead.  In my mind by this time, it was what it was. 

Upon waking, I rolled over, gazed lovingly into David’s eyes, and sleepily said, “So, Hilary is our president.” 

Whisking they hair from my face, he said calmly, “No, Trump is.”

This jolted me up faster than any alarm I ever had. “WHAT?”  I was in utter shock.  Then I figured, well there must have been many people like me who couldn’t decide and just picked a name.  But how???? Hilary had such a lead.  I got up in a daze, dressed and went to work.

I remember walking into the teacher’s lounge.  Here sat a group of educated women and men crying.  Yes, physical tears.  Being the counselor  I am, I stopped and explained our governmental system to them (my original teaching fields were history and government).  I went into grave detail about checks and balances and the wonders of the two-party system and the workings of the electoral college.  I explained that our forefathers were brilliant in that they built our country to withstand bad presidents.  So, I felt sure that if our great country survived Ulysses S. Grant we could survive Donald J. Trump.  In fact, I even espoused the “Shoot for the Moon” saying.  I was willing to give the man a chance.  Little did I know we would land in a burning gaseous ball of flames. 

 As many (most) of my relatives have and many still are serving in the military, I believed that the president of our country was the commander in chief.  I pictured him sitting behind a desk with a red phone (the old timey kind) to his right, a back of computer screens around him and a mass of papers in front of him.  And, yes, try as I might it was generally a man.  Although, I do believe a woman is probably more capable, but things as they are, it was always a man.  The thought of the leader of the free world “tweeting” was ridiculous to me.  I figured it would stop after the election.  But no, that was not the case.

I don’t know about you, but when I must spend an extended time on the toilet, I take my phone with me.  There I play my games and catch up on Facebook.  When I was working, I always took my phone with me, so this was my break.  As Potus began tweeting regularly I wondered about a couple of things.  First, does he have a gastric issue that would give him this much toilet time to tweet.  Maybe it was time for a colonoscopy.  Did he need to call his insurance company to see who would take the president insurance plan?  Did he have an HMO or a PPO?  In any case, I knew his insurance was a damned sight better than mine.  Maybe he couldn’t find the time.  No wait, he has his phone with him, and he can always mute the phone in the event of flatulence.  Secondly, was he really tweeting all this gibberish?  Some of them sounded like the ramblings of a prepubescent child.  Is Baron getting a hold of the Don’s phone and Potus was just too busy to notice?  After all, he is the Leader of the Free World.  And finally, some of the tweets bordered on what I would consider cyber bullying.  All of these, in my mind, tarnished the image of the office of President.  I even thought we needed a member of the Secret Service  standing outside the Presidential Potty who would take the President’s phone and give him a handheld gaming device with no internet access.  Can’t you just imagine it? 

“Mr. President, I need your phone.”

“No!  I’m the President, I will do what I want.”

“Now, Mr. President, we have talked about this.  You know you get carried away and don’t think before you tweet.”

“No!  Nancy Pelosi (or whomever) was mean to me.  She/He didn’t do what I want.”

“I hear what you are saying.  You don’t like him/her.  You don’t have to like them, but you have to be kind and get along.”

“No!  I’m not giving you my phone.  I pay for it.”

“Well, sir technically, the citizens are paying for your phone.  Look, I have a Gameboy.  It has Space Invaders.  You can be the hero and keep them from invading the world.”

“Well maybe, ok.”  And he begrudgingly hands over his phone and takes the Gameboy.  Crisis adverted. 

Over the next four years, there were many more thing which did not sit well with me.  The handling of DACA for one.  I have been in our educational system for now over 30 years.  I can’t get Juan from Alvin out of my mine.  Juan could be a handful.  But he was trying to get his life together.  He desperately wanted to join the military.  Problem was he was not a citizen.  When he was 4 years old, the father came into our country illegally with his son and two daughters ages 2 and 6 months.  Can you image a father alone with 3 small children crossing the Rio Grand or being smuggled in by a coyote?  It must have been not just difficult but terrifying.  He could have just abandoned them or left them children with relatives, but he didn’t he brought them.  He brought them for a better life.  All three were educated in the US.  Juan, like I said, was difficult.  The girls were exceptional students.  Very sweet, kind and very hard workers.  When it came time to go to college, they couldn’t qualify for financial aid etc.  They weren’t citizens.  After school they took minimal jobs for which they were well overqualified.  The cycle couldn’t be broken. It made me so sad.  When I moved to Austin and Widen, I met many more families who were in similar situations.  It hurt my soul.  My working with these families opened my eyes.  They were generally amazing people.  Many would bring me things just because I showed that I cared.  I loved their babies.  I learned so much about their lives, their culture, and their struggles in those years.  They shared stories with me.  For example, the student who was hard of hearing because the parent was caught at the border and put in a “containment” area for several weeks.  The child got ill.  It was cold, they didn’t have enough blankets for her.  The result was hearing loss for the child due to a severe ear infection that went untreated.  For me, DACA seemed fair. These kids had been here all their lives, they were Americans.  I felt Trump’s policies were grossly unfair to these people.  Don’t get me wrong, if a person is committing a high crime, not misdemeanors, then, deportation should be considered.  If we did something wrong in another country, would not the same thing happen to us?    

Over the course of the next four years, many things caused me concern from global warning to the bashing of John McCain, to COVID “The China Virus”.  I watched as one after the other people were fired due to having different ideas than Mr. Trump.  It seemed so childish to me.  I’m not going to play with you because you won’t let me win.  I believe the purpose of a cabinet and advisors is to do just that advise.  To help the president see all sides of a situation, not just be yes men/women. 

When election time came around, Trump bombarded us with comments like “Sleepy Joe”, “Fake News”, and “China Virus”.  One of the main tenants I live by is that it is no one’s business who gets my vote.  That is between me and God.  However, I am breaking this rule today.  I am still a card-carrying Republican, but I could not in my heart vote for Trump.  From my point in life, I was no better off than I was under Obama.  My insurance still stinks.  I pay into social security but will get a reduced amount as I receive (as they said at the social security administration) an amazing retirement.  I didn’t qualify for Patrick’s social security because of this as well.  Trust me TRS is subsistence at best.  I’m just thankful that I have a part time job to supplement it.  Yes, I voted for Biden not because I felt he could do the job.  Yes, I feel he is a good man and I think he is trying to bring the pendulum back to the middle.  But also, I had no other choice.  Obie Wan was not running.  And I just didn’t think I could handle four more years of Trump.  As I write this, I just feel several of my relatives crossing me off their Christmas Card list.  To them I say, this is my freedom of speech.  I have kept my mouth shut as I have rolled my eyes at some posts.  Martha Turner taught me that if I couldn’t say something nice not to say anything at all.  And, also, opinions are like assholes, everyone has them. 

 You see, I have not used any kind of weapon other than words.  I’ve sent no one to the hospital, crushed no one, exposed no one to COVID via a super spreader event.  I’ve expressed my opinion.  I never said I was right and you are wrong,  All I did was express my opinion.  You can choose to read it or not.  Cross me off your card list or not.  It matters little to me. 

 You may be asking yourself; how did we go from cynicism and motivational sayings with pretty words.  Simple……In my opinion we have been floating around in the danger of space for far too long.  It’s time we put on our big boy/girl/neutral panties and for once looked at our fellow earth mates and tried to do the right thing.  If you wouldn’t want to be treated as a lesser human don’t treat others that way.  When we peel off our skin, all of us look the same underneath.  Were people pure and simple.  No one is greater or lesser than another simply because of where we live or the way we look, act, dress, talk etc.  On this eve of this new chapter in our lives as Joe Biden and Kamala Harris begin the work the citizens have entrusted them to do, let’s all just take a deep breath, count our many blessings, and know that as a country we can survive.   And in the words of Tangina from Poltergeist said, "Carole Ann come into the light".

 

 

9 Years Later

It's a cold day in Austin.  It shouldn't last long as the sun has shown its beautiful face.  It's been a long time since I have blogged, but a friend suggested that I might want to start journaling again.  Life has a funny way of pointing us in a certain direction.  So, as we wave goodbye to the 2010 decade and welcome in the 2021.  I thought I would briefly bring you up to speed with my life.  

Nine years ago, I moved to Austin at the request of my daughter.  Well actually,  I was pretty much dragged.  I sold everything I owned minus just a few of my favorite belongings and moved to a strange town.  And for me it was strange.  As a card-carrying maroon bleeding Aggie, I detested Austin.  It was too liberal, the school was the center of town, the freeways to me were much scarier than Houston even though the town is smaller.  All in all, it lives up to its reputation of being weird.  But here I was in an apartment sitting among boxes and wondering if I had indeed lost my mind.

For the next 5 years I was a full-time counselor in an elementary school with a population that was 95% Latino, 4% African American and 1% other.  I fit into the other category.  My first day, I literally had my feet knocked out from under me by a PreKinder student who was not happy to be at school.  For all those years in High School, I never was knocked off my feet.  This was a first.  But I learned to love my babies and developed a whole new appreciation for those who risk everything to come to our country.  That year brought a lot of firsts.  My first time to be a mascot.  I was Willie the Wildcat. It’s terribly hot in those costumes.   My first traffic ticket-  The officer told me, “Welcome to Austin,”  when he handed me the ticket.  Next came my first grandchild- Easton. This child continues to be one of the loves of my life.  I bought my first house without help and that was closely followed by a car that I bought on my own.  And in between all of this, I met my soul mate.  David was amazing.  We had so much in common.  He loved science fiction, musicals, going to the movies, going to church, talking through our issues, and traveling.  And, he had the most amazing sense of humor.  I soon grew to adore and love this man.  Every weekend, I would wear out the roads between Austin and Salado.  And on his days off, he would come to Austin.  Soon he just never left.  David maintained his job at the VA Hospital in Temple commuting to and from five days a week.  I couldn’t have been happier.  Then, one night “Well, I think so.  But I know I have some Tylenol.” 

“No, it has to be aspirin.  And call 911 I think I’m having a heart attack.”

Yet another first.  The first time I had been this scared in a long time.  While in the ER, David coded not once, but twice.  The second time, the doctor asked me to call the code.  David had always told me he did not want any heroics.  So, I said yes.  The doctor walked out then came immediately back in and said, “You aren’t going to believe this but he’s back.”  This began a month-long hospital stay.  While he was in the hospital, I realized that our house was not recovery friendly.  David’s ability to walk was greatly diminished and the study was upstairs.  The real estate market in Austin was hot, so I sold my house and moved to the suburbs just in time to celebrate David’s 60^th birthday. 

It was a struggle, but he was alive.  And I was so thankful.  We had numerous challenges over the next 4 years.  We had our challenges.  David was stubborn and probably a bit scared and would wait until he was almost ready to go to the hospital to seek medical help.  We experienced the loss of loved ones and the loss of friends.  We were there for each other and that was all that mattered.  But we still lived life to the fullest.  We celebrated holidays.  We traveled.  We went to Church.  We embraced each day as if it were our last.  He witnessed the birth of 2 more of my grandchildren and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the 4^th.  I was so fortunate that he loved my kids like his own and my grandkids were his grandkids.  In fact, once while we were in Oklahoma, Easton had a fall and was rushed to the hospital not once, but twice.  The following morning, he woke up and said we are headed home.  He was on the phone with my daughter who kept telling him it was not necessary for us to come back.  He got very indignant and told her that Easton was his grandson, and he was coming home.  Wow!  He was invested.  We were all a family.  When we began keeping JR’s daughter Chloe, he quickly began to bond with her.  In fact, after listening to me tease David about being pokey, she looked over at him, laughed and said, “Popo.”.  And the name stuck.  As I write this, Ashley is roughly 9 days away from delivering Miss Tylar Graham.  David was so excited about this little girl.  But he will only be able to see her from far away.  On Monday, November 2, I had gone to pick up Chloe for “our date with the Princess.”  Upon return, I found him unresponsive.  911 was called and he was transported to the local hospital.  Experience has taught me that when the nurse in the ER tells you the doctor wants to talk to you and they usher you to the family waiting room, it is never a good thing.  And, just like that, my happily ever after was over.  Yet another loss. 

So here I am.  Not quite back at square one, but somewhere in the middle.  I can tell you that I am one of the most blessed people on the planet.  I have an awesome daughter and son who were there for me from the moment I found David.  You know, say what you will about Austin, (yes, even me) but I have met some of the best and most caring friends I could ask for, and finally, David and I were a part of an amazing church family, that continues to wrap their arms around me.  But most importantly, I  was fortunate enough to have David in my life for almost 9 years.  During that time, he never missed an opportunity to tell me he loved me, that I was his angel, and how beautiful I was inside and out.  For the first time in my life, I felt totally and unconditionally loved.  It is a wonderful feeling, and some people live their whole life without knowing this feeling.  I am so very blessed to have known that overwhelming love.  I’m still very sad and grieve daily even constantly some days.  But as I run through everything, I keep coming back to damn I am just so, so blessed.