Brave Heart, Brave Soul. She who is brave is free.

My dad turned 80 in July. I didn’t really grasp his age until the moment we all shouted “surprise” ! I understood 80 was coming, I had been planning his party for 6 months. But knowing and processing are two different things. My dad’s my hero. He’s kind and caring, forgiving and generous, compassionate, loving and forgiving. Plus he always has a bit of mischief in his eyes along with a contagious laugh hiding behind his smile. My dad’s humor is wicked and his stories, well, they’re hysterical. My dad can be humble and stubborn at the same time. Don’t get me wrong. He’s as human as they come. Dad gets grumpy sometimes, just like and gets stuck in his ways once and awhile. He’s not perfect, but he’s a good, honest man. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t sacrifice for his family.  When I was little, time didn’t seem like a foe. I was a child. In my little mind I had no doubt my dad would always catch me. But time waits for no one. So, when 80 came and went I pretty much tripped over my own

  An Open Letter To My Son ~ I’m not sure where life took a wrong turn. But it did 2 and a half years ago. I’d love to tell you I understand everything. But I don’t. Not because I’m blind to my own faults. I know I have plenty of them. I’m mistaken often. I make the wrong choice, say the wrong thing and embarrass myself a lot. But what I’m not, is cold, without emotion, unfeeling or unapologetic. What I am is truly and deeply sorry for everything. I’m sorry for your pain and anger. I’m sorry for the damage done to our family and the rift between you and your brother. I’m truly distressed you’re separated from your Nana and Paw Paw. And I’m deeply remorseful that you've ever felt rejected. You are my son, and nothing can or will ever change that.  I hear your resentment and I deeply feel your hate. And it breaks my heart. However I’ve contributed to this injury, I’m sorry. I want to understand and hear you, to acknowledge and recognize your hurt. To face what it is I’ve done to hurt

  I’m an optimist. Always have been, and always will be. It’s just who I am. I like to see the good in people and situations. I try to look past the negative. Not that I don't have moments of doubt and skepticism or hesitation. I do. I’m a realist too. I understand that not everything is going to come up roses. However, just because I have moments of confusion or uncertainty doesn’t mean I lose hope. I always have hope.  Some folks ask how I keep a smile on my face, especially when I’m at my lowest. I’ll be real with you here. I may be an optimist, but I’ve learned how to hide my pain and smile through it. Sometimes it’s easier to smile rather than explain. Chronic illness has taken a lot from me. Especially in the past 3 years. Surgeries, loss and grief have taken their toll. Estrangement has broken me. And yes, I feel every pin and needle prick drawing more and more energy from me every day. Still, I smile. Why? Because I have hope that whatever the outcome, I’ll find peace at th