Together Again


The ping of a text notification sounds. Glancing at the phone, I see it’s my best friend asking which day might work for us to coordinate schedules for a warmly anticipated Meijer Garden trip with an out-of-town high school friend. Smiling, I respond to the text with possible dates.

About a week later, I pull up in front of Anna’s House to greet my two friends sitting outside holding our place in the long reservation queue. Because this is such a popular place to gather for a meal, I had to park quite a distance away in the bank parking lot nearby. Deeply inhaling the scent of spring blossoms around me, I walk toward the restaurant excited to join my friends.

As the three of us enjoy brunch together, we catch up on each others lives; kids, jobs, interests and “girl” things. One of these friends and I are reconnecting after many years apart. In high school we knew everything about each other. As adults, life took us each in different directions. As I look into her beautiful eyes, watch her familiar mannerisms and listen to her heart, it is as if I am transported back in time. Though we need to learn about who we have become as adults, I sense a connection unaffected by time.

Leaving the restaurant, we head to Meijer Gardens. It is a beautiful spring day and the gardens are a perfect place to enjoy flowers, nature and one another. We have the chance to discover if or where we fit in this familiar, yet, new collective friendship. As our time together continues, I sense joy rising in me. This rhythm of the three of us together is life-giving for me. Because we are very different as people, there is much we can learn about and with one another.

Glancing at a clock, we realize our precious time together is ending and we must transition back to our individual lives. After saying our goodbyes, I walk back to my car and notice a place inside of me is soothed. It is the place formed over 40 years ago when these two women first entered my heart. All those years ago, we supported each other as we were trying to discover who we were. We shared many victories and defeats together. We talked about boys, fears, insecurities, family, friends, hopes and dreams. Though the details are different now, we talked about and shared the same type of things happening in our lives as adults.

Through this past year, I have come to understand the richness and depth available in rekindled relationships.  I have discovered parts of me were tenderly held in shared history with friends. Aspects of my true identity have come back alive because of what dear friends remember about me from decades ago.

In order to experience resurrection, there must be death. Last year at this time, I felt like so much of me was dead. Through the steadfast intervention of the Trinity in and around me, I have been resurrected. I am still me, only better because of what I learned through great loss, debilitating grief and choosing to love unconditionally even through betrayal. The gentle embrace of Divine love continues to bring healing to my shattered heart allowing me to trust again in a new relationship and enjoy the familiar comfort of faithful, loyal friends.

Relationships are risky yet essential. It is the conduit most often chosen by God to bring growth and change. Reconnecting with my high school friend offers possibilities for both of us to learn and grow together once again.

May you find connections, old and new, where you will give and receive gentle comfort, gracious challenges and mutual joy.




Moving Forward



Turning the key to lock my office suite door, my thoughts switch to the next few hours. Taking a deep breath, I sense a shift inside me. I feel like the fully functioning “adult me” who met with clients all day went missing and was replaced by a nervous, insecure adolescent. Walking out to my car, I begin to prepare for a first date with a man I am meeting for the first time.

Driving home, I start thinking about all that has happened over the last year: the grieving, renewal, healing and uncertainly. Remembering all the countless hours of prayer, tender encounters with Divine Love and experiences of long forgotten parts of me coming alive these last few months, a sacred calm flows out of me. I sense the embrace of my Creator.

Pulling into my driveway, I feel excited about taking this step forward though it is filled with uncertainty. I remind myself of the contact I have enjoyed with this man up to this point.  I have every reason to believe he shares many of my values. I won’t know for certain until I know. I am ready to find out. Did I just say that? Ok, now I know I am ready.

After the exuberant greeting from my pups, I must rush to complete necessary tasks before heading out for my date: feeding the dogs, changing clothes, necessary primping and the ever present conversations with God. I am as ready as I can get. I smile nervously, yet hopefully as I step into the next chapter of Resurrecting Larko.

Closing up the house, checking on the dogs and one last look in the mirror, I feel steady and centered in who I am. I am determined to be me and not feel I need to be someone else. Remembering God is with me, I am not going on this adventure alone.

Driving to our meeting location, I pray for God to show me what I need to see about this man and for him to see what He wants to show him about me. Now it is time to leave any expectations and agendas behind and simply enjoy the rest of the evening,

The Resurrected Larko is on the move!




Yesterday, I attended a bridal shower. Viewing the RSVP status of the attendees online, I knew I would be seeing some old friends. This was an exceptionally hard and emotionally draining week. The one year anniversary of Richard’s passing is approaching, the dynamics of a valued friendship changed dramatically, my writing is stalled, professional decisions need to be made and household projects are in various stages of completion. I was looking forward to celebrating with some old friends and meeting some new ones.

“So, Jean, how are you doing?” asks a friend at the shower I hadn’t seen in a few months. “Doing pretty well.”, I reply. “Working through some transitions.”

As the guests continue to arrive, I start thinking, “Transition” is a good word for it. It seems like this entire year has been one transition after another. Watching Richard live out his final days, grieving multi-layers of heartache, engaging with new friends while connecting with old friends, trying to make the house mine instead of ours, making decisions without my favorite sounding board, taking care of the dogs alone while engaging in life away from home, writing our story without falling apart because of the emotion it continues to stir up within me, daring to consider loving again, wondering if I will ever trust another man and most significantly, how these last few years have shaped me. Whew!

Thinking about all those changes, I ask myself, am I becoming a better me or am I reverting back to old patterns of survival? Each week, I see flavors of both. Certainly the shift has moved toward being a better me more consistently. Life lessons learned the hard way need not be repeated.

I want to know how this whole metamorphic adventure turns out. I remind myself, wanting it doesn’t make it happen. I wanted to know the end of my story with Richard every day for over a decade. I didn’t know until it happened. The only way I thrived and not just survived through all the insanity was to remember the presence of God is always with me and works in and through circumstances.

Though I was blindsided many times, God was never thrown off when a betrayal, diagnosis or crisis surfaced. He invariably carried me through every trauma. I didn’t always trust Him. I was often afraid and felt alone. Even so, I trusted the trustworthiness of the Creator. Gently I remind myself, He is with me now though every transition.

Re-engaging with the party, I press into the beautiful moments my friends are experiencing. They will soon be committing to a lifetime together, starting a new journey filled with possibilities and challenges.  I am truly grateful they have found love and are committed to loving each other well through life’s transitions.

The hopeless romantic in me wants to know if my story includes someone with whom I will share life and love; someone who will fight for me and along side of me as the uncertainty of life unfolds. The fear of heartache wrestles with the longing to love and be loved again. Once again, the answer only comes as it is revealed over time.

Life is always in transition one way or another. My transitions will continue, whether I like it or not. I will not know the answers until they are made known. I can choose to be worried about the ending, or just enjoy all that is present. I know my focus must be on embracing the Divine gift being offered: Resurrecting Larko.

I will follow the lead of my beloved Richard who showed us how to live in today. He embraced sacred moments as they came along and chose to make every day a GREAT day.

May you find peace in the storms of life, gentle reminders of love each day and rest knowing each day brings another opportunity to make a difference in the world.

Christmas Lights


Opening the side door of my house, I hear the cries, whimpers and barks of my two faithful companions. Climbing the few stairs leading to the kitchen door, I hear the sound of a Labrador tail pounding against the cupboards. With warm, grateful canine expressions, Shiloh and Cricket welcome me home.

After the robust, mutually enthusiastic greeting, I walk to the table and deposit my purse and keys. I open the slider for the dogs to go outside while I settle in for the evening. Like every night, I head into the bedroom to plug-in the Christmas lights hanging along the curtain rods to warmly drive out the darkness with colors spilling onto the walls.

I head to the kitchen to call the dogs back in the house and begin to prepare dinner for all of us. Walking down the hall to gather my gym clothes, I notice half of the string of colorful bulbs have stopped working. Feeling deep sadness, tears start rolling down my cheeks.

“Those are your lights, Richie.” I said out loud with only the dogs to hear me.

Richard loved Christmas lights and would have a string of them in the living room until summer. We used them as ambient light instead of candles. Neither one of us liked harsh lighting in the evening while we watched TV. The Christmas lights were perfect. He would plug them in every evening and unplug them when it was time to go to sleep.

One night last April after being awake only a couple of hours, Richard said, “I am so hungry and frustrated because I can’t get enough to eat. I might just as well go back to bed.” I said, “Ok.” Knowing he was weaker and weaker every day, I followed up with: “Do you think this is your last night in the living room?” He replied with a nod, “Yes.”

Staying in the living room for a few more minutes, we reminisced about things we shared in that room through the years. With gratitude, laughter and tears, we talked about Christmases and watching our favorite TV shows. We talked about the hours of sharing our hearts with one another over the previous year and how it was, by far, the best year of our relationship. We talked about ending life well, purely loving, how tangible God became for us and how hard this journey has been.

I moved over next to him and he put his arm around me. We sat in the silence holding hands for a few minutes, enjoying the lights. Then we knew it was time to transition into the bedroom. Richard made his way down the hallway with his walker. The familiar sound of his twisted gait always caused me pain. That night it was excruciating. I knew that was the last time I would hear that sound.

After helping him get ready for bed, I made my way back to the living room. I turned on the table lamp and slowly reached for the string of Christmas lights wrapped around the blinds. I carefully removed them while fighting unhelpful tears. I gathered the lights together and took them into the bedroom.

“What cha doing?” Richard said. “Bringing the living room to you.” I replied. Fighting tears, he said, “Thank you.” I followed with, “I’m not hauling the rest of that stuff in here. It won’t fit.” We laughed together. We always found ways to laugh together.

So, here I stand today looking at the half lit string of lights. A decision must be made. I walk over to the cabinet and retrieve a new box of Christmas lights I bought at the end of the season for this very reason. I carefully take down the lights in the bedroom and wind them up putting them off to the side. Untangling the new set of lights, I place them around the room in a similar fashion as “Richard’s” lights. The bulbs on this string are all white. They need to look different from Richard’s lights; they are my lights.

The tears have stopped flowing yet there is still a deep sadness. My life is good yet I miss all the wonder of him. I pick up the old lights and take them out to the trash. I don’t need lights to remember him. He will always a part of me. I must continue to move forward.

Resurrecting Larko: It’s a great year.


Canine Companions


Shiloh is on the left. Cricket is on the right.

I am a crazy dog person. I admit I have a problem. It is a problem I fully accept and will do nothing to change.

These two run my life. Very few people know what my furniture looks like without something covering it. Dog hair is on every piece of fabric in my house and I often stumble over dog toys as I move from room to room.

My dogs ride with me in the car whenever weather and schedules allow. I roll down the back windows in the winter time so they can put their heads out and enjoy the fresh air. Fur floats freely throughout the vehicle refusing to be contained even after the fur bearing beasts are back in the house. Leaving signs of ownership, the back windows display masterpieces they create with nose prints and slobber marks.

They are expensive, loud, inconvenient, demanding, limiting and dirty. So why does this insanity continue?

This morning I woke up, saw it was light outside and glanced at the clock. Ah, two more hours of sleep before I need to get up. After being in one position for several hours, it would be helpful to move around a bit to get more restful sleep for the next two hours. Is it worth the risk to show signs of stirring? Feeling stiffness in my shoulder and numbness in my arm, I slowly roll over to the side of the bed and glance at the floor.  “Oh, good, Shiloh must be in the living room.” Carefully, I move myself into a comfortable position and settle in for more sleep. Cricket, seamlessly moves with me, continuing to snore through the process. She pushes herself  toward me resting her head on my leg and offers a loud snort, as if to reprimand me for moving her. At least she settled back in. Whew, it was worth the risk of moving.

Within 30 seconds, I hear the sound. It is a cross between a cry, whine and whimper. “Hi, baby boy.” I say as I reach over to pet Shiloh’s head and scratch his neck. The sound is now accompanied by a wagging tail, attentive ears, a bright toothy smile, breathy pants and a look of love uniquely his. Busted! Now, I know I have to get up and let him out.

As I make my way to the patio door, trying not step on dog toys or wake myself up more than necessary, I say, “Come on, Baby Girl. You are going outside, too.” Cricket dutifully runs down the hall and out the door with Shiloh.

After they come back in the house, I walk back down the hall to the bedroom to try to go back to sleep. I get into bed and Cricket quickly follows, finding her spot. Then it happens. Shiloh jumps up on the bed, over Cricket and around to my other side. He crawls up the side of me, puts his sweet head on my shoulder, snuggles in as close as he can get and mumbles sounds of contentment. Cricket then snuggles in a bit tighter, sighs and begins to snore. Feeling the warm loving presence of my two canine companions on each side of me, I soak in the reward. Ah, a Mommy sandwich. We all fall back asleep and all seems right in my world for another hour.

Feelings of loneliness, grief, uncertainty, sadness and fear are all soothed when I am surrounded by puppy love.

This is why I have dogs.

It’s a great year.

A time for everything.


This afternoon I checked my Facebook from a year ago. This is what I found:

It’s been a challenging 36 hours. Thursday, Richard became more weak than ever before. By evening he was exhibiting very serious new symptoms. He did not want to go to the hospital concerned he would not ever make it home again. We prayed and listened for Divine promptings. Richard had not been able to speak very well but suddenly energy poured out of him and he said God was telling him “it’s not time” and to “fight”. He then handed me the phone and said call 911. After several hours in the emergency room, the conclusion was his blood sugar dropped to a dangerous low (he has no history of blood sugar issues). He was treated and released. The ER doc found another area of great concern needing further testing not related to ALS or low blood sugar. Prayers are appreciated for proper diagnosis and wisdom regarding treatment options. He continues to gain strength and feels so much better! Being aware of the steadfast love and presence of God is truly transforming.

Our lives changed that day. The doctor asked us, “How long has that lump been under his chin?” My response was, “What lump?” As I looked over at Richard lying on the hospital bed, I could see it. His appearance changed so much over the previous year, we hadn’t noticed. His tongue had been paralyzed for months. He thought the degradation of his tongue and rapid weight loss caused the lump he noticed while shaving.

After some tests were run and the results were back, the doctor came into the room and nonchalantly announced, “The apparent squamous cell carcinoma tumor identified a year ago has grown significantly.”

Horrified, I spoke up, “What tumor? All evidence of a tumor was ruled out through biopsies last year.” The doctor replied, “The CT scan shows a large mass at the base of his tongue in the same area identified last January. You will need to see a specialist for further testing as soon as possible.”

After the doctor left us alone, Richard’s response was, “It is what it is. There must be a reason for us to find this now. Perhaps it will help someone.”

It did help many of us. It helped us realize how little time we had left with him and he with us. We were able to live life even more intentionally from that point forward.

So today, I chose to pick up my favorite leash hand woven by Richard and me, call for my walking buddy Shiloh and set out to enjoy a beautiful, sunny, 60 degree day in February. As I walked I decided to go stroll though the nature preserve  Richard and I enjoyed frequently throughout 2015. Instead of pushing a wheelchair, I held my collie close to me as I remembered those walks.

I remember Richard and I marveled at how the preserve changed during the year. We enjoyed the barrenness of the post winter thaw. We saw the first signs of spring as tender green shoots pressed through the muddy ground. Focusing on plant life cycles, we anticipated buds emerging to fill the preserve with endless shades of green and multi colored wild flowers blooming in the weeks to come. We watched for and counted deer each time we visited this sanctuary. Soon we would see fawns welcomed into their families.

We enjoyed watching the fawns grow and the spring evenings turn into warm summer nights.  Taking in the sights and and sounds of this beautiful place, we lingered with nature, God and each other talking about life, love, dying, and God. In the fall of 2015, we knew each visit to the preserve could be our last one together. He was getting weaker and more frail with each passing month.

Often during our walks as the seasons changed, Richard would sing The Byrds song:

“To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep”

We laughed everyday in 2015. He had a really great laugh. I miss hearing his laugh. I miss laughing with him.

We cried together, but not everyday.

Today on the trail, I remembered Richard’s laugh and started to cry. I remembered him singing silly songs on our walks to make me laugh, and I smiled through the tears. As my tears continued to flow, Shiloh became unsettled. I stopped for a few minutes to reassure him and take in my surroundings. Though there are no leaves or flowers yet, there was beauty in what remains. The hope of spring, a resurrection of sorts, was alive all around me.

There is a time for everything. Today, I was given another day to live. It was a day healing came through remembering and weeping over what was lost. It was a time to allow sacred memories to bring smiles through the tears. Today, I was reminded, resurrection comes only through death.

It’s a great day.

Thanks for stopping by.





Finding Home

The last week has been tough for me. Waves of grief have been welling up and crashing into me. Last year at this time, Richard’s physical condition dramatically deteriorated and we entered into his last few weeks of life. Lately, when I look at the date, memories of those days surface and deep sadness sets in. Friday, I realized I needed to spend some time with my Mom and Dad. Looking at the weather report, I began planning a trip to my hometown for the following day.

I woke up Saturday morning two hours before my alarm clock would have sounded its familiar chime. The excitement of spending time in St. Joe was too much to keep me in bed. As my feet touched the floor, my dogs looked up a bit perplexed at the early start. Usually they hear the snooze alarm a couple of times before I get up. With tails wagging, they raced to the patio door and ran out to the back yard with excitement. After doing their “business” and playing for a few minutes, they bolted back toward the house. They knew something special was happening.

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as I began to prepare breakfast for all of us. The familiar travel gear was packed with provisions for the day. After we had our food, it was time to pack up the car and get on the road.

On the ride to St. Joe, I enjoyed the quiet whirring sounds of the road thinking about the day ahead and what my heart needed. Connecting with the steadfast love of my parents made me feel more capable of doing the hard work of grieving. Though I can talk to them anytime, being in my hometown allows me to enter into a different, more simple time of life.

As I drove over the bridge just outside the city, I could see my familiar destination in front of me. Entering into the quaint little town, I parked my car on one of the cobblestone streets downtown. Leaving one snoring dog on the back seat and another nervously wondering where I was going without him, I went into my favorite five and dime to look for treasures.

Throughout my life, my Mom and I spent hours in this store looking through the melange of items to be found among the cluttered aisles and overly packed shelves. The store smelled the same as decades before, a bit earthy, yet not musty. Walking along the rows of merchandise, I smiled as I felt shifting in the worn hard wood floors under my feet and heard the familiar creaking sounds announcing each step. I picked up a few trinkets along the way to take back for my office as new reminders of “home”.

It was time to look for some flowers for my Mom. I think I enjoy getting them for her more than she enjoys receiving them. Who doesn’t like to make Mom smile? I walked over to the flower aisle and looked for the right colors. I chose pink, white and yellow bringing a bit a spring into this special day. I paid for my treasures, held the bag close to me and returned to my car.

As is my tradition, I drove down by the lake and marveled at the beauty all around me; the wind blowing across the lake and over the sand, the waves crashing on the shore. I could feel my blood pressure lower and my heart rate decrease. I delighted in the moment. After being cooped up in the car for a couple of hours, the dogs needed a walk so, I drove up the hill to the bluff where I could see the lake as we strolled along a familiar path.


After trying for 20 minutes to calmly walk the dogs, but failing (they pull me in two different directions), it was time to get back to the car and move on to our next destination. Winding my way through neighborhood streets, I drove slowly past the house I grew up in to see the changes the new owners made after they bought the place. I was hoping the owners wouldn’t see me. Didn’t want them to think I was a stalker. I just wanted to see my childhood home and remember the love we all shared in that space.

Continuing on through town, I turned in to where I would be having lunch with my parents. The overcast, 40 degree February day was a bit chilly but not anything harsh enough to ruin our visit. Leaving the dogs in the car, I parked, gathered the flowers, a waterproof tarp and my food. I walked a few steps, greeted my dearly loved parents with tears flowing down my face and placed the flowers in the ground in front of their gravestone. Clumsily, I laid out the tarp and sat down with my lunch. img_4366

For the next hour or so, I poured my heart out to my parents, with God, knowing He is with all of us. I talked about how sometimes a girl just needs her Daddy to hold her while she cries over a broken heart and her Mommy to play cards with for hours as a fun distraction. Through quiet consistently falling tears, I told them how hard it was to no longer be able to receive those expressions of love from them, yet, the memories are always with me and I am so grateful to be their daughter. They both loved me the best they could for as long as they were able.

We talked about Richard and how they now know  the “real” him. They know how hard it’s been for me to grieve through so many layers of loss. In that sacred space, I knew they loved him too and warmth filled my soul. We talked about how love keeps all of us connected even though we aren’t together physically.

After I finished my salad, cried what seemed like a bucket of tears, I sent a picture of the headstone to my sister in a text saying, “Having a late lunch with Mom and Dad.” She understands what all that means. All four of us siblings miss our parents and realize how fortunate we were to have them as long as we did.

After saying my goodbyes, I gathered up my things and headed to the car. I was greeted with wagging tails and happy faces welcoming me back to the pack. After I put my things on the front seat of the car, I opened the back door to hug my furry babies reassuring them I was ok. Their love is so pure and help fill in the cracks of my shattered heart.

As a magnet to steel, I was compelled to drive by the lake one more time to enjoy the mesmerizing energy of Lake Michigan. I parked by the beach to watch and listen to the waves. It once again provided it’s soothing effect on me. Grateful for the day, it was time to prepare for the drive back to my current home.

The dogs needed a walk, so I drove up and parked once again on the bluff. I got out of the car, leashed up the dogs and I tried to absorb my surroundings one last time. Breathing in the fresh crisp air while enjoying the natural beauty surrounding me, I was caught up in the blessing it was to grow up there.

It was now getting colder and starting to rain. It was time to say goodbye to St. Joe for now. It had been a great day. Everything I hoped it would be and more. I was able to grieve with my parents, grieve for my parents and miraculously receive comfort from the Source connecting us all.

With one dog snoring in the back seat, and another one periodically grumbling in his sleep, I drove out-of-town at dusk remembering the love I experienced in St. Joe through the years is continually with me along side of the love I experience from people in my life now.

Home is where you hold memories of love.

Love is not bound by space or time.

Love never fails.

  Change of Plans


This afternoon, a friend and I planned on meeting for lunch, then going to Meijer Gardens together to enjoy the spring flowers. I arrived at the restaurant first, which was unusual. After waiting until a few minutes after our planned meeting time, it was time to check my messages. This friend is consistently dependable. Sure enough there was a message waiting from earlier this morning indicating a need to reschedule.

One of the downfalls of the digital age is there are several ways to contact someone. This particular path of communication was not one I monitor regularly. My friend wouldn’t know that since it was how we communicated about our plans for the day.

Being in private practice for over 25 years, changes in my schedule are common. Learning through the years, the best way to embrace the opportunity of some unexpected leisure time is to pray for ideas to make the best use of unscheduled time.

The restaurant is close to the gardens so that was still going to be part of the plan. Seeing spring flowers and checking out the other indoor gardens would be refreshing. Since it was a gloriously sunny day, a power walk was in order through the outdoor gardens. Walking around this magnificent place is a treat every season of the year. The walk outside alone was worth the trip. The next few hours were going to be great!

After parking, I began gathering the necessities for my adventure. Pulling out my driver’s license and membership card, it was time to put on my coat, bundle up with a scarf and gloves to enter into the beauty of this winter wonderland. Turning to grab my coat, reality hit; no coat. Ugh! It was bright, sunny and 20 degrees. Known for rarely wearing a coat, it was too cold even for me to walk around outside. Change of plans once again. Sigh.

Deep breath, another prayer, it was time to get out of the car, get my ticket and see what was available in the treasured walled in sanctuary. Walking briskly to the building (it was cold), I had to fight off a bit of frustration at myself for not bringing my coat. Having learned long ago to let go of things unchangeable, I took in another deep breath and entered into the comfort of knowing God was with me and always wanted to show me things. Accepting what happened and being grateful for what remained opened a pathway for peace to wash over me.


Slowing down to simply observe my surroundings, my senses were sharpening. Taking in the mingling of fragrances from the flowers and plants, gazing deeply into the colors and shapes of spring flowers pushing through the ground offered a preview of what will be coming outside in a few weeks. Included in this display were some newly planted spring flowers clearly not surviving their new surroundings. As I looked up, I could see the snow and bare trees through the window from inside this protected paradise. Life could be observed in one glance. Things dormant, emerging, fully developed and dying were all fully present.


After enjoying the spring installation, I was drawn to go into the tropical garden. As the automatic door slid open, I felt the sultry warm air glide across my skin. Looking around this utopia, I could feel the Creator reaching out to me through His creation. Slowly walking along the stone path, breathing in the clean air produced by these amazing living wonders, I realized this is right where I needed to be. Enjoying a change in plans.

Sitting on a bench basking in the awe of each plant, flower, bird and waterfall sound, a couple walked by me then stopped to take a selfie of the two of them by the waterfall. As I typically do when I am at the gardens, especially when I am alone, I said, “Would you like me to take a picture of the two of you by the waterfall?” The man said, “No, thanks. We’re good.” They began to walk away when the girl said to him, ” I would love to have a picture with all of us.” She turned to me saying, “Would that be ok?”  I said, “Of course!”

They went around the corner and called out to a woman. She was the girl’s mother apparently and the guy was the girl’s boyfriend. Both women took off their coats, (they were smart enough to have theirs with them) fussed with their hair, smoothed out their clothes and jewelry preparing for the picture. With gorgeous smiles of delight, the three of them huddled together looking fabulous through the iPhone lens capturing this moment for them. They walked away remarking at what a great picture it was and how happy they were to have it. They were all so grateful for such an easy gesture on my part. They were also able to enjoy my change in plans.

Grabbing my purse, I was drawn to another bench in the tropical garden. As I sat down and looked up through the flowers, trees and vines the sun’s rays flowed through the glass ceiling and covered me like a blanket. I sat soaking in the moment, thanking God for a change in plans.

Enjoying lunch and the gardens with my friend will happen another time. Today was the day for me to slow down, talk with God about the beauty of His creation, take a picture for some strangers, fill up my senses, shop at Trader Joe’s and wash my car.

May you receive every unforeseen opportunity of unscheduled time as a gift. There is a Presence working on your behalf willing to invite you into otherwise overlooked blessings. Allow pieces of your day to come together in ways seemingly impossible. It can all happen with an unexpected change in plans.

Thanks for stopping by.

Let’s make this a great year!

A Picture Paints a Thousand Words


The last week of his earthy life, Richard was in Trillium Woods hospice facility. Terminal restlessness, confusion and hallucinations made it impossible for me to continue caring for him by myself in our home. We knew the cancer was likely spreading into his brain.

Because he was confused and disconnected from what was happening, he had to be taken to the facility by ambulance in the middle of the night. When I arrived at Trillium, he was sitting up and asked if I would go get him chicken McNuggets. It was 3 o’clock in the morning. He was joking, I think. The previous 24 hours he was in and out of reality: he did however really like his McNuggets.

Aside from the ALS and cancer, he was still relatively healthy and young. He was just 59. His heart, lungs and other vital organs were still functioning. Though he was ready to die, his body needed time to shut down. This was going to be a matter of hours, days or weeks; no one but God could know.

The staff at Trillium is outstanding. I knew he would receive exceptional care. Before Richard got sick, I used to take Shiloh, our Collie, to visit patients and families while they were going through this process. Hospice workers are a rare breed. They are given the ability to love beyond the norm.

After that first night, he was no longer able to interact with us. The medical team kept him sedated to keep him safe. The first few nights, I stayed with him overnight. Periodically throughout the night, I would gently slip onto the bed, lay next to him and hold him. Telling him how proud I was of him and how much I loved him, I assured him it was ok for him to let go and he was “ending well”. That was his greatest desire, to end well.

Overcoming the life long pattern of hiding guilt and shame with drugs and alcohol, the last year with him was nothing short of miraculous. He was fully present every waking hour. He was attentive to the needs of others before his own. Every opportunity to encourage someone was embraced with love and laughter even through drooling. Richard became so “other “focused, he didn’t care if he drooled. Loving was so much more important than appearance.

The life of addiction requires blame shifting to protect the lifestyle. During his last year, he took every possible opportunity to make amends and take full responsibility for the hurt he caused. Focused on the needs of those who cared about him as well as strangers, he spoke life into us every day. He wanted to try to make up for all the years he was emotionally absent.

A couple of weeks before he went into hospice, we were having our daily, “How are you doing?” conversation.  This became our daily routine throughout that last year. An opportunity to talk about life, death, dying, transformation, love, God and anything else we needed to share, was necessary for us.  Richard, through tears, said, “I want to hang on as long as possible to give you, my kids and my mom what you need to make this transition easier on you. I spent so many years turning away from you. Now that I know how to love, I don’t want to take that away from you again.”

I was listening to his sweet, sensitive, sincere heart, as a question only the Spirit could give me flowed out. “Richard, in all the years of addict insanity, did you ever ask God to do whatever it would take to make you stop hurting the people you love?” He replied, “Thousands of times.” I said, “What you have done this last year by being present with us has brought tremendous healing. As you have told me many times, you know you were only able to do this because of getting ALS. Knowing you were dying was the final catalyst to step into the reality of living. If this is what it took, is it worth it to you?” He, without a second’s hesitation said, “Absolutely. I would give my life to heal the hurt I caused.”

All we ever wanted was Richard to be Richard. He ran away from himself and us for years. The last year of his life we had him and he was wonderful. The courage it took him to do what he did in that transforming process still amazes me. He was physically dying yet mentally and emotionally coming alive. It was a privilege to watch.

This picture is the last picture we have “together”. I took it a day or two before his heart stopped beating. The last night I stayed with him, I held his hand all night long and most of the next day. Though his body was shutting down, I could still feel warmth in his hand.  I wanted him to be free from this broken down body. The chronic pain perpetuating the addiction, the addict thought patterns he had to fight so continuously, guilt and shame from choices he made and every lie he believed about being inadequate, not good enough or a failure would be eliminated permanently.

Feeling the warmth in his hand, I soaked in the moment as tears streamed down my face. His beautiful, sparkling, bright, blue eyes which were so clear the last year were now dull and void of emotion. He was already in a better place, all that remained was a portion of him connected to his physical body. I wanted to hold on to his warmth for just awhile longer; to remember the last year and thank God for the man he became. He found freedom to be Richard, living in reality, with us. Many people would say how sad it was he couldn’t have found it sooner. We just celebrated it happened at all.




Choices, Choices, Choices.


A few weeks ago, I decided to not schedule clients today. The plan was to meet with my spiritual director and spend the rest of the day hanging out with the Creator. There were some grief issues I needed help sorting out. Last week, those issues were resolved leading me to postpone my session. Now, I could take an entire day to focus on embracing my connection with God.

Late last night, a progressive wave of grief surged from deep within me and felt like it was going to take me out. This sorrow presented as overwhelming loneliness. Emptiness of this kind does not come from me being alone. Measured time in solitude is something necessary for me to recharge. There was something stirring in me needing attention.

Knowing my schedule was clear today helped me remember Divine Love works mysteriously and often with simplicity. Holding on to Love, I stayed up very late pressing into deeply painful emotions. Allowing and inviting every painful memory of loneliness to surface enabled me to release them. Trusting the One holding all of eternity together allowed me to sleep peacefully knowing this process would continue the next day.

Instead of trying to figure out what happened last night, today was the time to listen; just as planned weeks ago. This afternoon, some of the pieces starting coming together. Last night, I thought the loneliness was coming from thinking I will be alone the rest of my life. Today, I know it has nothing to do with the rest of my life. The loneliness was coming from the past.

When we love someone who is emotionally unavailable for whatever reason, it is profoundly lonely. Though Richard and I were together for 17 years, over 15 of those, he shut me out. He blocked everyone out. Last night, I was finally strong enough to make room for the embedded emptiness to be recognized and validated.

The grief was not related to Richard passing away and no longer being with me. It was sorrow from the years of being alone while we were married. In order to stay with Richard, I had to minimize and deny the excruciating pain of loneliness. Today, I can see it for what it is and gratefully allow acceptance, forgiveness and pure Love to cleanse and fill the void.

As for the rest of my life, I would like to share my life with someone again. We are created to love and be loved. There is comfort knowing, though the desire is there, it is not mandatory. Having a life partner who is “present” would be spectacular. For the time being, my life is full of deeply satisfying relationships.

May you offer yourself the space and energy necessary to explore what might be lingering inside of you because of painful experiences from the past. Allow the greatest Advocate to be your guide, paving a road of compassion to liberate parts of you held captive. In so doing, may you discover strength, contentment and the peace that passes understanding.

Thanks for stopping by.

Let’s make this a great year!