Brooklyn's Wish Trip

It's been a week since we went on Brooklyn's wish trip... a one week all-inclusive vacation to Florida, complete with Disney and Universal passes. I cannot believe how quickly it came, how much fun we had, and that it is already one week in the past.

People keep asking if we had fun, and Brooklyn replies with, IT WAS AWESOME.
I feel like that's an understatement.
The truth is, our vacation was mind-blowing.

You know how you feel as a parent, when Christmas morning rolls around and your kids rush downstairs, screaming and cheering to see what Santa left them? Or how you feel when you hold your newborn child in your arms for the first time? Or how you get choked up when you watch a video about a rescued pup who loves his family so much he won't leave their side?

ALL THE FEELS. As the kids say.

Well this trip was better than all of that.
It was sustained bliss.
Complete and utter joy.

It was heaven on earth.

Our trip to Give Kids the World Village (GKTW) was bigger, sweeter and more impactful than I even imagined was possible for our family.

We laughed all day.
We ate too much (they make the BEST chocolate chip cookies)
We rarely said no. To anything.

I woke up every morning to our three children giggling and laughing together in their shared bedroom. One day Brooklyn even admitted to 'giving Ethan a noogie' in order to wake him up to play.

We had impromptu coffee cart deliveries in our driveway, Dippin Dots and dance parties, Christmas celebrations in October and Brooklyn participated in her first-ever food challenge. The cafeteria happily ensured Ethan's dairy allergy was a non-issue, we rode the carousel after ever meal and we met AMAZING families who courageously shared their stories with us while our kids bonded and played.

BROOKIE AND I ATE ICE CREAM FOR BREAKFAST.
It was the best banana split of my life.

We visited all four Disney parks, and the defining moment came when the kind staff at Epcot SHUT DOWN the Frozen Anna and Elsa character meet and greet so Brooklyn could spent dedicated time with each princess.

It's hard to explain what happened in that 10 minutes, perhap it was much shorter than that but the impact it had will never leave me.

You see, when Brookie was at the hospital recovering, post surgery, she had a wound infection that pushed her discharge date back by more than five days. On one, particularly painful day we received a surprise visitor... a music therapist. Brookie strummed away, singing a line that gives me chills, 'they say have courage, and I'm trying to," you can watch a video snippet if you've not seen it before.

We spent hours, her and I, watching Frozen and singing along over the days and weeks surrounding her diagnosis. It was a safe place for us to get away, and enjoy a sure thing, the only 'for sure' at that moment in time.

Fast forward to our trip, and this photo:

LOOK AT HER FACE!
HER SMILE!

This is the exact moment I started bawling like a crazy cancer mom. The memories of her time at Mac flooded back. The songs, her time with the music therapist and watching the hours tick by.... tick tock tick tock tick tock....

I couldn't breathe, for a minute. I literally felt another layer drop off my shoulders.
A bad memory was replaced by a good one.

This was magic.
Pure magic.
Heaven on earth.

The week went by so quickly. Our family connected on a deeper, more authentic level than ever. I floated in the pool and realized I didn't spend even one day floating in my pool at home, because I was too busy to enjoy it this past summer. I vowed to slow down again.

I realized my children are getting older, but fart jokes really are still funny, especially when Ethan refers to shooting a bomb out in our villa.

I noted the way Brooklyn scrunches her nose when she is laughing like a crazy women in the Ice Cream Palace.

I saw Nolan's self confidence climb through the roof by simply being brave enough to ride a horse at Keaton's Korral.

I watched my husband cry, more than I've ever seen in my life. Tears of joy, gratitude and release. I was so proud and overwhelmed by the way he bared his feelings in front of the kids and I.

(And Jay, my heart was overwhelmed when you pointed out to Nolan that our Prime Minister was crying on TV, following Gord Downie's death. I loved the way you said to him - see buddy, its always ok to cry - if the guy who runs our country does it on TV then its always ok for you to - But, my dearest husband, you already showed him this while on our trip... and for that I am forever grateful)

Disney is magic.
But Give Kids the World Village is so much more than that.

We will never, ever forget our time there.
And we cannot wait to visit as an alumni family in the future <3

To all of you - donors, volunteers, board members - associated with Help a Child Smile....
Thank you. You're generous hearts have impacted us beyond words and measure.

To the over 1700 volunteers and staff a week who make Give Kids the World Village a place of sustained bliss... Thank you. Your energy and love was felt every, single day.


xoxo

The teachings of my soul

Last week I got lost in the busyness of life.

(If I'm being honest, I've been lost most of the summer)

Many of my worst habits... to do lists, late night notes to myself, an overly full calendar.... have come back in full force as I attempt to control my world.

But back to last week.

Last week was a particularly crazy week, one where I literally spent hours preparing for a weekend event that I look forward to every year. I was making phone calls and sending texts, I was confirming rules and considering all angles to ensure the best possible chance for success. 

Hours.

I'm not even kidding.

Then, the weekend arrives. I was overpacked, my brain was still swimming with all the busy of the week but my heart was happy as I was about to spend my weekend with some of my favourite people.

Then, get this.

Despite my organization, time spent and energy expelled all week, it blew up in my face.

Literally, another human being blew up in my face.

Crap.

Really?

If you know me personally, you know how much I hate conflict.

It makes my skin crawl. 

Call me an idealist, but I like to think that words are powerful enough to deflate most conflicts, and that if we take time to check our perspectives we can almost always see another side of the story.

But this weekend, despite my very best efforts to promote smooth sailing, I hit a massive wave.

I can't even tell you how much it hurt my heart. 

Hurt.

My.

Heart.

But it happened, and I left feeling unheard, disrespected and totally overwhelmed.

In fact I spent most of my day feeling sick to my stomach.

And it didn't matter how much I prepared, because it didn't help me.

Huh.

Sometimes life just throws us a curveball. 

Acts in a way which is contrary to every plan, scenario and best practice.

Sometimes we just aren't prepared.

Sometimes no one listens.

Sometimes no one wants to listen.

Sometimes we just can't win.

Sometimes words aren't enough.

And so despite living with an awareness of self, despite my every effort to be kind, speak calmly under distress and build mutual respect, sometimes life just doesn't work that way.

All I can do now, is listen to the teachings of my soul.

It continues to say, love, even when others don't love you.

Breathe deeply and speak calmly when you want to explode.

Love friends like family, because they really are the family you choose.

Fail and keep failing, but never ever stop living with optimism.

Thank those who support you, but appreciate those who do not, for they help you grow.

Remember that faith can heal a hurting heart.

And hugs really do make a tough day better.

And finally, never, ever let another person's opinion of you, become you. 

I am not what you think.

I am what I know, deep inside.

Chin up, heart open and soul bared.

Always.

Courtesy Buddha Doodles

Kindness in the Chaos

I am three weeks into my new position, and as expected, we are hitting some bumps in the road. The timing of this transition couldn’t be worse, as we are knee deep in summer sports and out of the house pretty much every night of the week.

The kids are super tired.
My brain is on overload.
Jay and I have had very little quality time together.

Change, as always, takes time.

I am still firm in my belief that this is the right time.
Right position.
Right reason.

As I keep swimming, head just above water, something heart warming happened this week.

I ran to the local drug store for a few items, my boys in tow. At the checkout, Nolan asked for a pack of gum (he has always been an opportunist). I wanted to resist, but such a simple request was really no reason to do so. The gum landed in my pile and as the last item was scanned, he asked for a second pack.

‘For Brooklyn’, he said earnestly. 

And so I bought two overpriced packs of gum, and we went home to pack up and leave for another baseball game. Later than night, I found this on the window sill of Brooklyn’s room:

It made me smile.

The crazy melted off my face.

We are a family of note leavers.
Sign makers.
Love sharers.

And here, despite the chaos, was a little piece of sibling love.

My heart sang.

Life is so good, if we just stop and see it.

The next morning I left for a full day of baseball fun in the sun with Nolan. Brooklyn, Ethan and Jay stayed home. As a very close family, we truly dislike being in two places, as logical and wise as we know these decisions are for our sanity and wellness.

All of us had a great day, but we missed each other like crazy.

When I stepped in the door last night, this was on the kitchen table.

  

Oh my heart.

Despite the migranes.

Arguments.

Exhaustion.

Overly busy week.

Here was this little piece of love and kindness.
A small exchange of big feelings.
A reminder that the little things, always matter.

Especially in the chaos.

Let me explain....

Next week I go 'back to work' as I've been saying to my kids.

This statement is false. I've been working as a freelancer and adjunct professor for five years since my last full time job. And work, oh man have I ever worked. I went back to work a week after an emergency c-section, newborn in one hand and two needy siblings in the background begging for playmates, food and attention. I worked away more weeknights than when I was in university. I lost most Sunday-fundays to a desk in the corner, one floor from my kids and hubby's laughter.

The last five years were the hardest of my life.

Every hour that I worked,
Every moment of my professional life,
Chosen to avoid interference with my priority.

Motherhood.

For the last five years,
My every thought.
Every choice,
Every priority,
Was my children.

That's a little crazy to 'say' out loud.

I never imagined feeling so passionately about being a mom.
I didn't know children would take over my heart and soul and mind.
I had no idea my whole world would change the moment I became a mother.
That my family would supersede my career.
That I'd be willing to work less, and spend more time, with tiny humans.

Yet here we are.
And the last five years are coming to a close.

Like the end of a maternity leave, where mom talks about 'going back to work', I find myself having similar discussions with my kids about how life is about to change.

I will not pick them up from school at the end of the day.
I will not go on every class trip.
I will not be home with them, this summer.
This is the hard part.
I adore these pieces of my life.

But wait.
Let me explain....

In all honesty, I have come to notice, in the last year, that my children and I have developed some borderline unhealthy co-dependencies.

They cry when I leave for meditation, stating they miss me too much when I am gone.
They need me to 'help them' with small tasks, simply because they want me to be in the same room.
They nnnneeeeeeeedddddd me, all-the-time.

And truthfully, I need them too.
I feel lost when they are not around.
I love to be free of parenting duties, but spend all my time thinking about them when I'm not with them.

Kind of crazy, right?

We are super attached.
SUPER ATTACHED.
And now it's time for us to find some space.

Space for my children.
To explore their own abilities.
To gain new skills.
To mature and grow and learn, without me... sometimes...

Space for me.
To focus more time on my career.
On my health.
On my healing.

I do not anticipate it being easy.
But I know we are rooted in strong values.
Unconditional love.
Mutual respect.
Faith.
And family, always, at the heart of our being.

On Sunday we went and had some family photos taken. On the drive home my oldest asked if he could have copies of the mommy-kids and daddy-kids photos. When asked why, he expressed that he would like to display them in his room because they were special to him. His sister and little brother swiftly echoed his thought with a 'me, too' and in that moment I smiled knowing that everything was going to be just fine, with this little family of mine <3

Unpack the bag

I had a really interesting conversation with a friend today.

We were discussing how she and I have both suffered trauma, around fertility and motherhood. We have both endured deep heartache, but for different reasons. Our journeys have taken us along different paths, but we quickly found commonality in the weight of it all.

Trauma
Grief
Loss
Heartache.

They are pretty darn heavy.
Like a tote bag strapped awkwardly over our shoulder.
Hanging there, obvious and heavy.
Awkward.
Uncomfortable.

We both agreed that at one time, that bag of heartache ruled us.
We were defined by it.
Owned by the emotional baggage.

We chose to wear it.
Every.
Single.
Day.

We struggled unsuccessfully to adjust it.
We couldn't manage life with or find the energy to carry around that damn bag all the time.

It was exhausting.
We were owned by our heartache.
Our sorrow ran the day.
The past was in charge of our every moment.

Thankfully, somewhere along the way, we realized the bag had to be put down.

Opened up.
Unpacked.
Put away.

We realized that we couldn't go on forever.
Managing that bag full of hurt.
Pain and grief.
Lost hopes.
Shattered dreams.

THANK GOD we realized it needed to put it down.

Wrapped in courage, we unpacked the bag.
Scary as it was, as hard as it was.
As long as it took.

And in that bag we found memories worthy of shelf space.
Released the heavy feelings out the window.
Found tiny pieces of silver that made us smile.

And we agreed to never wear that bag again.
Because it did not serve us any longer.

We were not defined by that traumatic time.
That loss nor diagnosis.

We realized that living in the past, hurt us in the present.

Unpacking that heavy bag did not lessen the experience or dishonour the life we were grieving, but rather released us from it's weight on our shoulders and heart.

We became free to live again.
Soar again.
Feel lightness again.

We made space.
Took up distance.

-------------------

Most of us endure really difficult experiences.
Incomprehensible pain.
Immeasurable grief.

As much as we want to stop, control or remove it from our lives, it's just not possible.

At some point we have to notice the weight.
Make the conscious decision that it is too heavy.
And breathe in the courage to overcome that which is ruling our life.

So please, only carry your bag for a while.
Don't let your every today be weighted by the past.

Please, get help.
Let others assist as you carry that bag.
Take breaks now and again, and let that heartache sit in idle timeout, beside your feet.

When you are ready, unpack the bag.
Find homes for the memories.
Enjoy life once again, holding those little pieces of silver as a reminder of your strength and love.

xoxo

One year down!

Today marked a very special occasion...
the end of Brooklyn's first year of after-care protocol.

Today we learned that she is still cancer free.
NED.
No evidence of disease.

Her results were PERFECT.
100% perfect.

She has gained 15lbs since her cancerous tumour was removed and sprouted almost 8cm (3 inches) in 11 months. Even her feet have grown nearly two sizes. She looks incredible, healthy and well. She is smarter than ever, working on grade two spelling words and practicing for her dance recital in June.

Her anxiety is manageable.
She is happy more often than sad.
Long, gorgeous hair is growing like mad.

God is good.
My heart is so damn happy.

While waiting for her oncologist to call her in, I took this photo.

With those bright, beautiful eyes of hers, she asked if we could confide in each other. We had made 'wish chip' wishes at lunch time, and she wanted to know if we had the same wish.

I told her the truth.
I wished for a clean scan, cancer free, and no appointments until October.

She looked at me and smiled.
"Me too, Mama."
Then she went back to her toys.

Well, warrior princess, wish granted.
Fuck you, cancer. You cannot bully us for six whole months.

#TeamBrooklyn #WarriorPrincess

Father Fear

Lately I've noticed fear hanging around.

Sometimes it's dark and heavy.
Other times it's quietly casting shadows.

But it's there.
Fear.

It's an interesting emotion. One I didn't always view as such.
Sometimes it looked like anxiety. Or anger. Or sadness.
Deep down, though, at the root of all those other emotions was simply fear.

Father Fear as I like to call it.
The one that has existed forever.
The one I rarely question.
It's so deeply rooted in my life experiences it becomes truth.

I am honestly scared to walk alone, day or night.
I am afraid that any depressed person I know will consider suicide.
I hear the word cancer and I cannot breathe.

Fear.
Big Father Fear.
Paralyzing, heart pounding, dream squashing fear.

Why do I let it win?
Why don't I question it?
Since when does fear trump passion? faith? love?

Truth is, I don't have the answer.
But I know this:

Fear + Courage = Progress

Just last week, for the first time ever, Brooklyn met a big, ongoing medical fear, and showed great courage. She breathed, remained calm and believed she could. And she did.

Major progress.

Five years ago, scared out of my mind, I left my full time job to spend more time with my children.  I found courage to let go of assumptions and ideals and the opinions of others. Thanks to a courageous heart, I have spent the last five years amassing time and memories with my children, without a single regret.

This is massive personal progress on my path to a life well-lived.

So now, it's time.
To have courage, once again.
All of us.
To really live our lives.
Love our here and now.

Engage our passion.
Make our perfect moment.
Manage without the money. time. guarantee.
Embrace the nonlinear path.

Find our courage.
Breathe.
Stay calm.
Have faith.
And love.

The only way to beat Father Fear, is to embrace him.

A little unsteady

Three months down, and I am not a fan of 2017.

I have friends fighting bitter divorce and custody disputes.

Friends who have lost their children.

Friends battling bullies like radiation, depression and infertility.

Friends in a self-described funk.

I know people who are struggling, 

I am struggling,

to understand why life can be so outrageous and cruel.

I have nightmares about cancer, head lice and broken cell phones.

I worry about doctor appointments, childhood friendships and my career.

A headache turns into brain surgery and a stomach ache turns into relapse, if I don't stop myself from going all the way there.

"Hold

 Hold on
 Hold on to me
 'Cause I’m a little unsteady
 A little unsteady" - X Ambassadors

There is a collective sense of unsteady. 

We are collectively holding our breath.

It's time to take back our power.

Breathe, friends.

Breathe, self.

Anchor.

One day.
One hour.
One breath at a time.

We will persist.

We will rise.

We will triumph.

We will strengthen.

And in the meantime, we will hold on, together.

We are not alone.

We are simply unsteady.

In comes the slow

Slow.
Not snow, like you probably assumed?

It's March Break in Ontario, and yesterday we had a pretty great snowstorm.
I say great mildly. I dislike snow more than most, and it's March, afterall.

But something cool happened in my home yesterday.
We slowed down.
Waaaaay down.

We wore our jammies into the middle morning hours.
We watched shows together.
Played with puzzles.
Thought about doing a cool craft.. ok, we lost track of time on this one...

But seriously.
We slowed down.

In came the storm.
In came the slow.

I really needed the snow.

Yesterday reminded me how fast I was going.
How fast my mind was racing.
How much time I had spent, over the last two weeks, worrying about getting 'it' all done.

Why do we do that?
Why, in this developed world, do we ruminate on to-do lists? deadlines?

The list will never end.
And neither, I suspect, will the busy.

Perhaps this is why Mother Nature blessed us with snow and wind and craziness.

To remind us to slow down.
Be present at home.
Love the stillness.

The best moment of my day yesterday was curling up in the very old reclining chair in my living room with Ethan. He was still groggy and warm from his nap. We snuggled under the oldest quilt in the house and watched the snow out the front window.

For five solid minutes we watched.
Not a word.
Not a sound.
Just our breath.
Each other.
Snow.

And in that moment, the slow, stillness of life refreshed my spirit.
Relieved my soul's heaviness.
Reset my heart.

<3 <3 <3

She endured

As we celebrate International Women's Day, I wanted to share a little about my amazing Babcia.

Born in Poland, taken by the Nazis at age 15 as a prisoner of war, she was clearly a special woman, as she faced atrocities we can only imagine. She witnessed death, felt unimaginable sadness and never saw her family again.

Despite her time in camp, she survived.

My grandmother was one of the lucky ones.

She endured.

She survived and she met my grandfather, a man I never met but one she loved dearly and off they went. First they lived in England, and then eventually the wedded couple boarded a ship which took them to Montreal.

They became new Canadians.

Immigrants who were welcomed to our country.

Settled in Fort Erie.

Welcomed four kids.

And then my grandfather died.

Once again, my Babcia endured.

She raised four children.

Learned english.

Worked.

Made most of her children's clothing.

She endured.

Her legacy rests on my ring finger.

Her wedding band became mine. 

A modest yellow gold band, a reminder to keep things simple.

She is my anchor.

My focal point during life's storms.

Rising with the tide.

Rolling with the waves.

Enduring each storm.

Anchored in love.

Faith in God.

Hope during trials.

Love at the root of all decisions.

Today, on International Women's Day, I encourage you to honour the generations of amazing women who paved the way for your very life today. Aunts, grandmothers, sisters and mothers.

Women who endured, so that we may do so as well.

#IWD 

One year and a lifetime ago

Today is Brooklyn's one year cancer-free-iversary.

One year ago, doctors meticulously removed her tumour, diagnosed as stage one neuroblastoma for the mix of benign and malignant cells inside its walls. The cancer had not spread beyond her tumour, a reality I like to call being lucky, as far as unlucky goes.

One year ago we began healing.
All of five of us.

First, Brooklyn's physical body.
Her bravery lines.

Then, mom and dad's physical selves.
Back pain. Acid reflux. Sleep issues.

Now, all five of us are focused on our mental health.
Kicking the nightmares.
Lessening the anger.
Managing the guilt.
Feeling the sadness.

All this and we are the lucky family.
We endured a mere five weeks of treatment.
Quarterly follow ups.
A healthy child.
(This is where my guilt takes hold)

Thankfully Brooklyn is finally speaking about her time in treatment, thanks to an incredible play therapy program offered by Wellspring Niagara, which is led by Liz Christie of Playful Solutions. Just last week she said to Liz that every child with cancer is sad, but that sadness is really just being afraid. She has been able to articulate, through sand tray therapy, that sadness has taken her heart, a crushing reality of childhood cancer and medical trauma.

Her progress is slow but reassuring.
And we are grateful.

Little brother still clings, worries with every doctor's appointment and hugs his sister like a deity.
Big brother still feels jealous of the attention she has received, but we're discovering a level of anguish in his anger which seems to be tied very closely to all that happened last year.

And we were the lucky family.
Our daughter is alive.
NED.

She has grown over 10lbs and 3 inches in the last year.
Her hair, ironically cut as a Wigs for Kids donation two summers ago is growing long and thick.
She expresses her desire to be a dance teacher, play therapist, babysitter and mommy someday.
She reads beyond her grade level and next week will be doing a long first reading of Genesis at her school's monthly mass.

She's a freakin' rockstar.
A Warrior Princess.

So, in honour of this special day, we've decided on morning muffins, pasta day at school and then a meal at the kids' favourite restaurant.

We will laugh, eat and play as a family.
Be together as a family of five.
Tell the guilt of having a healthy child to go away, for a day, so we can celebrate.

Today, our Warrior Princess is one year NED.
And our prayers tonight will be plentiful.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

Performance indicators of a life well-lived

Today marks exactly five years since I announced I was leaving an awesome full time job to become a freelance work-at-home mom. It was a very scary decision, but it felt innately comfortable.

Five years and a lifetime ago.

What astounds me about the last five years is that I do not have a single regret.

I do not regret putting my career on the back burner.
I do not regret the late, late work nights.

Not the burn out.
Not the exhaustion.
Not even the lack of 'me time'.

Don't get me wrong, the last five years have been incredibly difficult.
Painful at times, both physically and emotionally.

But my performance indicators were simple.
My decision to leave my career was based on the desire for simple things.

Balance in our home.
Time with our children.
A deeper family love.

I say 'our' in each of those first two statements because this wasn't a decision I made alone. I made it with my greatest cheerleader and best friend in life and parenting. We made this decision together.

To have less vacations.
But more time.

To buy less stuff.
But share more meaningful moments.

The performance indicators of my freelance business were not what a student reads in business texts.

I did not intend to build a large clientele.
I had no desire to work entrepreneurial hours to grow financially.

I chose balance.
I worked some, but less than full time.
I said no to projects, if they threatened my ability to be a mom.
I turned down dozens, dare I say hundreds of networking opportunities.

All to be with my family. At home. Together.
And I regret none of it.

So while a textbook may say that, by growth standards, I have failed, I am proud to have succeeded in business the last five years based on the deeply personal and engaging relationships I have with all three of my children as well as the equally strong and loving relationship I have with my husband.

Life is not always about income.
A position title on a business card.
Professional growth.

For some of us, at one time or for a long time, the performance indicators of a life well-lived are simply based on love, family and balance.

All the way there

I've been a bit of a mess this month.

We've dealt with our usual MRI appointments and follow ups (which were all NED, thank God), a lovely bout of lice (yes, you read that correctly) and the back-to-school-crazy-transition that rocks the lives of parents the world over.

It has been grey and rainy outside for a couple of weeks.
A new world leader took power, threatening peace.
People are protesting.
Hearts are angry.
So much negativity.

My instinct has been to retreat.
Into my house.
My family.
My thoughts.

I didn't realize how much I was holding inside until this week, when I finally had a good cry and was honest with my husband.

Truth is, I am struggling.
Not with worry.
Not with anxiety.
I think I am just sad.

The reminder posts on social media of the events that took place this time last year are very overwhelming. Full of emotion and fear, it's almost as if I am re-living it all now, a year later.

As my husband puts it, we went all the way there.
We didn't just think about our child having cancer, we actually heard real words from real people.
We are reminded every three months that it could come back.
We belong to a club of amazing people with the worst possible connection.

We went all the way there.
All the way.

As another cancer mom explained it to me, we aren't fearful of what COULD happen.
We re-live what DID happen.

And so as this month comes to a close I am doing something I haven't done in 10 odd years. I am going to donate blood.

To honour another childhood cancer warrior and his family.
A friend's mom gone 15 years.
All who battle this horrific beast.

I will lean into the sad.
Stand strong and rooted in my fierce desire for peace.
I will go all the way there.
And grow as a result.
<3

This race called life

Sometimes it takes a whole year to realize how far you've come.

The last twelve months began like a sprint, then politely dropped into a cross country race.

Slow and unwavering.

Eyes on the path.

Steady pace.

Able to speak, yet completely out of breath.

Capable of continuation, however yearning to quit.

Heart pumping, chest thumping.

I don't know alot about running, but I gather there are three ways to get through a race.

The first is to isolate.

Run alone.

Listen only to the voices in your head.

Ego, its name.

Risking its accuracy and truth.

Forever being your own cheerleader.

The second is to compare.

The runner ahead is faster than me, so obviously better than I am.

The runner behind me can't keep up, they must be in really awful shape.

I am doing better than some, worse than others.

Rank-ordering pain and therefore outcomes.

The third is to belong.

I am a runner in this race called life.

So too, are these companions on the journey.

We are all struggling for breath.

We have our great races, and our really difficult ones.

But we all suffer and celebrate, together.

Sometimes we choose to isolate. Exhaustion and depression are often the result.

Sometimes we choose to compare. Fear and anxiety are often the result.

But when we choose to belong, we hit the sweet spot.

Whether it is my daughter's cancer.

Your husband's unusual illness.

Her mother's death.

His traumatic childhood.

If we belong, we are strong.

Our hearts fill with love and we say,

Me too.

I understand.
Your pain is my pain.

And the divine presence above us shines light on our souls and says, thank you.

This was your lesson to learn.

<3 <3 <3