Erica the Astrologer

Yes, even my cart takes me around the monotony-bend to choreville.  And, it’s my least favorite section where it’s too hot and smelly – it’s the garage.

My husband and I sorted, cleaned, agonized over “tossing” this and that.  I have so much of my mothers things, spread throughout my house and the garage.

We condensed our kids’ old boxes and decided to toss old shoes and clothes.  While looking through a box marked “Sue/Ash – purses & hats,” I found an envelope sticking out of an old purse.  It was from a visit with an astrologer over ten years earlier, and inside I found all my notes and my astrological chart.  Honestly, at that moment the idea of a fun mental break was appealing, so I pulled up a chair and started reading.

*The heading at the top of the first page read:

Genesis, Chapter 1 – line 14, And God said let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and for years.

At the bottom was information about understanding astrology along with the astrologer’s name, Erica, and her phone number.

I’d taken notes based on Erica’s reading of my chart, and listed details that she provided to me.

Reading over my headings and notes, I became intrigued by her thoughts, questions and predictions.  I remembered my visit and the hour-long discussion with her instantly.  This was over a decade ago, but it felt like I was just there.  I sat in the moment, reading and remembering.

Erica, the astrologer, did business out of her home.  She was the weekly guest on a popular morning radio show, which is how I found her.  However, I remember being a little apprehensive about my reading.  Several co-workers and I thought it would be fun to see what she had to say, but I didn’t take it too seriously.

Erica’s home was beautiful, in a very upscale area with a magnificent entryway.  Well, at least she’s successful I thought, as I rang the doorbell.

The door opened.  “Hi, I’m Erica, and you must be Susan,” she said while extending her hand.

We shook hands.  “It’s great to meet you, Erica.  I’ve been looking forward to this afternoon – I waited three weeks for an appointment.”

“Great, me too.  Come on in and let’s get started.”  Erica had long blonde hair and a warm smile.   She guided me to her home office and we sat down at a beautiful oak desk.

As she looked over her prepared information, she confirmed my date and time of birth.  “Okay, you were born at 2:11 in the afternoon on December 18^th, a week before Christmas.  Wow, what a present you were, right?”

“Yes, my mother always tried to keep my birthday and Christmas separate.  The day after my birthday, we’d put up the Christmas tree and decorate.  It worked well –  a shorter season with the house in disarray.”

Erica let me know that we would go over some things and that if I had specific questions, I could ask them towards the end.  I thought that was perfect because I didn’t have any questions.

“First thing,” she said, looking at me with surprise.  “Something big happened when you were born.”

“Hmm… no, not that I know of.  I was small, weighed six pounds eleven ounces, I think.  But I’ve never heard that there was any problem. But, I’m not really sure.”

“Maybe around your birth, say within the first three months, something life changing, altering, happened to you.  Does that sound like anything you would have heard about from your mom or dad?”

“Wow, not at all, but I’ll ask and see what I can come up with.”

I wrote on my pad of paper:  Something happened TO me when I was born – within the first three months!

“Let’s talk about more recent events.  You married when you were young, right?  You have kids and you take care of kids?”

“I did, I got married at 18 and we have two kids.”

“And there are other children in your life, or you take care of them?”

“We did foster care for a few years, but it was hard on my kids so we stopped,” I explained. “My kids were just four and six years old at the time and they were learning some things that were not appropriate.  We fostered a sibling group of three, between the ages of two and 5 years old, for about a year.  As soon as they were placed with a family we didn’t take any more foster children.”

“Which explains to me what I’m seeing for you down the road, you will have more kids in your life.”  She nodded to herself as she studied my chart.

I fidgeted in my chair and told her, “Oh, no way, my husband didn’t really enjoy the experience. I don’t think we’ll be doing it again.  It was something I really wanted to do, but foster care involves the entire family, a 24/7 way of life.  And, he had a vasectomy which takes care of any more natural born children.”

“Well, you’ll have to let me know… say, within the next five years how things work out.”  Erica leans forward and looks at me intently.  “Now let’s talk about your kids.  I see a monumental change in your life and it’s coming from your daughter when she’s around 18.  Your kids, they’re your life and you love them very much, but you have to remember that a parent’s job is to raise their children to be the best adults they can be.  Then you have to let them go and spread their wings and be independent.  With independence comes mistakes, and that’s how we all learn.  Yes, she’ll cause you great trouble and there will be challenges.”

“Erica, my daughter Ashleigh is amazing – and right now she’s ten.  I cannot imagine that she’d cause any real trouble; it’s not her nature.  She is the kindest, most helpful and caring young lady.  Seriously, everyone loves her and I mean that, even her brother who’s eight years old adores her, and they’re best friends.”

I’m starting to wonder about this astrologer as I write down: Our family will have more kids, or watch more kids?

Ashleigh will cause us great trouble when she’s 18.

Erica continued, “Your son, he’s basically steady and he’ll do very well, be well known, somewhat famous as an adult.”

“That does not surprise me – Hayden is very different.  Even at 8 he has a unique personality and sense of humor.  I can totally see him as an actor or maybe even in politics, but Ashleigh and trouble, I cannot see that.”

“Let’s talk about death, if that’s alright?” Erica asked.

I nodded.  “I’m a Christian, and death doesn’t really freak me out, so that’s fine.”

“Well, good then.”  She laughs.  “You know that when a body dies it’s just a shell, the body we were given for our time here.  I don’t have information that someone in particular is going to die, and if I did I wouldn’t share that.  But everyone has death in their family and I wanted to touch on the subject.  You’ve had people in your family die before, and although it can feel like you can’t continue on, you do.  We all do, we all feel the devastation and loss, but we have the strength inside to move forward.”

I write down:  Someone close to me is going to die, I think??

“Erica, I know you can’t tell me who, but my husband’s grandmother, GG is older and has cancer.  My mother is pretty healthy, but older.  We’re close to both of them.  GG lives in Iowa, so we don’t see her very often.  The rest of the family really isn’t old, but my niece Lexi has cancer.  She’s young and going through treatment, we’re all really hopeful, but she’s only six.  Is there anything else you can tell me?”

Erica smiled and said, “Just know that when you lose someone close to you, you carry that person with you.  You have to be thankful for the time you had together.  Try and find happiness in the moment, and should they pass on in the next two or three years, you’ll have peace when it’s their time to go.”

I printed in all capital letters:

I THINK MY MOM IS GOING TO DIE IN THE NEXT FEW YRS!

We continued on talking about many things.  The personal struggles in my marriage, jobs I’d had, and general philosophies on finding your life’s work.  At times, it felt like Erica was dead on and other times, it was like she was hinting at something but it didn’t pertain to me.  It was uncanny how she knew things about my life that had already happened.  Historically, I was hard pressed to find one thing wrong in her reading.

All in all, I remembered the session as being intriguing as I looked at the notes from that day.  I sat straight up with a jolt – all those years ago, Erica knew I was adopted! That had to be what she saw.  My birth mother put me up for adoption after I was born. My skin was tingling, my heart racing, and this electric chill ran right through me.

So, that was the life changing event!  “Holy crap, she was trying to tell me that within three months of my birth, I was put up for adoption,” I said out loud. My voice echoed in the quiet garage.  Mike had long since gone inside.

And the other notes?  Once I thought about them, they were just as accurate.  Well, except for the one about my mother dying in the next two to three years.  It was more like ten years.

I wondered, maybe someone else, maybe my birth mom had passed away in that time frame.

However, back then Lexi did pass away when she was seven and then the next year GG died. And Erica was right about foster care, we got our license again and had ten wonderful children impact our lives.  Ashleigh causing trouble at age 18 was an understatement, and I can see Hayden being famous as he’s in his third year of film school.

But most important to me, as I sat holding the notes from ten years ago, was the fact that I had indeed been adopted.  It was part of me and even though my beginning was kept a secret, it didn’t change the truth.  When I came into this world, my birth mother gave me away.  It was as if God had stuck me with this invisible cosmic label: ADOPTED. I was born to a woman and man who didn’t want me, and I was given to these parents who wanted a baby.  Erica could see the label since the universe didn’t care that my adoptive parents wanted it to be kept secret.

It made me wonder – how did she know? I wish I would have known.  And why couldn’t my mother tell me, after all the years we had together?  After all the things we’ve done alone together… why not tell me?

There I was, at a crossroads.  One path led to my mother, my loss, my grief and feelings of betrayal; but also our book.  The other path led to a bright white, empty space with a door at the center.  It was nothing but the unknown.  And with so much sadness surrounding my mother’s death and knowing that she kept this huge secret from me, it was easy to choose the path to the door, to see what and who I might find.

*Excerpts from “Crossroads” Chapter 6, Late Discoveries.

“Sometimes we stare so long at a door that is closing

we see too late the one that is open.”

~Alexander Graham Bell

I open my eyes to the brightness, looking forward and hopeful.

As I slip on my rose-colored glasses for the rest of the journey, I am set.

→If you’re in Arizona, you may also enjoy an interesting hour with Erica Phillips.

DNA: A Life Changer

As I made my way frantically up the stairs, I could feel the wind rush from the roller coaster coming to an abrupt stop.  The woosh of the air-breaks and then the hydraulic pistons lifting the bars to allow the previous riders off, was a well choreographed dance that I was about to join.

“DNA put me on this ride,” I shout as the bar lowers across my lap.

By now, you all know the great color cart I chose but you may not realize that I picked a cart to the back of the line.  Purposefully, the purple-grape cart and the pea-green one in front of me was empty.  When you feel alone, there’s some instinctual thing your body does to make sure you are alone.  And besides, who’d ride in a pea-green cart?

In the same way, I acknowledge that DNA didn’t put me on this ride – I did.  Because, for me – the truth is worth it.

About two years ago all the forces in my world guided me to a life changing moment.

To understand, to learn and to grow one needs information.  I needed to get a DNA test comparing my mother’s DNA to mine so once and for all I would know if I was adopted.  For me, it was like the air I required to simply live.

I’ve heard so often how family members can all be very different, and siblings have totally different likes and dislikes.  And that has been true for us also, but more than anything I didn’t feel like I fit with them.  Only when I was young and I was with my grandmother did it feel right.  I didn’t look completely different than my family, but there wasn’t anything that was the same.  No one had my ears or nose, my body shape, or even similar hands or feet.  No one had asthma and birthmarks didn’t exist.  My brother carried features of both my parents, but I never found one thing like any of them.  They’re all early risers while I’m a night owl.  They all love barbeque and red meat, and I prefer vegetables.  As I got older the differences became more apparent.  Vacations, hobbies and passions were black and white different.  I shared the same eye color as my mother, however, the way we viewed the world was opposite.

Combined with my mother’s inconsistent stories, my husband agreed that there was a secret being held about my beginning.

Mike said, “I think we need to do a DNA test.  We’ll use a company in California that has a great website with instructions and we can fed ex the samples tomorrow.  All you need is a few of your mom’s hairs with follicles and a swab of your cheek.  Just go through her hairbrush, hold the hair up to the light, and look for little roots.  You need about five hairs and all you do is wrap them in a tissue and then put it in an envelope.  Then for your swab, you need two Qtips and swipe the inside of your cheek, and then snip the ends off and let them fall into an envelope.  I’ll get the fed ex envelope and fill out the forms and we’ll send it off.  It’s $99 and it takes about three weeks.”

I went back and forth, it was intriguing and I was filled with wonder.  Then it was upsetting, and I was pissed and hurt.

I mused, I cannot have gotten to 43 years old and been adopted and not know it.  Besides, someone would have told me.  Right?

In three to four weeks, an e-mail would confirm whether the samples were biological matches; mother to daughter, or not.  It was easy to put it out of my mind and move on.  I didn’t tell my brother or anyone.  I bet I’m adopted…the clue’s are all in front of me, I thought while sealing up the Fed Ex mailer.  We’ll just wait and see.

That’s how it happened, how I got on the ride.

Little did I know that the first incline led to a gravity defying drop.  The click clack, click clack, click clack of my cart being pulled up higher and higher made the feeling, “We’ll just wait and see” bail from my mind, my cart, and my entire existence.

When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.

~Victor Frankl

PBnJ (via Folab’s Blog)

Now with added pictures. : ) You need to see who these people are, right?

With downhill momentum, the morning rush delivers me to a special friend.  I’ll call him PBnJ(ay).  I haven’t ridden this track in sometime, but it’s good to be here and with this familiar person. Now for culinary reasons, it is worth mentioning my adoration for my #1 place to meet for a meal, Flancer’s.  My roller coaster is filled with side tracks to this incredible, friendly, and scrumptious cafe.  http://www.flancers.com PBnJ and I go back a ways; c … Read More

via Folab's Blog

The Matterhorn

I coast along now, tired and my head tipped back.  After the past few days, I can happily report making it through the Matterhorn; a cold lonely place of loss.  I’m always reminded how Time heals and brings clarity. Time is a complex acquaintance, for now he is my friend.

Recently, my sapphire blue cart was covered in a layer of brown, heavy wet grief.  It was like the snow that’s been pushed to the side to make way for traffic.  I know, it happens- sometimes the muck just gets on you. Everyone deals with grief, loss, and even muck.

For my turn, I had to say goodbye to my dog-friend, Wally.  He came into this world with a brother, and together they were dropped off at the Humane Society.  He was the tiny one, much fluffier than his brother and only 5 weeks old.  My entire family, foster kids, and friends of my kids all took tickets in hope of getting this pup.  We had the winning ticket and so off we went with our new family member in tow.  He was a gem to us, and we all felt like it was meant to be.  A special dog equals a special name; he was Wallace Paullace Maullace III (the third).

Wally, the special dog.

You can see the unique-ness, right?

Indeed.  And we were convinced he was a rare breed, Hungarian Papillon, to be precise.  Oh and famous for swimming.

What began as a sad bend on the track before me, quickly changed and I was catapulted on to the Matterhorn.  This progression happens when sadness grows, which breeds more despair.  Until all of a sudden, you recognize the adequate appearance of Mr. Time’s Cousin – Miss Poor Me.

I was really shocked to see her.

I had to ask, “Okay, how’d you get here?  Who let you in, and how long have you been here?”

You weren’t invited, I thought.  I wasn’t even told that you’d be in the neighborhood.  The welcome matt had long-since been replaced with a commanding sign- No Solicitors, and yes, that means YOU – Miss Poor Me!

But, there I was, mid-Matterhorn, missing Wally and firmly on my lap, pressed against my chest was Miss Poor Me. And while she lives to pounce from her wallow-Grey cart into mine, I use extreme measures to remain “Poor-Me-free.”

Wanting to leave this place, I trick Poor Me into focusing on my birth mother rather than the loss of Wallace Paullace Maullace, III.  I had just been asked to write part of my birth mother’s story for an adoption agency.  And while her journey is sad, it is something I’ve dealt with and come to accept.  It is a journey of irrevocable loss for my mother, Kathy – may she rest in peace.

This story is ultimately my beginning, it is part of me.  Of course it is – it always has been. Only recently did I learn the details.

The Third Trimester

“Childbirth is more admirable than conquest, more amazing than self-defense, and as courageous as either one.”

~Gloria Steinem

For a freshly graduated high school student, the future holds great possibilities.  Unless you’re Kathy Bardlow and seven months pregnant.  Even though she had plans and tried to will the trouble away, she couldn’t hide her growing belly and whether she liked it or not, a baby was on the way.

The adoption agency received a call from Mrs. Nancy Bardlow on October 4th, 1964, requesting services on behalf of her daughter Kathy, who had just turned 18 the week before.  She also inquired about housing, a place where her daughter could live before giving birth.  While they knew of a maternity house in their hometown of Phoenix, one in Tucson was preferred because the city was smaller and frankly, farther away.  Mrs. Bardlow urged the out-of-town recommendation, claiming doctor’s orders for her daughter’s well-being and mental state.

“There’s a chance Kathy might change her mind, or her boyfriend may bother her,” Mrs. Bardlow explained.

So the agency made all of the arrangements and Kathy was placed in a Tucson maternity home on October 17th, 1964.

It was a warm fall morning when David Bardlow and his daughter pulled into a parking space in front of a modest brick house.  Kathy had sat quietly for the entire two-hour ride, but once her father shut off the engine she wailed and sobbed, much like an over heated gurgling radiator.  He sat still, focusing straight ahead and not reacting.

“Daddy, I’m so sad for my baby.” She leaned forward, cradling her full belly.   Tears dotted her baby blue dress and she blubbered, “I don’t want to do this.  I don’t want to live here.  Please Daddy….”  Her body shook and eyes pleaded for mercy as all the grief and fear she’d been holding poured out in front of her father.  Yet he remained steadfast.

“Kathy, you know I have to get back.  Your mother’s waiting for me and I have a lot of chores on Saturday – it’s my only day to work around the house,” he calmly explained while resting his hand on her shoulder.  He pulled a red handkerchief from his front pocket and handed it to her. “Now wipe your face and I’ll get your things. Let’s go on in.”

Bam – the car shook as he slammed the door.  Kathy felt that her own father didn’t care about her situation, or the new life growing inside her.  He closed the door on me, she thought.  Nothing I say matters at all.

Kathy trembled, and pictured herself walking away, maybe into a new life or maybe into traffic.  Then she remembered what her mother told her just as she left the house.  “Before you know it you’ll be home for Christmas, and there will be presents under the tree for you, from Santa.  Focus on that day, Kath.”

Making her way up to the house, her feet grew increasingly heavy with each step.   She climbed the stairs hesitantly, refusing to speed her pace even at her father’s urging.   As she topped the last stair, her eyes raised up to meet the cloudy kaleidoscope of color.  Welcome, she read.  Huh.

The large front door was made entirely of stained glass, with its gaudy salutation front and center.  The block letters that spelled out Welcome were a soulful, pale blue.  It was almost as if the door understood her regretful journey.  A floral pattern throughout the glass displayed murky, ginger colored blooms and a russet earth.  Around the outer edges were droopy criss-crossing pale green vines.

The door opened and an older woman wearing glasses with her hair pulled up in a bun motioned her inside. “Welcome to Marcus House,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Baker, I’ve been watching for you.”

They went inside to a small office. “Please have a seat.  I have some forms that need a few signatures from Mr. Bardlow.”

Kathy sat as she gazed out the window, right next to her father while he signed the necessary forms.  All she thought of was going home and seeing gifts under the Christmas tree.

Mrs. Baker looked at her. “Kathy, how are you feeling?  Do you have your next doctor appointment soon?”

Kathy stared right through the woman, picturing only the family Christmas tree standing in the corner of their living room.

Her father stood and shook hands with Mrs. Baker and said, “Well, you have our telephone number if you think of anything else. I have chores to do back home.”  He patted Kathy on the arm as he walked past her.

Slam! The glass door shook and Kathy jumped.  From the window she watched her father leave.  He turned his back and walked away, without a wave or a smile.  Her heart was like her mother’s crystal vase that she had accidentally dropped, shattered on the floor into a million razor-sharp pieces.

Abandoned and grief-stricken, Kathy sat slumped in the chair and began to cry.  She drew her knees up close to her belly and began softly rocking herself.

Mrs. Baker calmly picked up a box of tissue, walked over to Kathy and placed it on the windowsill beside her.  “Dear, when you’re done we have a few things to go over.  I’ll give you your name, and everything you’ll need while you’re staying with us.”

Did she say name?  She’ll give me a name? Kathy wiped her face, sat up straight and looked at Mrs. Baker.

“Your new name will be Kay.  It will be on your door and it’s written right here in your paperwork, should you forget.  Always keep the forms handy on your nightstand.  We expect you to be mostly quiet, but if you need to use your name, you use Kay.”

“I have to use a different name?  Why?”

“It’s for your own protection, dear.  After this is all over, no one will ever know you were here.  Only a sad girl called Kay was here; Kay made bad choices, Kay got into trouble.”

Kathy was in shock!  She heard once more how she was bad and she was nothing but trouble, just as her mother told her.  “Bad girls get their names changed – I get it,” she said out loud.

Mrs. Baker continued cheerily, “Let me call and make sure your room is ready and I’ll show you around Marcus House, Kay,” she said while picking up the receiver.

Kathy pictured the wooden ornaments that she and her sister painted the year before, and how they were hung at the bottom of the tree because of their durability. 

When will they be decorating?  When do the Christmas shows start?  After Thanksgiving for sure…Oh my gosh, I’ll miss Thanksgiving.

Kathy had always loved Christmas, and it seemed that her mother was right.  The very thought of Christmas had the power to save her from the all-consuming sadness.  Kathy made her mind up to always think back to what her mother advised her, “Before you know it, it will be over and it will be time to come home to presents under the tree, just think of Christmas.”

The bright spot at Marcus House was the art room.  Kathy spent all her free time there immersed in creating.  She drew pictures of Christmas trees and painted them beautifully, adding every ornament and bow she could fit into the scene.

On Thanksgiving Day Kathy grudgingly ate, thinking only of the art room.  This was the one place she could focus and do what she loved.  After pecking at her food, she excused her self and went to paint.  Kathy created enchanting holiday scenes as her imagination took flight.  But now she placed her Christmas into a family room with a mom, a dad and a baby.

“Kay, you can’t stay in there all night, you’re on dish-drying duty,” the house mother yelled into the art room.

For Kathy, Thanksgiving had always been about family.  But at Marcus House she never received one piece of mail, not even a telephone call.  They must have celebrated with out me, Kathy thought, as the holiday came to an end.

Mrs. Baker was right – Kathy was gone, and her family had no connection with “Kay” at all.  One day she hoped to have her own family, and never have to live as Kay again.

Kathy’s senior picture.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ahh, and as fast as you can say… “Thanksgiving,” Miss Poor Me was gone.  The past is my history, all of it – even the parts I don’t know, yet.  But I can grieve when sad-in-the-moment things happen, and keep history where it belongs.

I love my birth mother for how she cared for me and loved me first.  The knowledge and information help me complete my puzzle.

Fellow travelers and coaster-mates, be weary of Miss Poor me and watch out for the wallow-Grey cart!

I gaze up at the sky now, a bit tired.  I celebrate a great family dog, who enriched our lives – thank you God for the gift of Wally.  Oh and “Kissy, no licky!”

Yeah, while the kids taught him important things like hand signals for sitting – I got him to lean forward (with that big ole underbite-chin) and kiss me, without licking and slobbering on my face.  I got a kiss before he chased the ball, jumped in the pool, or ate a milk bone.  How lucky was I?

PBnJ

With downhill momentum, the morning rush delivers me to a special friend.  I’ll call him PBnJ(ay).  I haven’t ridden this track in sometime, but it’s good to be here and with this familiar person.

Now for culinary reasons, it is worth mentioning my adoration for my #1 place to meet for a meal, Flancer’s.  My roller coaster is filled with side tracks to this incredible, friendly, and scrumptious cafe.  www.flancers.com

PBnJ and I go back a ways; clear back to when my cart was Grey with rusted edges and maneuvered around in a different park.

It all started with simply hearing his voice from the other side of a wine bar.  I was hooked!  As I learned about him, and he of me (and my family) I couldn’t help but want to be around him and his light.  More importantly, I was drawn to the passion and joy that came out through his lyrics and acoustic guitar.  I could listen to him sing and play 24/7.

Jay Allan

As his band grew and other friendships were planted, his remained special.  This was not just a cool musician we hung out with on Fridays.  Nor was the relationship with his singing partner, Ash.  Jay and Ash were with me, no race to the finish, or a race to the start.  Our connection was not based on the past or the future – only where we were at that moment.  Perfect.  (And Far Enough)

Jay and Ash of Delcoa

When my cart flew off its rails towards the end of the cork-screw of death, it landed on a new coaster in a new park.  In the midst of a storm, I wasn’t sure I’d be okay.  My pieces were falling all over the place, some whisked away in the wind.  My rose-colored glasses were no where in sight.  The life I’d known was riddled with lies, and my family history was shot into bits.  I scrambled.  I bolted into freak-out-overdrive.

I felt compelled to share with everyone, ” OMG – I just found out I am adopted!!”

I tested the water with people, one little toe at a time.

Some folks rejoiced in my pain – feeling gratitude for the life my mother provided me.  Proud of her, for taking in an orphan child, she was often the star in my sickening play.  My little digit was chomped off by piranhas.

A few others, like my friend PBnJ, waited with interest to hear my story.  While I tested with my little toe, he grabbed my foot, cooling it in the water and hopped right in along side me.  He couldn’t believe that I had just learned I was adopted.  He was sad my mother had passed away, easily showing the flash of dark grief while he contemplated what it would be like to lose his mom.  He was deeply sorry for my loss and completely blown away by my revelation from a DNA test.  While he questioned these strands of genetic information, he wished there was something there; like a map to who I came from.  He wanted to help.

What helped was his “Pieces.” I learned the only way out is to keep pushing through. And, while the silence in my head screamed as loud as the wind, I would be okay.  I had other pieces of me that were falling into place.  I held on to; share all that you can find in you.

It was about getting back to being in the moment – I simply listened.  When I fought with a few lost pieces, his expressions helped.

His happy wishes on my birthday and presence, made me feel for the first time like I could push through.  I’ll never forget, a baby was born into his family on December 18^th and he came to see me, for my birthday.  Yes, my dear sweet friend Jay, you did share all that you can find in you.

While he travels to Denver with his grass roots firmly in place, I wish him success that lasts, “Half Past Forever.” May his square of power comfort his aching traveling feet in the weeks ahead, and may he know how much he is loved!

Listen to#1,  Pieces.