I am a child of the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s (recently I was told we are “perennials” – ha); a wife to Steve (a CPA, a kind and constant rock of presence), and a mom (to Sarah and Mark) in the 90’s and into the present. We live in a quiet subdivision buried in a very large urban area on the east coast.
I have always been reasonably cheerful, just a little (maybe a lot) bossy, but also very, very concerned that everyone be getting along and everyone feels welcomed and seen.
I’ve talked to and looked for God all my life, but have had trouble recognizing His presence and His love.
As an organizer – of efforts, of reunions, of data – I love Excel spreadsheets to a ridiculous degree.
I rescue animals whenever possible (without keeping them) and I tend to run toward, rather than away from, dangerous situations.
I have trouble with just…being, with relaxing. My brain is always, always ON. I even dream vividly – it’s like I live another life all night long.
Writing is, for me, a way to unlock doors; it’s how I figure things out and how I best communicate with the world.
I started this blog – without being sure I would ever share it – to help me get through the shock, horror and turmoil after Mark, our only son, died on October 8, 2015. I’ve kept journals off and on since I was a love-struck 7th grader, but have found there is something about writing to someone else, in this format, that helps me process, enables me to more fully dig “it” all up and out, which is an important part of grief and mourning. Going through the motions of creating this site gave me something to cling to in the early dark days; it provided a place to dump endless grief and sorrow.
It’s said you have to tell your story at least 100 times in order to heal. Thank you for reading, and being part of my healing. I hope, in time, this blog and my/our family’s journey through this valley will help someone else as they face these shadows and look for the sun.
About Blue Skies: Many years ago, after a long run and in a moment of great peace and gratitude, I looked up into the deep, deep blue sky and decided/felt/somehow knew God was thinking about me when He created the sky. Is that arrogant? Presumptuous? Maybe. I just know it feels true (and this is saying a lot, because I wrestle with faith all the time): blue skies never fail to move me, to stir my soul, to remind me who and whose I am. And apparently Mark loved blue skies, too.