I give thanks every day for my kids. For my life. For all I have. Today, Thanksgiving, I give thanks to the great grandfather I never met. The "ne'er do well" that was responsible for his wife's death. Who neglected his children and did nothing to change the outcomes of his circumstance. Thank you. Maybe it is because you forced a ten year old's hand in her mother's abortion, resulting in her death, is the reason I am a fierce advocate for the pro-choice movement. It could be, years later in her adulthood, when you came calling her (for money? for forgiveness? for...) created circumstances resulting in my b.s. detector. When you passed on your legacy to your son, who also took zero responsibility for his circumstances... is this why I hold people in my life accountable? Why integrity is so very important to me? Why the constant victim has no place in my life? I'm grateful for you. While I will never fully understand your own pain and suf
Betsa-rella cut it up one time... (Ooooss Oks...) Let's talk about death baby, let's talk about you and me. Let's talk about all the beauty and the trauma. That may be. Let's talk about death. Let's talk about death. Where are my 90s kids? Salt-n-Pepa has honestly been my one true musical companion since I was old enough to play my own cassettes. I was driving down the road the other day and this song popped into my head. We don't talk about death as a culture. It is a part of the human condition, but we don't talk about. It is hard to be there for someone in their time of grief. I recall as a kid a classmate lost his grandfather. I was at the store with my mother and I picked out a condolence card. How monotone the messages were. I'm sorry for your loss. May you find peace. May the memories comfort you. I picked one, and months later when I was picking up my room, I found it. I had second-guessed myself and my ability to be there