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This Phoenix Speaks

Seven years in the making, my first published book, This Phoenix Speaks , is now a reality. The tireless and tiring work invested to ma...

self absorbed emotions

Another friend gone to heaven this year on the vehicle called cancer. Such a kind and loving person showing us all how hope gets us through pain and suffering. She was so good, so sweet. She has two young children. And her loving husband is heartbroken.  My heart breaks for them. Tears have hardly stopped falling even though it's been many years since I've even seen this friend in person. And yet—it hits home. It has struck a nerve that is painful. I think of my own mortality, my family situation, how blessed I am to be well.

And now, all I can think about is how life is so short; I am not good enough to die young, so I will certainly be around to watch all my loved ones leave (plus, at the moment my kids would be up a creek without me); I burned up almost half of my lifetime thus far on a dirtbag who didn't love me; and there is no one banging down my door any time soon that I can tell. It appears terrifically hopeless actually. 

However, my hope for happier things keeps me looking up. My faith whispers that God loves me and is watching over me and my children and will make it all right somehow. Someday. But I want to pretend like I can choose when. I don't want things to work out after an entire lifetime of suffering. I want to enjoy a sense of belonging with someone before I die—long before I die. I wish I could see a little further to get a glimpse of hope realized. Alas, life doesn't work that way.

I will say that I've been thankful in each day of over-scheduled mess for being kept safe, having time enough to accomplish all that is required of me to care for my children, and now, so poignantly, that I have the strength of mind and body to carry on. This entire situation is humbling, and I realize how little I have in a few areas but also the immensity of blessings that keep my life vibrant and filled with undeniable love and light. 

As I close my writing, I realize how my compassion goes out to my friend's family, but the bulk of my sadness is wrapped up in pitying myself and realizing what is lacking in my life and feeling quite distressed that I could leave this life never having experienced a reciprocated or shared lasting love relationship. It's appallingly self-absorbed of me, but these things are what have set my heart on fire, and I guess my weakness might teach others. That's what I can hope anyway. 

Related Link:

How I See Heaven


  1. I think we each respond to grief and loss in entirely personal ways. Not all of us are as honest as you are however, and can admit to this. How sad for this family, though - especially those children.


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