Hello there sunshines, I am here with some great news you can naturally overcome depression and anxiety. The bible teaches us how to naturally balance the positive and negative emotions in our lives. It’s ok at the darkest moments In Our lives to go to the doctor and get the help needed at that moment, he made doctors for a reason. What’s not okay is to rely on that medication to fix al of your childhood and adult relationship traumas. God has walked me through deliverance and a Beautiful way to enjoy life, focus on self love and hear his voice and tune out the world. Here are some tips on how to live life to the best of your ability on a budget. First find a job that u enjoy not have to show up to everyday ,but want to show up to and take pride in your work daily. Second find an area where just u and God can bear each other’s voices. God showed me and my sister in Christ this past year so many ways to see and appreciate his beauty from door dashing, in multi states ,to visiting museums and botanical gardens, to Learning about plants animals and history and it was a great stress reliever. Everyday for the past year doordash paid for our museum trips ,air b and b , and food and gas as we traveled America. We stayed in the tri state area and everything was within four hours of home.Our daily budget for spending was 20.00 most of the time it ended up under that price range. The third thing God helped me with to not be stressed and depressed was laying all of life’s problems at his feet and he gives us rest as it states in scripture. Picture yourself with one carryon bag then another suitcase and before u know it your carrying the entire planes luggage. This analogy is our lives we tend to worry and fear and pickup baggage that doesn’t belong to us. Cast your cares upon him and he will give u rest Amen. The fourth way to get rid of anxiety and depression is by using sensory things from your environment. This consist of smelling hearing seeing tasting and touching. I find for me nature walks running waterfalls and rivers,coloring on sidewalks with chalk, photographing nature and just being youself in general, traveling to local places, interacting with animals both tame and wild, and social distancing when needed work best. When noises around us are loud and overbearing putting on headphones and listening to something encouraging helps. Get in the habit of finding the daily verse that speaks life and encouragement into your soul and live out your purpose, 💓 u are loved I pray this helps the mass numbers and you can get peace in your hearts and enjoy your life much love and light 🕯️

Dear Lord,

We’ve had a lot of talks lately. Some good, some not so good. I’ve prayed for a couple ambulances and high schoolers and the parents for the infants at my school.

I’ve prayed for less anger, more sleep, less anxiety about the world. For the United States, for Gaza, for Syria and Lebanon and Yemen and the Congo…

For guidance.

I’m not the best of Jews, I know that. I don’t eat kosher like I should, I often forget my nightly prayers, I work on the sabbath. I know I’m not the best.

I try. I fast and I repent and I want to learn more about you Lord. I feel like the older I get, that I feel closer to you. I pray to you in good and in bad times. Our relationship has its valleys and mountains but I know you better. You’ve always known me though.

There’s a lot of suffering in the world. Time is marching backwards underneath my feet and I feel like I cannot make the world stand still. Or continue the original path or rotation. I pray in the hopes that you will be able to guide the right people to the right paths soon. Existence is a form of resistance, right?

Poetry feels a lot like prayer. I take a pen to my carotid artery and bleed all over these little letters, in hopes that it will string together coherent words. Using a young language to spill these feelings that I’m not quite sure have names. I pour it all out, I step back, and realize the feeling is duller now that it’s no longer in me.

That’s what prayer feels like to me.

I don’t know why, Lord, you made me this way. I know there must be a reason, there’s always a reason but I cannot see it. And I want to see it. I know you don’t make mistakes but— why do I feel like I am one?

I don’t feel like a good sister, a good friend, a good daughter, a good lover. I feel like I’m selfish. Spoiled. I demand too much. Give too little. A hypocrite. A liar.

Sometimes I don’t feel human. I’m so angry sometimes, Lord, that I just want to scream!!

Sometimes I just wanna grab someone and slap the living shit out of them. I wanna make someone feel as horrible as I do. I want them to feel every punch, kick, stab, slice, grope and rape that I have experienced. Then I feel horrible for wishing this fate on a nonexistent person and I pray for forgiveness. I know it’s an intrusive thought, I know I’d never do such a thing. But it kills me when I think about it.

There are times that I wanna go into an empty field and just scream into it. Sob as hard as I want for as long as I want. No one to eavesdrop, no one to watch. Just lose it fully for once.

I need that.

I’ve prayed to you about some things that I didn’t mean. I prayed to die many times. I know you know I didn’t mean that, which is why I’m still here.

I’ve prayed why my boyfriend doesn’t love me. I know he does, I just wish I could feel it like I know it. He adores me. He loves me. I need a little help remembering that Lord. If you have the time to spare, I’d greatly appreciate that.

I think- I think I struggle to believe I can be loved. Years of hurt can do that to a person. I try so hard to make sure those I love never feel the way I felt. Unlovable. Broken. No longer human. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a relationship outside of my childhood best friends that made me feel like a person.

When my boyfriend and I started dating it felt like someone had reignited a previously stamped out candle. Now the wick is burning but there’s no wax to cling to. I am so fucking lonely G-d. If you ever have a spare moment, enter my dreams and remind me that I am not alone. Remind me of my partner, my brother, my friends. Remind me of the job I love, the life I’ve chosen, the skills I possess. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than me, but I’d like to not be forgotten. Don’t forget to remember me in that whirlwind of human chaos you’ve come to know.

I know that I just have to grit and bear some of it like a big girl. I know that I have to fight. But I— I don’t have a lot of fight in me right now.

So Lord, if you could do this for me, I’d greatly appreciate it. If you could instill in me the need to fight, the need to claw my way out, I will claw my way out.

Amen,

Dear Ex,

It has been almost five years since I left you. I miss you still. You leave monthly whispers of alimony, and quarterly updates of your life since the abandonment.

I keep feeling that it is all too good for me. I left you in the worst possible way. I professed my love for someone else – someone I could never have, anyway.

I was flippant and psychotic about it, too. I got up and left one day, never to return.

I regret leaving you the way I did. Our marriage was dying a slow death. But I didn’t have to hack at your heart in one fell swoop.

I made you pack my belongings because I couldn’t bear to come back and do the deed myself.

Recently, I had a nightmare that the tables were turned. I was packing your stuff. Only then, did I realize what an impossible task I set you up with.

I stayed for 13 years because I thought the good outweighed the bad. The fun times seemingly overshadowed the screaming matches, the cruel use of semantic language.

You told me I was hard to love, that I was emotionally complex. That was your way of calling me a bitch.

I called you out on it. You confirmed the not-so-cryptic message.

But hey. We both had our unresolved traumas that we brought into our fights. Not even two years of couples therapy near the end of our marriage could foster effective communication skills.

We were both far too wounded to see past ourselves, yet we didn’t know where one of us ended and the other began. The intertwining and untangling happened at the most inopportune times.

You told me during our last quarterly update that you had forgiven me for my transgressions. I asked why, and you said that four-and-a-half years would be a long time to hold onto such emotional turmoil.

I realized then that I had not yet forgiven myself. Now, I listen to the 36-year-old part of me who left. I understand now.

That part of me was doing the best they could. They thought they were being merciful by finally ripping off the bandage and walking out on our eight-year marriage.

It was that moment that I could finally start to forgive myself.

Then, I listened to the 27-year-old part of me – the one simultaneously full of hope and doubt about our upcoming marriage. They whispered to me:

I love her so much. But I’m in too deep.

Had I loved myself then as much as I do now, I would have been merciful and cut the cord right then and there.

I put your happiness above my own.

And now I realize that you weren’t happy either. Not with me. And certainly not with yourself.

We sought love within each other, when we needed to look within ourselves first.

Had we done that, we might have been best friends for 18 years instead of fractured lovers for 13 years and separated souls for another five.

I forgive you, dear ex.

I also forgive myself.

You may not ever be my best friend again, but I will hold our fun times dearly.

Now, as tears well up in my eyes, I contemplate a future of being in a relationship with myself. After all, no other relationship will matter to me nearly so much.

I will probably never get married again, but I wish myself – and YOU – all the happiness in the world, finally.

And maybe soon, we will both achieve inner peace and tell each other all about it in our next quarterly update.

I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
With a restaurant attached.
A salad bar and a buffet,
And a payphone in the back.

The coffee’s always hot,
And the food aint too bad.
I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
So I could talk to my Dad.

He says “I’m flyin over Montana,
just dropped a load of rain.
I’m headed down to Dallas,
And then up to Maine.

No more haulin’ produce,
Gasoline or TVs.
Cause up here in Heaven,
I’m haulin’ prayers and dreams!”

I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
With a restaurant attached.
A salad bar and a buffet,
And a payphone in the back.

The coffee’s always hot,
And the food aint too bad.
I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
So I could talk to my Dad.

“This rigs as big as a mountain,
You can see me from where you are.
It’s no Freightliner, no Peterbilt,
It’s an actual Western Star!

My Jake-brake is the thunder,
The exhaust makes tornadoes!
Man, it means so much more
to be the king of the road,
where the streets are paved with gold!”

I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
With a restaurant attached.
A salad bar and a buffet,
And a payphone in the back.

The coffee’s always hot,
And the food ain’t too bad.
I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
So I could talk to my Dad.

I’d tell him that I miss him,
every single day.
“Wish you could just stop by,
and meet my wife,
when you pass by this way.”

He tells me not to worry,
That one day he’ll meet her.
But if we look up at night,
we can see the lights,
of his 18 wheeler!

I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
With a restaurant attached.
A salad bar and a buffet,
And a payphone in the back.

The coffee’s always hot,
And the food ain’t too bad.
I wish there was a truck stop in Heaven,
So I could talk to my Dad.

For my husband, who left too soon. For me, who stayed.

We were building something real.
Something messy and beautiful and ours.
Three years of laughs,
Hard talks, late-night plans,
Tears and kisses and silly fights
That ended in bed or in smiles.

You were my safe place.
My soft landing.
My best friend and my storm.

We said forever in March.
Turned keys to our first home in May.
And in July—
You left me
With a silence so loud
It still rings in my bones.

I watched you go.
I screamed.
I begged.
I broke in ways I can’t explain—
Not even to myself.

You didn’t just die.
You tore the sky open,
And I’m still standing in the wreckage,
Barefoot, bleeding, trying to breathe.

People say “you’re so strong.”
No.
I’m not strong.
I’m shattered.
But I wake up anyway.
I make coffee.
I cry quietly in the shower.
I hold our memories like landmines—
Knowing any one of them can level me.

I loved you too much to be okay.
But I also love you enough
To keep going.

Even when it hurts.
Even when I hate you for leaving me.
Even when I ache for just one more touch,
One more laugh,
One more “I’m home.”

You were the love of my life.
The stepfather who adored our kids like they were your own.
The man who made ordinary things feel magical.
You were it for me.

And now I carry all of that
Inside a heart stitched with grief and fire.

I’m still here,
Still breathing,
Still holding the broken pieces
Of everything we were supposed to be.

And I will keep going—
Not because I’m strong,
But because love like ours
Deserves to survive
Even if one of us didn’t.

Your Word say in Ezekiel 11 verse 19 “I will give them a singleness of heart and put a new spirit in them I will take away their stony stubborn heart and give them a tender responsive heart”, (NIV)

I come now asking for an exchange.

Where there is anger,
Grant me Love.
Where I harbor resentment,
Teach me Forgiveness.
Where there is regret,
Show me Acceptance.
Where I hide my shame,
Give me Honor.
Where I buried my sorrows,
Bring forth Gladness.
Where I have pain
Restore me with Comfort.
When I crumble under doubt,
Rise me up into Assurance.
Where there is Chaos,
Bring my thoughts into Order.
Where there is confusion
Show me Clarity.
Where I may pass Judgement,
Open me up to Compassion.
Where I have pride,
Teach me humility.
Where there is fear,
Give me Faith.
Where there is rejection,
Grant me Detachment.
When I worry,
Give me Peace.
Where there is Long Suffering
Grant me Patience.
Where I lost pieces of myself along the way,
Grant me the Strength, Endurance, Grit, Perseverance and Wisdom to come back, Stronger, wiser, and more Victorious than Before.
Ase

Dear Tarrell,
That night is something I’ll never forget. When you took your own life in front of me, my heart didn’t just break—it exploded. I felt something sacred tear away inside me. I would’ve done anything to stop it, but it was too late. You were gone, and in that moment, a piece of me died with you.
I don’t know how to put into words what it’s been like living without you. That night changed me forever. I can still hear the silence afterward—how loud it was, how final. I keep reliving it. I see your face, your pain, and I wonder why you couldn’t hold on just one more minute. I would’ve held you. I wanted to help you carry the pain.
You were not only my husband, but also my safe place. For the first time, I felt seen, heard, and truly loved. Tarrell, you brought me peace and made life easier, softer—until that night. Now, the world feels cold and hollow without you here.
The kids… God, the kids. You didn’t share their blood, but you gave them your whole heart. You were the father Adalynn had always dreamed of. Thank you for giving her something no one else ever could: the feeling of being wanted, chosen, and protected. She lit up around you. Her heart trusted you in ways I had never seen. The bond you two had—it was rare, beautiful, and real. Egypt adored you, too. She still talks about you and asks where you went. They don’t understand why you would leave us.
Nine months later, and it still feels like yesterday. I will forever hate Mondays and the 15th. We’re in therapy, all of us, and trying to piece ourselves back together. Nothing will ever be the same, and trying to find our new normal has been the biggest struggle for us. I’m not the same. PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks—I carry all of it now.
I know you were hurting. I know you were carrying so much that you couldn’t even find the words to tell me. I also know the Army made you feel you had to be strong all the time. That crying made you weak. That vulnerability was a failure. It never was. Crying, asking for help, falling into my arms—that would’ve been the bravest thing you ever did. I wish you had seen that. I wish you had believed that being emotional didn’t make you any less of a man. If anything, it would’ve made you even more of one.
I would’ve carried every ounce of your pain if it meant keeping you here. I would’ve done anything. You didn’t have to go through it alone. You were never alone. We loved you through it all—flaws, battles, shadows, and all. I just wish love had been enough to save you.
Now I’m left picking up the pieces—with the girls by my side—trying to create a new kind of life in a world I never wanted to know. One without you.
I love you so much. I miss you every second of every day. Tarrell, I always will.
Forever yours,

This gig
This “being my best self” business,
This sunny day after the storm
Is pretty rough.
With wind blown trash from last week
(Or last decade) all over the soul
It is exhausting today, to
Focus on today’s business.

Some other day will be enchanting, Exhilarating,
I’ll be Wonder Woman
Or
Maybe I’ll be just enough, ok?
And putting one foot in front of another will come a little
Easier, next day
Even if Van Der Klok assesses the score and my kind intentions are a bit lopsided today, and my hair;
There will be
Another day
For me.

These conflicting emotions and thoughts always get the best of me and take control. Sinking their teeth into my brain, releasing their venom so it’s always on my mind. I want to just give up and stop trying to take back control. Just give in completely. Let it all go. I’m so tired of trying to hold on and it’s useless anyway. I may or may not have put up a good fight, but the war was fought and the battle is done. It has won. This is the time to surrender and admit defeat.

Prowriting aid style score: 100%

Dear mom,

You’ve known me the longest. You had a big role in making me. I was one part you and one part Dad. One part breath, one part earth. Your womb was the kiln I found my true form in.

I was one of 3, byt you always made me feel like the top of that triangle, the high point of our five-pointed star.

I remember you bought the anthology of young writers when, in 5th grade, my poem about winter was published in it.

You knew I’d get into Luther, but you forced, forced me to choose a back up school. Still believing while going over my financial package, with Dad, on our Windows desktop in the living room, that I could make that driftless dream come true.

After coming home from our church’s mission trip to Juarez, I thought you didn’t take me seriously when I said I wanted to go into the Peace Corps after college. But when I was boarding the plane to South Africa wearing my life-sized backpacking backpack, I knew your tears were partly of maternal pride.

You were there when I was in-patient and cracked jokes about the hospitilization experience. How the little library on the ward had barely any books and included the Uglies series and The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.

You were there when I became a teachers, got my masters and licensure in a year. You were right there cheering me on as I moved from school to school, tirelessly looking for my teaching home.

And you supported me as I published my book of poetry, and pitched it to an editor. You always listened to my words and said they always struck you as insightful and inspiring. I knew I always had an audience.

Now, I’ve learned that you’d still be with me, be my bright shining moon, in the darkest of nights. When I was a way from home, you always said to look for the moon and know that you’d be looking at the same moon.

When you got cancer, I knew I had to keep looking for the moon, for myself and for you.

The moon is always in the sky, no matter the stormy weather. You held the moon in the sky for me so I could always find my way, even if the path led far from home, or from what I thought home was.

For always being my moon, I love you.

Letters Between a Father and Daughte
by Cindy Newcomer
Here is a brief intro for the following letters. My dad died quickly and unexpectedly from cerebral hemorrhage in 1967 at the age of 42. I was two years old at the time and have no conscious memory of him. Very little was ever mentioned about him in our home. To say that my mom was not the nurturing, motherly type is an understatement. Discussing feelings, grief and loss about his death were not a part of life. I was basically left to try to understand the loss and deal with it on my own. Needless to say, I have spent a lifetime with some complicated grief issues. Fast forward to 2015. Russ, my husband of 15 years, my soul mate and my best friend, died suddenly from a massive heart attack. Although I have dealt with many losses in my life, this one hit me hard. Since how we deal with present circumstances is influenced by our past experiences, grief issues with my dad’s death resurfaced. I was challenged to write a letter to my dad and then to write a letter from my dad to me. I have written several letters over the years to my dad but always from a child’s point of view. I decided I wanted to do this from today, as a 52-year-old woman. I must have started the letter over a half a dozen times. I just couldn’t do it. Then one day I was finally able to.
Dear Dad,
I have spent a lifetime thinking about you. Wondering what you would have been like, what our relationship would have been like, what my life would have been like. I would usually imagine what I guess would be almost a parallel universe in which you didn’t die when I was 2. That this is how I have thought of you and us, just dawned on me today. My life is very different because of everything that happened. I really have no idea who I would be or what I would be like had you lived. My life has been an amazing adventure. Some good, some bad – all of it combined to make me, well, me.
I have always been kind of mad because you left and you didn’t take me with you. After a mere 50 years, I think I have gotten over that one. I guess I want to say thank you for creating me. Even though you weren’t around, you did really shape and influence my life. The things I know about you are what I learned from mom, Grammy, some other family members and some of your friends and our neighbors. What I always heard from mom is that you were a hard worker, a hard drinker and went to church every Sunday. Those things became my goals when I was younger. I developed a strong work ethic, I drank like a damn fish and I went to church every Sunday. Even though at this point in my life, I disagree with much of the Catholic doctrine, the influence of the church might be what kept me alive and on this side of prison bars. With you not being around and well, mom being mom, I learned how to be self-reliant, independent, learned how to improvise and problem solve. I learned very early that life isn’t fair. It amazes me that I meet so many people who are adults who still think life should be fair. What the hell is fair??? That may be a lesson that is better learned at a young age. I think it is harder for people to accept when they get older.
During my teen years I really tried to emulate you. I can look back now and see how messed up some of the stuff I did really was. Even when I was in high school, I worked and drank almost every day. I would always make it to church either Saturday night or Sunday morning. Granted, sometimes I was still drunk from the night before. After I graduated I frequently worked two to three jobs. From 18 to 20, it wasn’t unusual for me to work 60 to 70 hours in a week. Damn, would love to have that money again. I would pay mom rent money, then the rest usually got spent on alcohol, drugs, music and cigarettes. Somehow, I think you would have put a boot to my ass for that.
I was told by Grammy and Uncle Lynn that you were the type of man that would help anyone if you could. I have tried to be that way. It has gotten me into some trouble on a few occasions, but I still think it is a good way to live. Grammy also told me that you were direct. When you had something to say, you said it. That one has really bit me in the ass a few times. Discretion is not always my strong suit.
Back to when I was a teen. I knew you had been in the military so I joined the Army Reserves on my 18th birthday. A big part of my motivation to do that was to follow in your footsteps. It wasn’t until many, many years later that Aunt Mary told me that you didn’t really like women being in the military. Oops, sorry. I was just winging it. I didn’t have you to bounce this shit off of.
I can’t imagine how different things would have been and who I would be today without the life I have lived. It isn’t like I can take the parallel universes in which you live and the real world, have them side by side and only pick the good from each one. It would be a cool trick and an awesome science fiction movie, but it isn’t reality. I have two amazing kids. Not sure how you would feel about either of them though. You are from a generation that espoused some old school ideas and values. Their lives fit into more modern-day times of acceptance. They are amazing human beings though and I am so proud of both. They have been through some serious adversity in their lives and they continue to have good hearts and are amazing people. They are both smart, resilient, hardworking, caring, kind and just good people. You have a great granddaughter. She is so adorable. Your great grandson is on the way and is due on July 4th. (Yeah, I know, that is your and mom’s wedding anniversary.)
It is weird. All my life, I have believed that when I die, you and I will be together and I will get to see you. Regardless of all the manifestations of my beliefs in religion and spirituality, and no matter how I define a Higher Power, this has always remained a constant. I don’t even really know what I believe as far as an afterlife. The whole heaven and hell things just confuse me. I don’t know. Even though I don’t know, I still have the childlike vision of you and me hanging out in heaven that kind of looks like a cartoon or a sappy greeting card. I remember when I was younger and a relative said that playing cards was the work of the devil and we were all going to hell. Even then I envisioned us just sitting around a table playing cards in hell. Apparently, the cards we were using were fire-proof. It is weird to think of some of these things as an adult and see them for what they are. Childhood thoughts and fantasies. Even today, I still have a belief that we will be together. I have that wish to be with Russ again, but I don’t have that belief with the same conviction that I do with you. Plus, even though I have lost so many people in my life, you and Russ are the only two that I think that way about.
This is such a new and strange way of thinking. I guess it is more from an adult perspective rather than being stuck with a childlike perspective. Hey, that reminds me, I wrote you a letter one time when I was around 6 or 7. I even put it in an envelope, addressed it to Heaven and rode my bike to the Post Office to mail it. I wonder what I wrote in that.
I love you dad. I love the image of you, the thought of you. I love the thought that you loved me and you wanted me. I have tried to live my life in a way that would make you proud of me. I am sure I let you down a few times. Hopefully though overall, I am a person that you would like, love and be proud to call your daughter.
I love you,
Cindy
Within a few days of writing this letter, I went to a Reiki circle. Now I must clarify that Reiki is such a mystery to me. I have gone probably about a dozen or more times. I still want to be skeptical of it but I have fallen in love with it. The benefits I have received from it have been mind-blowing. Anyhow, I was driving home after the Reiki circle and the letter from my dad to me just started to formulate in my head. When I got back to where I was staying, I put on some music, closed my eyes and just started typing. When I got out of my own way, I was able to receive this letter from my dad.
Dear Cindy,
I never left you. I have been in your heart the whole time. I know that sometimes you are able to feel me there. Other times, you ignore that I am there. My love for my baby girl has never gone away. I didn’t want to leave you, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was just my time. I couldn’t take you with me nor would I have wanted to;, you were a baby. Think about it, would you have been willing to take one of your kids along at that young age or even now? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Stop worrying about whether or not I am proud of you. YES, I am proud of you. Do I completely understand you, oh hell no. But then we are from two very different generations. The whole therapy, support group, reiki, meditation, essential oils, I won’t even pretend to understand that shit. I can say that as far as the therapy and support group goes, I guess it isn’t much different than me sitting with my buddies at the bar and talking to the bartender. Just you do it without the beer. Concept is pretty much the same though. Back to me being proud of you. You need to let that shit go. You are a smart, caring, kind person. You help others and keep your door open to anyone who needs a place, a hug or just a place to hang out. Your Grammy was that way too.
You take pride in the fact that so many people have told you that you are a lot like me. I want you to think about that for a minute. The people that you know that are like one of their parents, haven’t they spent a good deal of time butting heads with that parent because they are so much alike? I am sure we would have had our share of that. You can be too bull-headed, stubborn and independent for your own damn good. I am sure I would have booted you in the ass a few times.
It is time you move forward. I know you have missed me and that is ok. But it is time to stop using it as a crutch or an excuse to stay stuck. You are a grown-ass woman at this point. You can’t go back and change the past. Hold onto the stories and the love that I gave you while I was there. You still have it in there; just allow yourself to acknowledge it and feel it. I am a part of you and always will be, just like you are a part of your children. Again, would you want them to suffer and stay stuck about something the way you have over my death? No, I know you wouldn’t. You are a good parent and you love your kids, just like I loved you.
I know that somehow you have rationalized that staying stuck and not letting go is a way for you to remain loyal to me. It isn’t what I want. I want you to heal. Yeah life sucks sometimes, I mean hell, look at what all your Grammy went through. You still whining all these years later about the fact that I died when you were a baby doesn’t do anyone any good. It isn’t showing any sort of loyalty to me. That is your twisted thinking. It is time you let me go. I don’t mean forget about me. Let go of the wish that I was still alive or that I had lived longer. Accept my death for what it is. I loved you with my heart and soul while I was there. Just like you want your kids to carry your love for them in their hearts and souls long after you are gone, the same goes for me.
I will agree with you, it sucks that we didn’t get to spend more time together. But yet again, all the holding on, dreaming, wishing, hoping isn’t going to change the reality of what happened.
Let me go, and move forward with your life. Know that I love you, always have and always will. I am proud of you. You have gone through some shit and yet you still have compassion for others. You are a Bechdel through and through. We are a hearty bunch, strong and resilient. Don’t ever forget that. It is ok to let go. There is no shame in that. I know you aren’t letting go of me and even if you were, I am still not letting go of you. I am still a part of you.
I love you,
Dad

“Do you have any sage advice for me ” my friend asked after we discussed a beautiful solo act of spoken word combined with the playing of the Harp. The talented performer is a woman named Amanda Peckler. I thought about my friends question, taken aback with honor – and a bit of imposter syndrome.

My head spun with the amount of answers I could say; I gave so many answers to his one question, I could not even remember what I said.

“I envy your way of thinking,” he said.

“You admire it, not envy.”

After sincerely crediting my mentors for the ability to think the way I do, I explained:

“Most of the time, we can try what we envy:

Next time you envy someone for their talent, change it to admiration.

Inevitably you are going to struggle the first time; just remember:

Even the advanced were once beginners.

You’ve been my shadow for as long as I can remember, lurking in the corners of my mind, whispering doubt, exhaustion, and fear into every crevice of my soul. You’ve made yourself at home in my thoughts, convincing me that stillness is safety, that failure is inevitable, and that I am nothing without you.

But I see you now. I see how you twist my reflection, how you tangle my dreams in barbed wire, how you drag your fingers through my happiness just to watch it unravel. I hear the lies you tell me—that I’m not good enough, that I’ll never change, that I should just give up. And I won’t pretend your voice isn’t loud. It is. Some days, it’s all I hear.

But guess what? I’m still here. I’m still writing, still fighting, still daring to want more than the prison you’ve tried to build around me. You’ve stolen too many moments, too many dreams, too many days where I could have felt joy but instead felt only your weight pressing down on my chest.

So, I’m making something clear today: You don’t get to win.

I won’t say you’re gone, because I know you’re always lurking. But I will say this—I am learning to live around you, despite you, and in defiance of you. Every time I write, every time I create, every time I move forward even when you’re clawing at my ankles, I am reclaiming myself.

You are not me. You are something I carry, something I battle, but you do not define me.

I do.

And I choose to keep going.

Sincerely,

Me

Sixty paces—the distance between the wear marks on the porch windowsill
to the stone coping beneath the cherry blossoms.

From cold, wet nose kisses, punctuated by toe taps,
to the pungent pansies that now adorn his earthly bed.

Four feet—forty-eight inches—the space from his head to my lap.

Yet—when I close my eyes, I’m met by his tender gaze.
I feel the weight of his head, the damp jowls,
the velvet of his coat against my skin.

His warmth—lifting the weight of the day.

A kindred spirit, whose friendship I never questioned.

Sixty paces—a heart-rending farewell,
and a heartfelt hope: “I’ll be seeing you.”

Let’s go back to those nights of walking the neighborhood.
Of riding our bikes thru that same neighborhood bypassing the “scary” street.
Let’s go back to sitting in front of the TV playing video games til the sun comes up.
Go back to the days of driving around feeling like grown adults.
Let’s go back to those day trips that consist of music blaring thru the speakers. Our voices singing as loud as they can.
Go back to the nights of just us girls & the open road which led us to the unknown.
Let’s go back to those nights in our 20s of just dancing the night away with no cares in the world.
With the only thought of “will it be mimis or dennys” after the night is done.
Let’s go back to girls night in.
Banging drums. Tapping the microphone. & strumming the guitar.
Can we go back and just live for the moment?
For the simplicity.
For the joy.
Can we go back & just enjoy being present?
No rush for the next task.
No responsibilities that will consume our time.
Can we go back & just be?
Let’s go back & see.
Just us three.

Look at you so filled with joy
With so many around you to annoy
Not a care in the world seeking new adventures
You’re lucky Mama’s not filled with lectures
Even though she yells “GO PLAY”
You always make the best of your day
I’m here to put it to you clear
You are loved and there’s nothing to fear

I sit with my internal child outside on the stairs, because I know she wants me to.
She giggles so softly.
Her dimples shine so brightly.
She tells me about her day on the playground swing.
We share a bowl of cheetos, the puffs kind.
We make pictures out of the clouds in the sky.
She sees a puppy. I see a pig.
We even forget about the thing of time.
We get lost in the freshness of Spring air.
Dreaming of what the fields of life has in store for us.
I sit with my inner child outside on the stairs because all she wants is individual love.