cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I arrive with great hesitance. The unknown is scary and the pain of reopening partially-healed wounds has me on guard. I am warmly welcomed with hugs. The chairs are formed into a circle. I quietly choose a chair and have a seat in the circle of grief. I look around the circle at the women…
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My heart felt heavy. My lungs felt empty. My mind couldn’t form a coherent thought. The loss was more than I had ever known. The hurt resonated deep within my soul.
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Tears trickled down my cheeks as I walked with a slight limp out of the physical therapist’s office. It was over. I had to quit. I wouldn’t accomplish my goal. Not only was I devastated, but I needed to tell my best friend and running partner, and disappoint her as well. The goal was to…
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Everywhere I turn, there is nothing. Vast nothingness all around me. As far as my eye can see is emptiness. Dry, arid, dusty, flat and desolate nothingness. My heart is broken into a million pieces. Shattered into dust on the ground. It’s hard to distinguish between the dust of my broken heart and the dust…
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A crisp November day in Michigan. Overcast but no snow on the ground. Dad in the driver’s seat and me in the passenger seat. Pulling out of the driveway and turning onto the dirt road. Heading off on an adventure in the red Ford pickup truck. Just my dad and I.
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