Walking barefoot with flowers in my hair, dancing to New Orleans bump and grind music, running in circles around the ottoman with Henry and Annabelle, laughing my ass off with my best friend, listening to Billie Holiday, drinking red wine, taking hot bubble baths with candles, being fed chocolate-covered strawberries and grapes while sitting in the bath, hot oil massages, bright red toenails, silk nighties, luxurious linens, moments of grace, swimming in the ocean, slow-dancing with my husband to Ella Fitzgerald singing Cole Porter, watermelon-cilantro margaritas, talking to my sisters, splashing through rain puddles, baking chocolate chip-oatmeal cookies…
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Lift a Glass to My Ol’ Hip
So tonight, I lift a glass to my ol’ hip… (or if not a glass, a Tramadol). It’s been a good hip, grown two amazing souls, been the source of endless dancing pleasure and supported me now for half a century. It’s time for my to go to hip heaven… Hip Hip Hooray! (Just kidding- surgery sucks, but I’m told the pain-free existence afterwards is well worth it. I’ll let you know.)
Castles in France for the Mother of Dragons
As we checked out, we did a little Game of Thrones photo shoot in the empty rooms we walked through. Mind you, my kids are too young to watch it, so it was just me living my Mother of Dragons fantasy because I so resonate with the character: I feel like I’ve spent a long night in a fire, burning with grief and love and heartbreak, and now as the fire simmers down, I emerge, not burnt and weak, but stronger, braver, with my arms full of fierce baby dragons.
- Divorce Diva | Grief Journey | Hope | Humor | Inspiration
Attending My First Wedding as a Divorcee Was Not What I Expected
Last week I attended my first wedding as a divorcee, and I wasn’t expecting the cascading waves of mixed emotions. I was happy for my niece of course, and I do adore romance and beauty, but there were moments at the wedding that were zings of pain, like little divorce bees were flying around, stinging me here and there…
Love and Loss and the Magic of Fairy Wings
And now the baby is 16, the same age as Sleeping Beauty when she pricked her finger on that spinning wheel and fell asleep. But my girl is definitely not asleep. She’s awake, probably the most awake person I know. At 16 years old, the is full of love and kindness and a devotion to truth and justice that seems unshakeable. This girl can easily defeat fire-breathing dragons. So maybe all the wishes from the women/fairies at her baby shower worked that day.
The truth of the truths, the truth of my battered grieving soul, is that love just keeps growing. I loved my father so much and then I met Kim, and my heart burst into lights and a whole new love, a love I had never seen before and it felt like my heart got bigger, and then I became a mother, and my love grew even bigger. Boundless. Timeless. Eternal. I still feel it when I look at the sunlight on the sea, when I link arms with my son, when I hear my daughter yelling, “Mom! I need an emergency hug right away!”
And, now that I know the staggering pain that comes with losing the people you love so much, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. I wouldn’t trade one extraordinary moment.
When we made the wings all those years ago, Kim kept saying we were infusing them with our love. I think she was right. Because if there’s one real truth in this world, no matter where people go when they die, the love remains, and in the swamp of grief, I need to remember the wings.
