Angels and Demons

This is no reference to Dan Brown. This is no reference to the Bible either. What this is is a very honest and candid purging about the polar opposites that exist in me, and I believe in the whole wide world. And no, I have not been diagnosed with a bipolar syndrome nor is this a commentary on mental illness.

I won't drone on and on about the paradoxes of being human - god knows I've exhausted that topic and there's not much more I can say about that (well...knowing me...give it time). I don't want to harp on the fact that many different personality traits exist within us. We are beings that function in worlds of duality. I've 'known' that, but something happened the other night - something that has happened before, but never have I come to terms with my behaviour like this. I had an enormous and sobering epiphany, and although I'm sure you are likely bored and beyond the musings of this middle aged woman, I think it really important to talk about my battle. I feel a need to come clean about a side of me that frankly, isn't pretty. 

I'd love to make excuses for my negative behaviour. If I were to be completely honest, I'd love nothing more that to blame someone else or something for why I act the way I do. "They were alcoholics". "They were cheaters." "They lied to me." "I had a hard life growing up." "They are leaving me." The reasons I have felt the need to blame could go and on and there would never be an end to the list. After watching a documentary on Werner Ernhard (founder of what has come to be known as the 'Transformation Movement'), I got really clear about the truth. The truth is this: I create every experience. Sometimes my behaviour in those experiences is horrid. But it is how I have grown accustomed to operating. It has been part of what I do to survive.

Last blog I spoke about my letting go of perfection and control and trying to hang out in not knowing where my life will go or what will happen. I truly get nauseous when I think about it. I believed I was getting a grip and a handle on moving forward with my life by having an awareness of these feelings. Well...enter panic! Hello old friend, how nice of you to show up again, how very timely. This week my deepest fears will be realized when my beloved husband embarks on the journey and trip of a lifetime. He will be riding his motorcycle from Toronto to Chicago, then on to Los Angeles. Talk about feelings of separation anxiety and fear of the unknown! My family and relationships are the most important thing to me and have always been. But throw in being a Cancerian with Co-Dependancy issues as well as a Control Freak and look out. Batten down the hatches!

The other night I became Hyde to my Jekyll, Yin to my Yang and the Dark to my Light. In an attempt to 'control' I turned into a monstrous beast. I could feel myself saying things that were spiteful, even hurtful. I was purposely pushing away and creating distance. Jealously raged. I was insenced by feelings of insecurity. Unkindness became a fiend. I felt I had no control, not even with my own actions. Yet I continued. I closed myself off emotionally and physically. I barracaded myself behind the bedroom door and it was there that I sat, alone and frightened; which ironically was the very last thing I wanted to experience.

I held hard to my staunch attitude. I got loud and puffed out my chest, making myself bigger than I actually was. I sneered, huffed and puffed. Meanwhile something was stirring within. Something was triggered. I was completely powerless to change the world and what was happening outside of me. In a desperate attempt of creating false control I pulled out all the stops. I, in effect, became a bully. I manipulated. I charged. I hurt. The circumstances didn't' change as much as I'd wished they would. He was still leaving. He was going to be thousands of miles away. He could die. He was still spending the last night before going with his team of men and not me. All these thoughts consumed my mind. The more I snared, the more the talons appeared, the less control I actually had. I was losing it and my imagined grip on life. 

That night as I tossed and turned in bed not sleeping, I mulled over my past and how I've responded to situations where I felt small and insignificant, like I didn't matter or that I was unimportant. This ugly pattern has been part of me for a long time now. I'm thankful it doesn't surface often, but it lurks in the shadows and when I feel threatened, I attack. I pretend to not need you. I pretend to be hard. I turn my back and walk away. I shut you out. But inside, where the world cannot see, it is a very different story. I am  quivering. I am fearful. I am gravely sad that you may not love me - or worse that I am not worthy of your love.

I surrendered to this truth. It is a truth I am not necessarily proud of. But it IS me. Relinquishing the fight has not been easy going. Learning my behaviour and seeing how I move through life and circumstance has been eye opening; especially since Boston. More than ever before I revert back to a scared, helpless child in a world of supposed threats. I have held so tightly to my ideals that unclenching my cramped tight fists has been difficult - but I am letting go. I cannot force love. I cannot make people want to stay when it is their wish to leave. Trusting and loving means living and existing from love, not fear. I cannot completely disregard the hard fact that there is world out there that like me, is dualistic. Shutting down and distancing myself from pain and reality is not how I wish to proceed, though I've thought it the safer path for most of my life. Controlling others and life won't give me peace. So somewhere between wings and a pitchfork is where I am learning to live and learning to see all that exists in between.

Walking The Fine Line

Many hours I have spent sitting in chairs pondering the meaning of life and looking out into the world around me. Some seats have been more comfortable than others. Nowadays, my time is taken up sitting in the chairs of counselor's offices. When entering I am faced (yet again) with making decisions. Always lingering in the back of my mind is making the right choice...if there is even such a thing. Do I sit in the high backed wing chair that appears to be more comfortable or do I sit in the stark angular hard seat? I know without a doubt that my choice will be noted and later when I leave there will be some mention in their notes about where I chose to plunk down my ass.

Today I am sitting on one of my dining room chairs. The foam has softened over time and as ample as my posterior might be, I can now feel the hardness of the wood frame underneath the cushion. It is uncomfortable. Much like my life of late. Yet here I sit. I remain where I am because I can't be bothered to move. Which begged the question for me this morning...am I becoming indifferent to my life and circumstance or have I finally gotten a hold of this whole 'letting go' thing? I suppose neither is wrong, though in all honesty the idea of letting go feels much nicer; perhaps more 'conscious'.

There is a very fine line between indifference and letting go I believe. The idea of not giving a rat's ass is not something that gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside, that's for sure. Letting go and letting be doesn't create a sense of peace for me either...well...not yet. I'm still white knuckling my way through life as I always have.

Having to know it all, having to be perfect, having to provide the why's and how's to the world has been an extremely daunting responsibility. No one has ever said I must, but somewhere in my past this perfectionist attitude surfaced and it has stuck like glue to my brain and worse...to my heart. I have always been the responsible one, the caregiver, the fixer. I suppose in reaching out and aiding others it has felt good and given me what I believed to be a higher purpose. Perhaps all it ever was and has ever been is an ego boost. For how can the world despise a philanthropist, a do-gooder, a humanitarian?

Even so I am now faced with these uncomfortable feelings of being stuck. Having no idea where to go or what to do - or...how to feel. I have been coached and guided and it has been suggested that I 'hang out' in the stuckness and the not knowing. Let me say...I'm not at all a fan. I feel antsy, jittery and like I'm going mad. It's easy to pick up a rag and clean. It's easy to read or switch on the telly. It's NOT easy to realize you have no control over anything and that you don't have the answers, and that there is nowhere to go but here. If you don't like where you currently are this realization is unpleasant to say the least.

My back has literally rounded from years of shouldering the world's pain. I can't take it any longer. It's not my job to 'fix' anyone or anything. That doesn't mean I don't care. It means that I must first take care of me and when I do I will be in a much healthier place to provide love and compassion to those around as my expanded heart will have much more room in it for giving in the truest sense. I will be able to see people for exactly who they are in the precise place they are in their lives - whatever that looks like. I will be able to look in the mirror and see a human being having a human experience. I will be kinder to myself; more understanding and less rigid; I will be able to give that away to others as well.

For now I will toss around imperfection and lack of direction. I will feel my heart race and my temples pulse from fear and anxiety. I will cry and wimper. I will stare blankly into my monstrous world and do my damnedest to see what I see. There will be beauty and there will be awful pain and tragedy. For the first time and in a way I never dreamed I'd know, I have experienced both. Like a tightrope walker, I am gingerly moving through my life. Finding the balance is new to me. When I do let go a little and close my eyes and 'feel' what is going on in my body and process what is coming up in my heart, it is a strange sensation. There are small moments of liberation and lightness. The feeling doesn't last long, but it is there. I'm sure I will swing wildly between extremes. I will dangle from my fingertips and pray to god that I won't fall into an abyss. In the meantime I am learning to say I don't know. I'm learning to loosen my shoulders and shrug when I have no answers. And when my butt has finally gone numb enough from sitting aimlessly, I will change positions or seats and see how it feels.

Brushstrokes of My Heart...

Since April 15th I have been moving (sometimes standing still) through some of the most profound pain of my life. I have been trying to understand the why's and the how's and continually come up empty handed and empty brained. I have scaled a mountain, stood barefoot in parks and sat on meditation cushions searching for a kind of peace - one that I have come to understand is ever elusive to me at this time. I have glimpses of hope and then out of the blue, darkness descends and blocks the light entirely. The stars are gone and the universe seems so very vast and cold.

I know I am not alone in this spiritual quest. I am learning each day that having an agenda around this stuff is futile. A reader of my blog once said I am a hamster on a wheel...going nowhere fast. That couldn't be more true. The wheels of my mind are constantly churning. The more I feel, the more questions arise, the more answers I do not have. The more helpless I become.

It turns out I have a 'brilliant' brain (according to the counselor I have been seeing). Trouble is I 'feel' with it, instead of feeling with my heart. That hit a nerve and a place in me that caused great fear. What have I been doing all these years when I've been searching (for lack of a better word) to find...ummm...me...the truth about the meaning of life (and death)? Has all the journeying led me to a dead end? Have the tears and aches, questions and answers meant nothing? I hope to God, not.

I have recently turned to art as an expression of what gurgles inside. I am become Van Gogh in the depths of his creative and emotional madness. I cannot create quickly enough. The pictures ache to breathe - to be unearthed.  To hold them in would be my demise I am sure. May I never find myself lost and alone in a field of wheat with a gun in one hand and a paint brush in the other.

As I look at the creations of my soul I see my mind and I see the aching of my weary heart. I feel alone on this journey; like a solo salmon swimming against the torrents; like a lost soul moving through the masses of blank hearts and glossed over eyes. I want to bump into people just to feel them, to know them, to love them, to understand them...perhaps so that I can better understand myself. I have been working so hard to get somewhere; anywhere but where I am. I am exhausted. I don't know if it's age or that I am now relinquishing the fight. Maybe there is no need to soldier on. There is nothing to do. As my dear brother put it..."perhaps there is nothing to get". Please say that isn't the case!

What if this is all a game? What if, what if, there is no 'meaning' to life? We are here for a time to do what we do until there is no more doing. That notion makes me sick. I have been searching for so long; the better part of my near 47 years. I don't like the idea it is all for naught. I want my existence to have been 'meaningful'. I want to see life in the eyes of mankind. I want to see hope, trust, faith and possibility. I want to hold the worlds' hand and travel to Utopia where we dine on love. Being in the reality of the now and having tasted fear so boldly, I worry this is all but an unattainable dream. 

Perhaps someone will wake me from the nightmare and declare, "We are here! Nirvana awaits..."

I Want to Break Free...

I live my life with arms and heart wide open. That is, until recently. I have now discovered that my compassion and feelings are a double edged sword. People who know me understand that I am an emotional creature. I feel out loud and I hide nothing about myself from the world or those around me. I am and have always been an open book. My mother told me many years ago that I have always been this way. And thank goodness I was never told to 'toughen up' or 'stop that crying, or I'll give you something to cry for...' My dear mother encouraged the tears and advised that there is far more room for them 'out there' than there is inside my tiny frame. I'm not sure the world has space for the tears I have yet to shed.

I cannot stop crying. I am weak. No matter how hard I try to push through this time in my life and this pain that I'm experiencing, I cannot.  I want to rid myself of the heaviness that weighs on my chest. I want suspicions and anxiety to leave me alone. I want to trust and love the world again.
As I look out I realize I have become jaded. I am usually the girl who sees the good in mankind, who sees life as possibility and who trusts that people deeply care for one another. This trauma has me wearing different glasses now. No longer am I peering out through rose coloured glasses. The lenses are scratched, muddied and dark.

The bombs in Boston were but a moment in time. That moment has had my life stand still. I'm stuck and all I want to do is break out of the constricting armour that is now encasing my heart. I can reason all I want and rationally go through things so I can see this was an unusual experience and one I will likely never, ever experience again - but it has changed me. It has changed my life. And unless you have stood in the face of death the way I did; not knowing from one second to the next if something else will happen - where...when...unless you have breathed in chaos and death and felt fear to the very core of your being, you can never ever know what this devastating sadness and fear feels like. 

As the days pass and the clock ticks on, it is increasingly clear that I cannot rush this. I cannot theorize my way out of this. I cannot read or meditate, talk or write the pain away. It is there, my teacher and the lesson of trusting and loving myself (truly for the first time ever) is now what I must face.Trauma, as is turns out, stirs all the muck and ill that lurks within. It is hard enough to try to get a grip on the immediate pain, let alone now having to look into the eyes of past hurt and unresolved issues. 

I have managed pretty well up until now to live a good life. My life hasn't been easy by any account, nor has it been one that has been laden with prosperity and gold. Instead I have had a wealth of experience that has made me rich. After nearly twenty-five years of inner child work, relationship courses, self improvement and empowerment seminars (not to mention some time on a couch in a shrinks office), nothing and I mean nothing I have learned, prepared me for this devastation and ruin; this wall that stands infront of me.

After speaking with a trauma counsellor yesterday, I headed uptown to do some breath and body work with a dear friend. There in the basement of her home she coached me through some breathing and meditation exercises. As I focussed on the area of my heart, there was a tremendous release. I cried and cried. I curled into a ball and rocked for what felt like an eternity. My heart was beating out of my chest and I feared it would rip my body wide open. It needed me. It needed my care. It needed to be loved. In the moments that passed, it became clear to me that I have never truly loved it. I have cursed it for breaking. I have wrapped casings around it to protect it from pain. All the while never truly going inside and acknowledging it. This deep pain in my chest is the central pain of my life. Boston has brought this to light.

Now...time is all I have. God knows I have no control. I have gone down that path and come up empty. How much time will it take before I will feel fully whole and like me again? I don't know. Maybe the 'me' I've been all along was not as whole and complete as I thought. Perhaps...perhaps, I will break free from the pain that binds me and my heart and will emerge a new woman. 

Healing Hearts

The light of dawn cracks through my window. Normally I'd be fast asleep, but this past week I have been unable to shut my mind off. Reels play endlessly and the internal chatter is immensely loud. There is no shut off button. I lay under the warmth of my comforter and beside the man I love, yet I feel no comfort. My heart and soul have been pillaged and reclaiming it is far more daunting a task than I ever hoped it would be.

Part of my work days are spent occupied with a program I have been part of for four years. I have been one of the privileged who was chosen to spear head a Critical Incident Stress Management program for our colleagues. Many hours have been spent sitting in training sessions honing listening skills and learning about self-care and stress management. I have participated in one-on-one sessions and group debriefs, but nothing, and I mean NOTHING could have prepared me for what I have been going through since Boston. I am the poster child for trauma. Life is ironic isn't it?

Nightmares, hyper awareness, paranoia, sleeplessness, shock, fear...the list goes on and on. Being on the other side of the brochure is a different world. There is no way to comprehend the damage that occurs, even with all the studying and theorizing that you can do. To stand face to face with death, to feel the force of a bomb on your body and to smell panic is something you cannot imagine, no matter how creative a mind you have. Sounds trigger emotions. Backpacks cause so much anxiety I can hardly breathe.

I know I will move through this. I know there will be healing. I just don't know when the peace will return and that is devastating. My world has been rocked to the core and foundations have crumbled below my feet. I have stood alone and scared before, not knowing where to go or how to move forward, yet I managed in some way to take a step. This...this is so very different.

I feel so alone. I know from the outpouring of care that I am not. Yet I feel I am. The world goes on. Life continues for everyone, but I am stuck in this hell called trauma. I try to put a brave face on for those around, but inside I am shaking uncontrollably. My chest rises erratically with my laboured shallow breathing. My eyes are sullen and hollow holes in my head. The spark is gone. I have no control. And for me...that is most frightening. The madness of recent years has settled and I was in a groove again (a somewhat stagnant groove, but one nonetheless). It has been 'safe'.

I am having to learn trust all over again. I am learning more than ever to lean into my discomforts and fears and try with all my might not to run. Holding my breath is exhausting; exhaling even more so. I am hardening. I am feeling myself shutting down and pulling away. I am in a dazed and confused state and trying to get myself together is increasingly challenging. I sputter and sputter from my blogs about self love and yet I cannot find the strength to do that. I have focussed so much of my life and energy on giving outwardly, yet it feels like I haven't the foggiest notion of how to return the favour to me. Perhaps it is simply that I am spent. I have nothing more I feel I can give, even to myself.

This blog was born nearly three years ago at a most devastating time in my life. I remember the ache and sorrow and prayed that I'd never ever have to experience pain like that again. But alas, life does not work that way. The world and the universe and all those who reside here have different plans. My path was to have been rocked for some reason, I know not what. I am to be here, having this very experience. Something is to be learned from this. There are some things I have realized - some things that are heartbreaking, some things are full of hope. It is all meant to be.

I am surrounded and loved by incredible friends and family. I have been held from far and wide with thoughts of care. My tears have landed on many a shoulder and my cheeks have been tenderly kissed with pecks of love. These are my gifts in all of this suffering.

Patience is needed, all around. We need to all learn to tolerance. There is too much judgement. Pride and staunch attitudes have fuelled hate. There is no one way to live or to exist on this planet people! When, when will we figure this out? How many more acts of terror will it take? How many more acts of racism before we all understand we bleed the same? Hate is learned. With every snide comment about someone we teach our children to do the same. I wish our skins could be peeled back and nothing but our insides exposed. Perhaps then we'd understand that our skin is only a casing. Our souls and hearts need our attention. I implore you please, look inside. Take stock of your life, of your thoughts. Rework your spirit if need be. We cannot go on hating each other this way.

The world can't take it....I can't take it. No more...please...no more.

Broken in Boston - 2013

April 12th - 16th was to have been a time like no other. My wonderful husband was going to be running the marathon - a feat many will never accomplish. Through sleet, ice, rain and excruciating pain he ran and trained relentlessly - strengthening his heart and resolve with every step taken. I couldn't wait to be in Boson at the finish line, cheering him on. 

There is no way to describe the energy of Hopkinton the morning of the race. Tens of thousands line the streets. Banners and flags are held high. Children sit on their parents shoulders having better vantage points, hoping to catch site of a loved one they are there to support. 

The streets of Boston (in particular Boylston) is a sight to behold.  A sea of people everywhere. Horns are blown. Cheers are heard. High fives are given and love and encouragement is thrust upon the runners, lifting their spirits as they near the end of their arduous journey of 42.2 kms. 

There I was. Standing shoulder to shoulder with my father-in-law, eager to see bib 24460 and the face of the man I love and adore. My heart and exultation went out to every runner that passed in front of me. Some ran strong. Others were weak, but determined. The most impressionable images were that of the parents who came to the VIP seating to hug their children. Some lifted them over the barricades and ran with them to the finish line.  You cannot imagine what that was to witness.

My love was but five blocks away and minutes from the finish line when the first explosive was detonated   It wasn't until the second bomb went off that I knew we were in grave danger and that something horrific had taken place. Carnage and chaos. 

The next forty minutes were the longest of my life. I was a mile from my husband, but it may as well have been an ocean because there was no way of finding him. Calls were not going through. Texts were not being answered. I stood, shaking and crying in a city I didn't know. People were running and pushing. Sobs and cries deafened me. Had it not been for the solid shoulder of the white haired man beside me, I don't know how I would have managed. Hand-in-hand we moved through the streets that were accessible. Gently, he would wipe away my salty, fear filled tears as they streamed down my face. Finally...finally a text.  Andrei was okay. He was waiting, cold and shaky at the corner of Massachusetts and Commonwealth. A short (and long) 1.1 miles away.  How we got there I'll never know. It felt like my feet couldn't carry me fast enough. 

There he was...on the other side of the street. Touching him and seeing the love in his eyes made my heart melt. He was okay. We were okay. The three of us made it. 

---

Today is day four after the Boston Marathon bombings. I was hoping that distance from the site and days past would ease the ache of my heart. I should know better. Images still flood the media and today the madness continues as the FBI track the second suspect in the bombings. I suppose I could shut down the computer, turn off the radio and flick the switch of the TV, but somehow that feels like I'd be disconnecting from a world that is healing through all of this. Expressions of love that have spread are like ointment to my weary soul.

The tears I have shed since Monday are too numerous to count. Sudden noises and sirens are unnerving. I know this will be but a memory one day, but right now the very blood that rushes through my veins and every beat of my weathered heart hurts. I cannot wish it away (as much as I'd like to). I cannot close my eyes to the reality of a world gone mad.

It is increasingly hard not to withdraw and hide away from existence. My house and appearance are direct replicas of the chaos in my mind. Up is no longer up and things that used to matter to me, I now care very little about. I am forever changed. My fear is that I will never return to the person I was before. I am a resilient and strong woman, but something switched that day at 2:50 p.m. All that I believed to be true, all that I hoped for seemed to disappear with the deadly smoke as it rose high above Boylston Street. Forever etched in my memory are the sounds - the boom, the screams, the cries, the sirens...the silence.

A dear friend wrote to me and said, "Humanity raises its consciousness and this uplifting is more positive that you can imagine. Three people sacrificed their lives that day............and so we become closer and more connected as humans. Eventually there will be a day when this type of tragedy would be inconceivable."

I pray he is right. 

We will return to Boston. The city and the people are incredible. The trueness of anyone and anything comes to light in times of madness. Kindness still abounds in the world. Humanity is not dead. May we all heal our hearts. For those embittered by life and circumstance, for those that choose hate instead of love, for those who live in fear instead of possibility - I hope you will see the light that is good and that you will seek solace and refuge in a world full of grace.

Sense and Sensibility

I’d like to think of myself as a touchy feely kind of person. I love the smell of my husband’s freshly cleaned just out of the shower body, after spraying one of his colognes in the crook of his neck. The sight of a beautiful sunset as it kisses the horizon has taken my breath away on many occasions. The sound of laughter and love delights me to the core. I am a sensual woman. The way things look, smell, taste, sound and feel are incredible gifts (most of the time) and until lately I hadn’t truly given them much thought. I didn’t believe I had ever taken them for granted.

Quite recently I sat across the table from a friend who has lost her sense of taste. She doused her salad with copious amounts of dressing in the hope that her palate would catch something, anything. Cooking has become increasingly more challenging for her as she can’t sample the food to see if it’s any good. I suppose the bonus in not being able to taste, is if something is horrific, you’d rarely know. Even so, it is an ailment I should hope I’d never have to deal with.

Just when I thought it was ‘safe to go back in the water’, another movie has touched my core and has left me searching for answers (it appears all I do is watch movies eh? LOL…I assure you that is not the case).  Perfect Sense is an incredible commentary on life and how we live it, and also how we adapt to adversity as humans. Without giving anything away, I will say each and every sense is impacted in the movie, leaving mankind in shock and at times in despair.

What would I do if I couldn’t taste or hear or feel? The thought is deeply disturbing and frightening. As a race, we adapt incredibly to challenge. When our sight goes, our other senses become heightened. But…what if they all went? Would there be anything to live for? More than that, HOW would we live?

The amazing story of Helen Keller sprang to mind while watching the movie. She was able to overcome some of the most intense challenges and set an example of what bravery and inner strength are all about. I’m not sure I’d be as brave. There are times when I am an enormous mound of blubbering fear. The mere thought of losing any of my senses leaves me shaking and inept.

It was then that I realized that in effect we all live our lives every day as though we are ‘senseless’. We build walls of protection so we don’t feel. We harden our hearts to the experience of love. We turn a blind eye to the goings on right in front of us because we choose not to notice. We turn our noses up in disgust at those we feel are less than we are and we judge so very harshly. We sit idly and still and never sample the fine examples of living fully – we rarely stop and smell the roses any more.

Our world and our attitudes have become a dark, gloomy and blank place. We have so much to be thankful for. There is so much love in the world to see and experience; yet we hold it all at arms’ length for fear of unknowns and of the possibility of getting hurt. It is often when we are faced with death that we take the time to appreciate the gifts…and by that time, it is usually too late.

I am guilty of living my life that way. I sit day in and day out staring at a screen that sucks my life away – yet I do nothing to change it. I have become so comfortable where I am that complacency has taken over my life. I am firmly rooted in the mundane.  I risk less and there are times when resentment and bitterness leave me feeling like a person I’d rather not know.

I wish to cherish the small things. I want to see it all, experience it all. I want to be fully present with each and every moment that I live through. So much goes by and those times are gone forever.  It is my determination to ‘experience’ everything I am doing – even if the tasks are mundane. It really doesn’t matter what's happening because magic and wonder are present in each moment. I’ve lived with blinders on and wished to be numb - I got just what I asked for.

That no longer serves me. I’d love to have a memory bank of colour, tastes, sounds, smells and touches that will keep me going should anything ever happen. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind will be glowing fields of canola flowers along winding roads in Tuscany. There will be the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon rolls straight out of the oven. There too will be the delightful touch of my beautiful children as they’ve held my hands over the years, hugged me and kissed my cheek. I will weep as I recall the sound of Pavarotti singing Nessum Dorma with every fibre of his being, singing as though it was his very last performance. I will also relish in the stillness and the silence of powerful prayerful moments of meditation where I let go and reconcile all the ill in my life.

I have been truly blessed and have had the pleasure of experiencing some incredible moments. With renewed vigour I will keep a mental snapshot of those to come and I will relax in the knowing that I HAVE lived…and there is more living to do.