Moving Day

Thirteen months today since his departure, still counting time as a mom of a new baby does–in small, yet monumental, increments:  Breathing, making it through a day without crying, smiling, talking in solo verses pair, etc.  Each a significant milestone toward embracing life.

Every part of my being trying to move toward new beginnings with anticipation and excitement, instead of sighing at the look back, or better yet, being okay in the land of the limbo when the two intersect, without falling into despair.

Your calling is calling.

Answer it.

Did I hear this? Dream it? Recognize it? Or, was this a moment of awareness that usually catches me while entering slumber, when that significant something happens as all noise shuts down, left like a blaring light without the curtain of restraint.

The faint whisper of God to His girl, a reminder of something significant He spoke to me years’ before, but is reminding me it is on its way.

I sit here in Tay’s apartment this morning in the midst of what appears the aftermath of a storm, but is actually clutter of her upcoming move. The chaos everywhere sends the OCD in me on high-cortisol alert, aware of everything just a bit off.

I’ve traveled the five-hour journey north for some time. Many times a last minute escape from the reality of home without Bill. Like if I didn’t I would just die from the heartbreak.

Maybe because there aren’t many tangible memories of us here, times together that haunt me with awareness of a life that used to be, but is no more.

Except this small space on my morning run, the place that I receive a call from Bill, the day we discover cancer traveled from supposed remission, into the lung. The day that changed everything.

I was mid-run when the call came.


Still, this place of respite replenishes my soul, slowly giving me longings to live.

I am excited to have her near me again, still, I will miss this place.

But, like a baby without her pacifier, at first it will be a challenge, but over time hopefully she realizes she no longer needs it.

I am moving on to a new blog residence also. It is time.

Yes the new stories will still mix with yesterday’s memories, but like an adult who looks back at high school with fondness, hopefully the same will be for me in this space.

New address: (There is really not much there as of yet, but I will give a head’s up when I share next…)




Alter Moments – #Sowkindlegacy

One year ago today I began a journey with God, which started in a place of despair so thick, it nearly suffocated me.

Each morning for eight months straight, I sat at the kitchen table, with Bible, pencil and paper by my side, as I absorbed God’s Word, and poured to paper anything and everything. The first days were choppy, like the thoughts lay trapped underneath crushing feelings, and even though they desired release from the weight, they rose up slowly, and with much effort.

Still, over time, these daily moments altered my life. Or rather, kept me alive.

But there was another writing, one that was written before Bill’s death, to be opened upon his departure, that saved my life in more ways than I will share in this post.

Words speak life, even after death.

They encourage.

They fuel hope.

They comfort.

They inspire.

I have a friend who began a ministry not long ago, titled, #Sowkind. It is a way to pour much-needed kindness into others. I think of the letter Bill wrote as a #Sowkindlegacy, living on long after his absence.

On the one-year milestone, I wrote a letter to my girls. I hope my words encourage as much as the one their daddy left for them.

I hope these words encourage you to build life into those you love before it is too late (I typed it as is…errors and all).

Dear Josie, 

I wanted to tell you that you have made my life worth living. You are my best friend, you and I have been together for almost 30 years. You have been there through all our highs and lows. As a friend you have taught me how to be a better person and caring more for others than myself. You shared with me more than just friendship you shared with me your faith and I welcomed it, because of you I will go to heaven and I will be there waiting to see you again. I couldn’t think of a better friend to share my life with. 

You are my wife, you showed me how to include another person in my space and that space was filled by your love. You made me a husband, one who cared and believed in you. You and I learned how to be parents together or should I say Kylie taught us how to be parents, we learned together as a family to be a family. Through your caring nature you instilled in me a desire to raise our girls with dignity and respect. 

You are my Love. I have been in awe ever since the day we met. Your beauty, charm and humor knocked me over. I cannot describe my love for you, you have filled my life with happiness, excitement and zest. 

I want you to be strong and live a beautiful fulfilling life, please continue to share all your glorious attributes with those you love. 

You have a way with words and you have shared stories with so many others and inspired them, so never ever quit. You will write that book. 

I have never been so proud of someone in my whole life and you will always be in my heart. 

Love you Baby Cakes




Let the Adventure Begin

Yesterday brought along a whirlwind of sadness, I guess from the combination of emotions. The quiet in New York, with so many people, yet missing the one that mattered most, along with the accumulation of pent-up feelings–ones I bottled in so to not spill out while on our adventure, came pouring out the minute I found my way home again.

Another day wasted by grief’s crashing wave.

I am tired of grieving.

Today I want to begin 30 days of finding a new me. Or maybe wholeness. Could be because I am attempting Whole 30 eating plan to get back on track before my waistline decides to graduate to another size. A post for another day…

Wholeness, like filling the gaping wound with a skin graft so it can heal.

A question appeared in a post from, ‘Second Firsts’, in which the writer asked a series of questions, one being:

Are you still trying to live the life you used to have?

I sat here for minutes as I pictured the days go by, one after the next, and at first glance, thought, “no, not really.”

After all, I stopped watching our shows at night, even though the red light lets me know it is still being recorded and I am wasting valuable storage space. But I just don’t care enough to stop.

Routines are similar though.

Coffee. Shower. Working out. Actually that should be working out, and then shower.

The TV is off in the morning, yet I sit in the same spot at the kitchen table.

In the evening, this seat transitioned to Bill’s bottom, but I decided to keep it as my own. Not sure why, other than it has a better view of the perimeter of the house, and into the yard.

I meander through the day as I did when he was well, filling time with errands, coffee dates, writing.

Home maintenance. The outdoor chores are now provided by a company I pay entirely too much for, to maintain a yard that used to look meticulous.

Small weeds creep up everywhere, ones that he would Round Up, whereas I pulled by the root. I watch them accumulate. Too tired to touch. Too sad to care.

I feel debris on my feet as I walk around barefoot. No, not from the outside, but on the kitchen floor. There was a time you could eat off the tile as it was that clean.

I grocery shop instead of him. Make dinner. Clean up dishes.

Watch random reality shows, likely to escape reality.

Until I go to bed.

Another day.


No, I am not living the same life.

Actually it appears I am not living any life.

Just existing on a routine.

Like choosing the merry-go-round, instead of the roller coaster. The horses don’t move. They are stuck in place–circling as they do until the time is up.

No hills. No adrenaline. No adventure.

Before Bill was diagnosed, I woke from a dream of me on a roller coaster, arms raised, smile wide, with words ringing in my ears like a background soundtrack,

Let the adventure begin!

It startled me as dreams often do, causing the heart to pump a bit faster.

I smile at her smile.

My smile.

“Josie, put some adventure into today.”



Adventure (verb):  Engage in hazardous or exciting activity, especially the exploration of unknown territory.

So I say yes to be a judge for a throw-down, coffee competition. It is a start.

Oh, and I did get a tattoo. On my arm. In plain sight. It was a drawing from the last letter he wrote me before he died.

I may never work at a church again.

Let the adventure begin.