"To keep our faces toward change, and behave like free spirits in the presence of fate, is strength undefeatable." Helen Keller.

There is still much to work through in my life; a thousand unexplored emotions, thoughts that haunt and thoughts that heal, questions about direction, purpose and meaning.

I made my mind up long ago that I would not spend a day lying in bed and wallowing in pity. I have not done that. I have tried to face these changes head-on and tackle them one-by one. Recently, however, I find that I am stuck. Feet dragging in the mud—stuck.

I’m not sure how much of this is winter and how much is me not snapping back. I finally decided to get some counseling to help me sort things out. To me, this seems like weakness yet, I believe it is not only necessary but crucial.

I see my future in my imagination—it is bright and just around the corner. I am desperate to be there. I have no greater goal than to learn to find joy within the boundaries of my sorrow. But for now as I've said--I am stuck.

The cold gloomy weather made me think about something I wrote two years ago called “Twenty-six months of Winter”. When I read it, I was reminded that despite the gray I feel hovering above me, in reality, I have come very far. I would like to wish myself past this, but we all know you just have to trudge through.

It is so much easier to allow yourself time to heal when the wound is physical. I have been mortally wounded—but it is on the inside. My words are my scars. I wish they were always as bright and colorful as the hope that wraps around this wound.

I don’t want to be pitied. I guess I would like to be understood.

Every day is a leap of faith and sometimes I feel like just stepping out of bed is the bravest thing I have ever done.

Twenty-six months of winter.
02.16.05 (10:54 pm)

The black, white, and gray of winter has seeped in under the doorways and is permeating the house like dense fog. Occasionally, a splash of color will pierce the status quo… a bouquet of red tulips or a foil wrapped piece of candy.

I long for Spring; for green and the smell of hyacinth. I long for resurrection.

I have been travelling this route through Purgatory for over 26 months. I have learned that just because the road you traveled was long, dark and fraught with danger does not guarantee that the next phase of the journey will find you skipping through a field of daisies. Sometimes, the most difficult roads to get through are not those that you anticipate.

For me, the most challenging roads are not where the grade is steep or the terrain is rocky, but the road that goes on for miles, flat and unchanging.

Death has its own agenda. It will not be slowed down any more than it will be rushed. It plays tricks on your mind and tortures you with its uncertainty. In a frenzy you attempt to gather all of your moments and your memories; like trying to save precious photographs from a fire. I love you. I love you. I love you.

A few nights ago Ali woke up and didn’t know me. She thought I was trying to kill her and tried to flee the bed… even though she cannot stand by herself. I had to pull her back in as she repeatedly punched my face and screamed for help. The next day she remembered and apologized, ending with, "I love you, mama". As I looked deeply into her eyes, I realized that while I have been busy mourning the Ali that I see bright eyed and smiling in photographs, I have not fully appreciated the Alison lying in front of me. An innocent, vulnerable, child-like Ali who is fighting for her very life, yet, still has not lost her empathy or sense of humor.

I was challenged by a road that I thought to be flat and unchanging, but, I was wrong. The road was changing, just not in the direction that I was looking for. Sometimes when life disappoints us we let the gray seep in and stop looking for strands of color. By mourning what wasn’t I failed to see the beauty in what I had in front of me.

We had a good night tonight. We laughed together… Ali, Megan and I. It wasn’t like it used to be… but still, it was a burst of color on a very dark night in February.

I know that the time is coming when my mourning will be profound and justified. I am terrified of going there, but I have no choice.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

I have endured twenty-six months of winter. Spring can’t be too far away.