she rested in circles

She thought the sky was always dark. Ominous. Brooding.

One day she realized this wasn't true. The blue just hides. Often.

Brightness, she found, beckoned her.

Hues of periwinkle and silver and incandescent pearl. Sun streams of golden orange danced on her skin. Bounced off of the crumpling asphalt.

She felt the world breathe her in. The embrace of it constrained her fight, yet gave her strength. That day, she felt as if she could do anything.

She felt like she could fly.

And there she was. Soaring. High above the world she knew. The omnious layer of black far below her. The sun beating on her new glow. She was light. Lifted. Loved. She knew the feeling wouldn't last, but for now - it was everything.

Eventually the landing came. Like a piercing thud that threatened to tear her very marrow. Ripped in two. Words and shrieks and oppression. Squeezing the life out of who she was. Or who she knew she could become.

She wouldn't think of that for now.

So she soared. Alone--but embraced. Spun in silver and gossimer. Clouds of cashmere called her name. So softly. Not quite a whisper.

Anything was possible. She nearly believed it up there.

And then she heard.

Words beckoning.

Life calling.

The heaviness of the day.

Familiarity.

The mundane.

As she landed, she thought she might die. She stopped breathing -- just for a few minutes.

Holding her breath helped the impact. Helped her survive what she hated.

And there was her life. Waiting.

She tried to remember how she felt five minutes before.

Impossible. But she remembered warm colors.

She tried to rest. But she kept running in circles. Over and over and over again.

She felt something in her pocket. A piece of cashmere.

Glimmering like only hope could.

A treasure.

They told her there would be a next time.

She didn't remember why. She just simply believed it was true.

tragic things

After a long week of traveling to and from Chicago for work last week, I found myself jetlagged and asleep by 8 pm on Friday night - and subsequently, up at 6 am the next morning.

Nothing says "6 am" like a trip down the hill for coffee. And so I went.

Parked outside the mini-mart was an old Ford pickup - idling with no one inside. I had a "knock you down, bowl you over I miss my Dad" moment - right there in the parking lot. I burst into tears and didn't really know how to stop.

I collected myself and ventured into the mart. The owner of the pickup was about my Dad's age and was at the front counter purchasing cheetos and pepperoni sticks. Seriously? Two of my Dad's favorite things.

I miss my Dad. I miss my sisters. I miss my family. I could normally chalk this up to the pre-holiday chill in the air, but this year, it's something more. My Dad was in the hospital just a few weeks ago. It was very jarring to me. His health isn't great and it was truly an eye-opening moment for me.

Last week, while I was in Chicago, my Dad - who rarely calls - called. His sister has breast cancer. I haven't been able to get that one out of my brain. Results from her MRI will arrive tomorrow. My Aunt's daughter died 7 years ago from breast cancer. She was just 6 years older than me. I can't imagine what must be going through her head.

After arriving home from Chicago, my newly pregnant sister emailed us. She miscarried at 11 weeks.

Not one of these things is really about me, but it's affected me deeply. Life is so short. Too short. Health is a gift - a rare one. Family is not just important - they are life and breath wrapped up in one DNA-laden treasure. And my sisters are God's greatest gift to me. We laugh when we want to cry. We cry when we don't know what else to do. And we hold the key to a past that no one else will ever understand.

Live each breath as if it were your last and love as if your life depended on it.