When a stuffed animal is more than a stuffed animal...

Holidays were important to my mom.

Traditions, within those holidays, were an integral part.

When Ed and I became parents for the first time in 1990, mom bought our son a stuffed animal.  She said he was going to receive one each Christmas from then on.

Less than two years later, she was buying for two grandsons.

Then, three.

Finally her fourth grandchild, the only granddaughter, came into the picture within five short years.

All our kids got stuffed animals from my mom at Christmas.  Braxton would forever have 'one more' than the others, since he was the oldest...and so on.  They relished this.  Can't change birth order.

Ed started putting the stuffed animals into a old lever pack, with a metal air-tight lid, which had belonged to my grandparents.  This way, we could store the animals in the garage during the other times of the year and they'd be safe from the elements. 

As the kids grew, their collection did, too.  They loved opening the lever on that metal lid and pulling out the stuffed animals they'd aquired.  Memories lived within that container.

Once our tree was up, the kids liked to put all of their stuffed animals around the tree--since Santa would be bringing the presents on Christmas.  Some years, they would sleep around the tree.  Other years, they would pick a bedroom (usually Bentley's because the boys said hers was the biggest) and bring all their animals into it.  They'd sleep on the floor, in sleeping bags, with their animals surrounding them. I loved seeing where they would choose to sleep.  It made the weeks leading up to Christmas so exciting for them.

When mom passed away in 2002, the kids had already amassed quite a stash. 

Though we never spoke about it, specifically, I felt my mom would have wanted me to carry on this tradition.

Within the past several years, we've have. While we missed some years in between, we have picked up where we left off. 

Yes, I know.  My kids aren't little anymore.  Braxton is 27; Blaize is 25; Brody just turned 24; and Bentley, 22. 

But, they're still my little kids.  Monger Lin's grandchildren.  And that means they receive a stuffed animal at Christmas time.

I'm not sure mom ever had a plan as to what would happen when the kids grew and moved out into their own homes. 

I've told them they can either leave the animals here or take them with them.  We'll see what happens.

These animals are so much more than stuffed animals. 

They represent a love their Monger Lin had for them. 

They represent the wonder of the Christmas season through a child's eyes.

They represent the innocence of youth.

We've incorporated another tradition, as well. All the kids' Christmas ornaments, which they made during elementary school, are in separate, individual, boxes. Our Christmas tree holds only the ornaments from those boxes.  It's a tree full of our kids, across the years.

When they stopped making ornaments, we let them pick one out each year.  This became difficult--hard to coordinate teen-aged schedules for a joint shopping trip--so, I started having special ornaments made each year, instead.  Now, we give these as one of their presents. Each year, they have a new addition to their ornament box. 

Every family has their own traditions.  Their own reasons for repeating the same things over and over again, without fail. 

I can't explain the joy it brings to me to see the kids come home and put their ornaments on the tree.  Or, to go through all the stuffed animals trying to find theirs.  My adult children turn into the wide-eyed little kids I strain to remember.

Perhaps one of them will want to carry on this stuffed animal tradition with their family. 

One thing is for certain, Ed is going to have to find another container somewhere.  This one is filled to the brim. 

Mom knew what she was doing, didn't she?

It is what it is.

p

Thankful...

Usually one light is off and one light is on.

The one over her bed is dark so she can nap.  I keep one on, at the other side of the room, so I can see what I'm doing.

This is how most afternoons look at the nursing home.

Shade pulled down at the window.

The TV is on CNN, with the volume turned low, until I'm told to change it back to what she wants.  Even though she'll be back asleep in less than a minute, I change the channel.  Once her eyes are closed, back to CNN it is.  No matter how sleepy she is, she seems to have an innate sense of what channel the TV should be on.   

My mother-in-law suffered a stroke, in her brain stem, at the beginning of August.  We had been in Florida for exactly one day when Ed got the call and he grabbed a flight back.  What we first thought was a light stroke was actually a debilitating one.  Paralyzed on her right side, Janet had trouble speaking and wasn't able to swallow.

Within days, a feeding tube was put in so she could receive nutrition and get her medications.

We weren't given much hope.  Given her extensive medical history and all the major health issues she already had, overcoming this didn't seem realistic.

Yet.

Here we are.

Long story with many ups and downs...but somehow she's beaten high odds against her and is in a nursing home, fighting for her life.

We don't discuss it much.  What's happened.

Simply take one day at a time.

Remain positive about the progress she's made and leave it at that.

We all realize she won't be going home.  But, there's no need to verbalize it.

The day focuses around two CNA's getting her out of bed, eating her meals, having some therapies, and getting back into bed.  We do this at least twice a day until the final time after supper.

Sometimes it's shower day.

Other than that, the schedule is set.

After nearly two months of my husband trying to juggle his demanding work schedule along with his mom's health needs, I offered to take a leave of absence from work to take over Janet's care.

Ed is a man of few words.  If you know him, you know this. He doesn't like to ask for help and he tries to do everything himself.

I wish it wouldn't have taken me so long to offer.

We had no way of knowing what we were in for and how long Janet would fight.  Leaving the hospital, at the end of September, the doctors told us there wasn't much time left.

Ed and his Aunt Esta had a great routine going.  They shared time with Janet and made sure one or the other was present when doctors would come in and give updates.  They each spent many nights with her while she was in the hospital.  Neither wanted her to be alone.

Esta is a rare gem.

Selfless and caring, she has changed her life since August to be there for her sister and for her nephew.  No doubt about it, we could not be on this journey without Esta. Nor, can we ever thank her for all she has done. There are no words adequate.  We only hope she knows.

The world becomes much narrower when you live within the confines of a nursing home.

Add to this the fact Janet is in isolation, because of an infectious diagnosis, and our world has become the four walls of her room.

We wear masks and gloves upon entering to be with her.

I have to admit I look forward to her naps when I can lower my mask and breathe normally without the obstruction.

Thanksgiving is coming.

I am so grateful although maybe I shouldn't be because of the circumstances.

I've been blessed with time.  Time with Janet that I otherwise wouldn't have had.

I've gotten to know her in a completely different way than I had before.  I've known her for nearly 40 years.  We've shared a lot.  But this, well, this is much different.

We laugh.

A lot.

Nonsensical things.

We have inside jokes.

Laughter truly is the best medicine.

We hoard candy in her room's mini fridge. Even though she can't eat it, she offers it to anyone who comes to visit.  She offers it to the staff.  I look forward to my 'two' Reese's each afternoon.

I've realized, even more, what a sweet soul Janet has.  She doesn't feel well, yet, she treats all the staff here with such kindness.  I know I could never do what they do.  Sitting in Janet's room all day, I hear what they go through. I see it.  The care of our sick and of our elderly isn't for the faint of heart.  Janet understands this and appreciates all that is done for her.

I am so grateful I've been able to see this.  Defintely puts things in perspective.  While Janet has lived a life as the care-giver of so many, now she needs the care.  She seems to love this place.

Life moves on around us.

We focus on this room and Janet's routine.

I think what keeps the whole family going is the knowledge that Janet would do the same for us.  No questions asked.

This is what family does.

Our 'other' life will wait.

Janet needs us now.

And this is where we'll stay.

Thankful.

So very thankful.

For time.

It is what it is.

p

A Different Kind of Birthday...

This is the first birthday our son Braxton has celebrated without his family.

He turns 27 years old today.

I usually make his favorite cake.  We take him out to the restaurant of his choice.  He gets some presents.  We sing 'Happy Birthday' as he blows out the candles.  I put the 'magic' re-light candles on his cake.  I've done this for several years.  When the kids were little they would be so excited to see the candles light up again right after they blew them out.  Now, I put those candles on simply to bring those childhood memories back for a moment.  Silly, I know.  But, I don't think it would seem right if we didn't still do it.

This year looks different.

Braxton is living thousands of miles (approximately 7,374.5 miles-I've Map Quested it) away in the tiny remote village of Koutan, in Guinea, Africa.  While he's actually traveling with fellow Peace Corps volunteers this week, he now calls another place 'home' and he has another 'family.'

When he left the United States, I remember wondering how I would feel when important dates came up on the calendar and he wasn't here to celebrate as usual. We've had one Christmas pass and several family birthdays.  But this time, it will be his birthday and he isn't here for it.  He won't be our center of attention.

Strangely, I feel differently than I thought I would.

Of course, if I had my way, I would have kept all my kids little and at home with me, forever.

We all know that's totally unrealistic but I feel so blessed and so fortunate to have had many good years raising our kids.  Those times bring an instant smile to my face.  It makes sense, at least to me, that I'd love to do it all over again.

But, life happens.

Kids grow up exactly as they are meant to and, most times, it means they will leave you at some point.

Hearing Braxton tell us he had applied to the Peace Corps made my heart jump in terror.  The unknown.  The helplessness of knowing I couldn't protect him in a foreign country.  The juxtaposition of wanting him to find his own way in this life while wanting him to stay right here with me.  It continued to thump when he said he'd been accepted and then, again, as the day of his departure grew closer.

Watching him walk away, at the airport, was one of the hardest moments so far.

Now, knowing he's celebrating a birthday away is cause for another heart-flop.

But several months have passed since he left us.

I'm surprised to say that I feel better about all this separation stuff.

Braxton's fierce commitment to working with and to helping others, in such an extreme measure, has made me realize this is called growth.

This is called life.

No, we've never experience this separation within our family before.  But, it's truly 'ok.'

Our son has gained another family.  Funny, but he now has even more family members than he does as a Stewart in the States!  And that's saying a lot because Ed's family is a large one.

Not only has Braxton gained two host families (one during training and one in his village) but he's also told us how this group, or class, of PCV's has become another family, as well.

How could we possibly ask for more? 

Since birthdays aren't celebrated in his village--he says no one knows when they were born--there won't be a cake with 'magic' re-light candles.  No one will be singing "Happy Birthday" to him across the kitchen table tonight.

But, it's really alright.

He's where he needs to be and this past year of his life has been remarkable.

Life-changing.

Part of being a parent.  Letting our kids go.  Letting our kids reach for their dreams.

I'm getting better at this.  At least I think I am.

Seems Braxton isn't the only one who is growing because of this experience.

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday dear Braxton

Happy Birthday to you

It is what it is.

p

In a Fleeting Moment...

My mind is usually on something else when I feel my mom with me.  

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that she would 'come thru' for me when I need her the most.  I do 'talk' to her every single night.

Still, it's usually a bit shocking when it happens and I get this odd feeling all over my body.  Kind of like a jolt.

It happened this last weekend.  

I volunteer for a concert in our Village and the opening group was on stage.  

I was standing, alone, in the dark toward the back of the large crowd.  The majority of my job was done with only a few deadlines to still meet. I was running through my 'to-do' list in my mind. The air was filled with loud music and the voices of people singing along. Bright stage lights cutting across the blackness.

I caught my breathe.  

It was almost as if I could feel her walk up behind me.  

It brought tears to my eyes.

Ed wasn't able to come.  His mom had yet another set-back and was sent back to the hospital, from the nursing home, so he was with her.  Three of our four kids were able to come home for the concert but they were together in another part of the concert site.  So, even though most of my family was close by, I stood alone.

Yet, I wasn't alone in that moment.  

The feeling of her presence made me smile as my eyes teared-up.

No, there wasn't some message and I didn't hear her voice.  Yet, I knew it was her.  

When you feel the comfort of a mother throughout your life, there's no mistaking the calm and the love which comes along with her. Even in death, she can send those same vibes to me.

It was only a fleeting moment and then it was over.  

I blinked back the tears.

I went to find my kids.

Life moves on and I'm blessed enough to have incredible family and friends to share it with. 

Mom and I shared a bit of the night together, too.

Made it a absolutely perfect.

Until next time, Momma.

It is what it is.

p

 

Importance of a Picture...

A picture can take you right back to a moment long passed.

Immediately transported to a time when the world looked different.

When the future seemed promising and certain.

I was looking through my iPhone for a picture of my friend, Tonia, and me to put on Facebook for her birthday.

It was then that I ran across this one of our sons and some of their soccer team with their moms.

I'm not really sure what the game was.  I only remember that Tonia had to leave to go back to the pizza place and we decided to get an impromptu mother/son picture.  So, Leo said he'd stand by me and I could be his 'fill-in' mom.

The importance of a picture.

A carefree moment.

Squinting into the sunshine, which was as bright as all of these young men's futures, we stood in a line arm-in-arm.

Watching these boys play over the years, there were many, many pictures taken.  Moments saved on film.

I must have had someone take this on my phone and that's where it's remained all these years.  It's one I won't remove.  It's just going to stay right where it is.

When you scroll through your pictures, with each flick of your finger, you feel emotions as they fly by.

This one made me stop scrolling.

I touched the picture and made it bigger.

Zoomed in on Leo's face.

The slightly sideways glance, with scrunched eyes blinded by the suns glare, looked back at me.

I can almost imagine him telling whoever was taking the picture to, 'Hurry up,' so the boys could take off to wherever they were planning to go.

The importance of a picture.

I remember the day, that moment, that picture.

I remember how it felt to have his arm, and Brody's arm, linked in mine.

I remember the happiness.

It was normal.  It's what we always felt when us mom's watched our boys play.

We were family then.

We are family now.

The importance of a picture.

It is what it is.

p

How To Be the Parent of a Bisexual Child...

A few years ago, our second-born son, Blaize, came to us and shared his good news that he was bisexual.

He's happier and more self-confident than I've ever seen him before.

He's no longer hiding an extremely important part of himself.

He's exactly who he was born to be.

How did this news impact me as his mom?

Truthfully, as he was sharing his thoughts and finally got the words out of his mouth, I blurted, "Is that all?"

I had been afraid it was something serious!  I had thought he might have been going to tell us he had cancer or had been kicked out of college. When it turned out he was simply sharing his sexual orientation, I couldn't have been more relieved!

Fast forward to the present time.

Blaize sent Ed and I a questionnaire asking what it meant to us to be parents of a bisexual child. He wanted the answers for an upcoming article he will be writing.

He sent us the questionnaire via email.

I haven't read Ed's answers and he hasn't seen mine yet. But, I'm guessing the words we typed might be quite similar.

How do you 'parent' a bisexual child?

Advice is difficult to give because everyone's situation looks different. 

However, if I learned one thing it's that there isn't a correct way to react or to respond when your child comes out. 

It may feel like your child is suddenly a person you don't know because they've had to hide their sexuality. While, in reality, they're the very same child you gave birth to and raised all these years.

I've never discussed, with our three other children, whether or not they were heterosexual and it's sad that our bisexual child had to 'come out' and that he just couldn't 'be.' 

Unfortunately, it's our society which makes the LGBTQ community feel like they're a minority.

As parents, these are just our kids. 

Love them.

Listen to them. 

Defend them. 

Challenge them. 

Accept them, unconditionally, as you always have. 

BE A PARENT. 

I'll screw up while parenting Blaize just like I do with my other three children.  I'm a parent.  I'm not perfect.  

But, he's my flesh and blood.

My gift from God.

I'll continue to cherish all four of my children.

Parenting a child who is part of the LGBTQ community is exactly the same as parenting a child who is a member of the heterosexual community.

It is what it is.

p

Live Like Leo Did...2017 JHS Senior Awards

She asked me if I'd consider speaking.

I didn't have to think twice. 

For Tonia, I'd do just about anything. 

The following is my speech from last nights JHS Senior Awards. 

It was a true honor to speak about our Leo and to announce the name of the young man who shares so many of Leo's attributes. 

Congratulations, Andrew Watret! It was a pleasure meeting you. 


Leo Alfano Memorial Scholarship Award

What an incredible night for parents and JHS seniors!

With graduation approaching, the future is bright and the possibilities are endless.

No one anticipates tragedies in the face of such promise. 

Unfortunately, they happen.

In a split second.

For us, it's been nearly four years now.

July 18, 2013 our world forever changed.

This graduating class may be one of the last to remember Leo Alfano. Some of your older brothers may have played soccer with him or your older siblings might have graduated at the same time. Or, maybe you know his sister, Filie, or his brother, Peter.

Those of us who love Leo never expected to be giving a Memorial Scholarship in his name.

There's no way we could have.

His personality was so large and full of life that we all imagined many years with him; laughing with him; loving him.

Sometimes life doesn't turn out the way we'd planned.

“For every dark night, there's a brighter day.”

That quote was one of Leo's favorites and he wore it, proudly, as a tattoo on his ribs.

While the Alfano family wants you to know they would love to be giving this award themselves, the emotions of talking about their son...their brother...becomes too much.

And so, here I am.

If you knew Leo, you won't ever forget him.

He grew up, along with one of my sons, as another child in our family.

Actually, I think our son would have rather been an Alfano. He spent so much time there at their house that you would have thought he was.

Leo loved life.

He loved his family.

He loved his friends.

He lived life to the fullest.

He lived in the moment.

What we've all learned since Leo was taken from us is that there is a 'brighter day,' even in the face of unspeakable tragedy.

Those of you sitting in the audience tonight share many of the same attributes that our Leo had. Whether or not you knew him, you ARE him, in your own way.

You're intelligent, you're talented, you're ready to set out on your next great adventure, and you will make a difference in this world.

None of us knows what the future holds but the mere fact you're among this select group of award winners tells me you are well on your way to finding out.

You're the hope for the future.

“For every dark night, there's a brighter day.”

Reading thru the many applications for this scholarship, the committee was struck by how any one could and should be awarded this scholarship. That speaks volumes! Many of you plan to go on to higher education and already have an idea of your career plans and goals.

Keep going! Even when times get tough...and they may.

We could all learn a lot from Leo...live in the moment, love your family and your friends, and be true to who you are. Everything else will fall into place like it should.

“For every dark night, there's a brighter day.”

The sun is shining on this graduating class of 2017. 

Never hesitate to walk into that sunlight.

Live life like Leo did.

On behalf of Sam, Tonia, Peter, and Filie Alfano, I'm honored to announce this years Leo Alfano Memorial Scholarship award winner is Andrew Watret."

It is what it is. 

p

My Perfectly Imperfect Family...

Four kids born within five years. 

Going anywhere, publicly, meant we drew lots of attention. 

Our little stair-steps. 

Three boys and one baby girl. 

Our 'B' kids. 

The 'Killer B's.'

The 'Stewart's.'

We were blessed with wonderful adult friends during those years and equally great pint-sized playmates for our four. 

I'd often hear comments about how well our kids got along together. For the most part, they did. 

I'd hear how they were good students or talented athletes. 

All that was nice, of course. Who doesn't want to hear their children seem to be figuring out this 'life' thing with minimal bumps and scrapes along the way?

As the kids have grown and now are all well into their 20's, I've realized how much more proud I am when I look at them now. 

More bumps and scrapes than I would have ever wished upon them. Some of the pain couldn't be fixed by a bandaid and a hug from mom. I couldn't help them on their journeys. 

Perfectly imperfect. 

Our Braxton has searched for his place in this world. Always knowing he was supposed to make a 'change' yet not quite finding how to do that. As a young man of 26, I now see him in the place he needs to be. He may have had to go to another country to 'find himself,' but he's becoming more of who he truly is than I've ever seen before. He was born an old-soul and has never fit into the mold meant for him. Finally, I see and hear a man content with his life course. I'm more convinced than ever that he will leave his mark on this world. 

Our Blaize had to follow an overachieving and focused older brother. Not easy to walk in those footsteps. While we never made him feel he had to, Blaize took some years actively rejecting that path and set out to be independent of Braxton's example. Some of what was laid out for him was doable. It would work for Blaize. But, after years of coming to terms with who he was, Blaize was able to say, publicly, what he had been holding inside. Even in this age of sexual/gender acceptance, Blaize showed a courage I didn't know he possessed. The final piece of the puzzle came into place and Blaize became everything he was born to be. His courage has me awestruck. I've told him, more than once, that he is the 'voice' for others who haven't yet found theirs. 

Our Brody was born with a carefree and fun-loving spirit. He never competed with his brothers for attention or for anything else. He just was himself. Totally and completely. Sometimes, we don't notice when such a personality starts to change. I didn't. And I'm his mom. Following an unthinkable tragedy when he was 19, Brody started to change. Little by little. Until he finally had enough. It's been nearly a year, and I can see my old Brody again. His struggle with depression impacted us all. We have all grown in awareness and will continue to strive to help Brody in any way we can. It's a learning process. Day to day. The pride I feel that my son had the courage to ask for help is something I've not talked about much. But, I've never been more proud of Brody than I am now. 

Our baby, Bentley. She'll always be that to us and, perhaps, that's been her Achilles heel. Would we ever see her for all she was because she was the baby? Because she was the only girl? Because she was both of those? Until this last year, when she went back to college on her own, she never had the chance to prove she could 'make it on her own.' I've told her, recently, how impressed of her I am. We had things going on with all three of her brothers and she was left on her own. Not that she hadn't been to college before-but never without all or one of 'her boys' by her side. She did it. Incredibly well. She's one hell of a person. Strong yet sensitive. Loving but independent. The baby grew up this year. She's come into her own. 

And so...there they are. 

My four babies. 

Perfectly imperfect. 

If I had known, I would have tried to ease the trials and tribulations. I would have tried to ease the pain. I would have tried to shelter them from these bumps and scrapes. 

I'm guessing that's why I didn't know. 

Life is about making it through the times which challenge us. 

I think they've done that. 

They're going to be fine. 

My 'Killer B's.'

Perfectly imperfect. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

'I love you, I love you, I love you, he said.'

He left us an envelope. 

Amongst the tears and the desperation of trying to remember to verbalize everything I needed in those last minutes...he handed me an envelope. Said it was for both Ed and me. 

He handed one to Blaize. 

He handed one to Brody. 

He handed one to Bentley. 

He had written letters to all of us. 

When Braxton left us back at the end of November, he knew he'd be gone for 27 months. That's the commitment he made to the Peace Corps. 

His journey would take him half a world away. 

How do you begin to say goodbye? He won't come home the entire time. If we want to see him, we will have to go to Guinea. 

We all knew this going in. 

As I left the airport that day, I remember telling Ed that I wasn't ready to read the letter. Brax had told us there were three separate ones inside our envelope. One just for Ed, one just for me, and one for us both. 

It's been over three months. 

The envelope has remained unopened. 

I haven't asked the boys if they've read theirs. 

Beni read hers almost immediately. That's Beni. She couldn't wait. 

I had to. 

I put the envelope in a basket beside our refrigerator. It's a basket that sometimes holds random pieces of mail, ink pens, wedding invitations and the like. Just the stuff I never know where to put. 

So, I put the envelope in there. 

I would check it from time to time. 

There was one morning I woke up and I felt a panic because I couldn't think of where the envelope was. 

I wasn't going to read it. But I needed to make sure I knew where it was. 

Still there. In the basket. 

Unopened. 

Tonight, I came home from work and went right to the basket. 

I opened the letter for both of us. 

Sunday, November 27, 2016

'Mom and Dad,     

I can't believe this day is finally here. There are so many emotions, it is hard to even know what to think. I love you, I love you, I love you...that's all I can say.'

The letter went on for several pages. It took me a long time to get through. I had to stop and wipe the tears as I went. I had to get my emotions under control before I went on. It was as if I could feel my heart tightening with each word. When you love someone, you know what I mean. It's unexplainable. 

I finally finished. 

My cup runneth over. 

My heart is full. 

Insert all of the cliche quotes which mean you feel blessed. 

I folded up the letter. 

Ed will want to read it later. 

He may even read the one just for him. 

Not me. 

The letter with my name on it will wait for another day. 

I can't do it yet. 

My heart will tell me when. 

It is what it is. 

p

 

 

Reconnecting With Me...

I guess I pictured my life a certain way. 

It hasn't turned out the way I saw it in my head. 

Actually, I didn't see myself at this age. 

Trying to imagine what I'd be like several decades down the road wasn't easy to accomplish. How could I possibly know? 

I'm in my 50's now and it seems like it happened so fast. Years have flown. Suddenly, I'm past middle-age. 

Wow. When did that happen?

There have been curveballs thrown at me along the way. 

I didn't anticipate my mom dying when I was in my 30's. It made me grow up overnight. 

I didn't fathom my dad and I becoming estranged soon after. It made me cherish my own children even more. 

Those were awful and totally unexpected events which rocked my base. 

But, the part of my life that has completely blindsided me is the fact my four children GREW UP...they somehow became adults and there are times I struggle to look at them without seeing the faces of the little kids they once were. 

When you're a mom who has four kids within five years, you spend the majority of your 20's, 30's, and 40's immersed in motherhood. 

I didn't picture that I'd be facing this withdrawal that I am. The sadness and emptiness that comes with the end of 'mothering' my kids. 

The reorganizing of who I am. 

I'm a mom. 

I'm a wife. 

I know this. 

I'm more than that, though. 

I don't want to lose ME and sometimes I feel like it would be easy to just see myself as what I am to my family. Instead of who I am to myself. 

On my own. 

I tell my kids to find what makes them happy. 

I've been doing the same. 

Kind of been forced to do it as life doesn't slow down for you to catch up. 

I have to say that I am looking forward to this new year. 

I'm at peace with my journey so far. I wouldn't change a thing because it's brought me to exactly where I'm meant to be. 

I have a wonderful husband of over 28 years. He's a man I've loved since I was 13 and he's my best friend. Can't get much luckier in that department. 

I have been blessed with four healthy and happy children. And although I would turn back the hands of time in a minute to make them all small again, I'm trying to embrace the future with adult children. I'm trying to appreciate 'what's next' instead of long for the past. 

Well, in all honesty, I'll always long for the past-where they're concerned-but I am excited about what the next decade will bring for them all. 

For us, as a family. 

But 2017 is going to be about reconnecting with myself. 

I can't be who I used to be. Nor do I want to. But I can take a part of who I was into the new year. 

It's ok to admit it's tough. And will continue to be tough. 

But life should be about growing and stretching yourself to be more than you were before. 

All I have to do is look at the kids Ed and I have raised to see what my life has been about this far. 

They are the truest reflection of who I am. 

They push me to be a person they can be proud of. 

In the end, I know, no matter what happens from this point on, that having the love and support of Ed and our kids is all I'll ever need. 

Anything extra...well, it's what they call icing on the cake. 

Here's to the new year and all that it implies. 

It is what it is. 

p