~Thought for the Day~ "Coming Out". ©

     I have written this in my mind many times, and each time, I backspace. I sit back and feel discouraged because what I want to say isn't forming as it should.

Let me begin by saying this: in this day and time, when we are offended by everything from the color of the grass to whatever popular trend leads people to rise up and be angry, I am possibly going to offend some, and I am fine with that. I am so thankful for my right of free speech.

 I could possibly lose friends here, or make you mad, and if so, I am not sorry. I speak from my soul and there is no apology needed for being honest and upfront. So, with that disclaimer, I will continue.

I am a Christian-- there, I said it. It's out there. I believe in Jesus Christ, I believe in God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.

 Now, I am sure I lost a few readers right there, but I do hope you will continue.

I think that when you proclaim that, many people assume you are a freak, a weirdo, or someone who is to be avoided because it might rub off on them-- I hope it does! I won't shove religion down your throat, but I won't sit back and watch the world crumble, either. People have the liberty of spouting out obscene remarks, or whatever else they wish, so to not stand up for what I believe and say what I stand for would be a shame.

I had the privilege of attending Christian school in my very formative years, and in those years, I learned many things. However, my real education came as I entered a world that wasn't filled with people who had the same beliefs as me.

I have come to learn that you often feel shunned for standing for Christianity. I have seen it firsthand-- I've been mocked and left out, and hey, that is totally alright. I won't judge you for believing differently and not tolerating my own beliefs. I will keep on living my life and doing what I do. I have had many people scoff at me when my reply to hardships is, “I gave it to God, he will handle it.” I don't say that to just have something to say. I do give it to Him, and in my 42 years on this earth, he has never let me down. He always provides.

I am not ashamed, either. My Christianity is not a scarlet letter. I am, however, here to clear up the myths. Being a Christian is a personal relationship with God, one that does not make me someone I'm not. I wear flip-flops, I act silly, I cook normal food, and I make mistakes-- plenty of them. Thankfully, because I have accepted Christ, I am forgiven for my mistakes and imperfections. I am flawed, and nothing close to who I need to be and who I want to be.

I teach best by painting a picture for you, so I will tell you a story about myself when I was about nine or ten years old. I was standing in our little country church, barely tall enough to see over the pews, my Mama and Mimi on either side of me. The pastor asked if anyone had a song request for the congregation to sing. I felt overcome with emotion at the beauty the sun shining through the stained glass, and the sight of my family there with me. I felt empowered and uplifted-- I jumped to my feet and screamed out, “Number 64!”

The pastor chuckled and smiled at me. He already knew that “Blessed Assurance” was my favorite hymn, but I think he also saw a transformation before him. As we all stood to sing, I felt chills. I looked to my left, and there beside me were the two most influential women in my life letting their tears flow freely. I didn't really understand why they were crying, but I felt overwhelmed with a joy and light in my heart that I have come to carry with me until present day. I felt like shouting with excitement that day. I felt like singing that song the rest of the afternoon, and come to think of it, I probably did. To this day, when I hear that hymn, I sing off-key with huge tears in my eyes and a feeling takes over. Suddenly, I know my life may not be perfect, but I am safe and I am secure, no matter what comes at me.

Now, I bet you are thinking that I have always walked the straight and narrow, and been some angel my whole life, always taking God's word without question. Oh, to the contrary! I have been down the road to places I shouldn't have been. I have questioned God, and even been angry at Him.

 When I lost Mom, I was so hurt, but I also was so angry-- angry at the world, at life, and at God. I didn't even know how to process what I was feeling because she wasn't here. Even though she had prepped me for this before she passed, and told me not to be mad, and to not run from God, but to seek him in my grief, I didn't listen, and I paid for it.

 I was angry for quite a while, and finally, my husband set me straight. He told me the truth point-blank. God knew when she was born when she would leave this earth, and that Mama had taught me all she had. Her time was over, but she had taught me what she needed to, spiritually as well as in so many other ways-- and my anger wasn't right. Slowly I could see, and it took his words and the words of my youngest son to get me back on track again. I promise you, if I can come back with a vengeance, anyone can!

I am here to tell you my friends, there is no shame in believing. We have been given life beyond this earth. It is a gift-- a gift that I wish so many had, but they refuse it. I wish everyone could feel the yearning, the urge to shout it out. Once you come to Christ, you can feel a peace in yourself that you can't ever deny. I am shouting it out! I should have done it before now, but here I am nonetheless, shouting it out, singing Blessed Assurance to the top of my lungs! Sing with me! Where is your fire? Let him take your life in his hands, and you will find a fire burning in you that can not be put out by anything, as long as you trust and keep yourself firmly planted in your faith.

My Mimi used to always tell me to remember one thing, and it has stuck with me all these years. I feel like I should pass it on to you, as well. She told everyone she met, whether they were Christians or not, that if you call upon the name of the Lord, even in your final moments, you WILL be saved. Isn't that amazing? I have given that so much thought. What a gift, that with all our flaws and faults, if we call upon him, we are saved! Think about that: you, me, everyone out there-- if you call him, he will be there. He is only that one call away.

I am not here to shove my words in your face, as I said before-- but I will tell you this: to those who are rolling their eyes at my words, and those that think I am off my rocker, God is real, take it or leave it. I hope you choose Him, but I am also here to tell you that no science or theory can explain the miracles I have witnessed in my life. I often hear that miracles are fables or stories for children, and that is totally not true. Miracles happen, and they didn't stop with Biblical times. When Christ rose from the grave and ascended into Heaven, he didn't give up his business of performing miracles and pack up shop. In fact, I think he does more of that now than ever. He is trying to get your attention, but he isn't going to knock you upside the head. He is showing you, but the choice is yours.

I guess you could say that I am coming out. I am coming out in my beliefs, and I am not ashamed. I respect all people, and if you choose to laugh at me, or stop being my friend, that is alright. I can tell you, however, to think back to that little girl, singing her heart out. That is Blessed Assurance, my friends, as she was covered in goose bumps, and that is a feeling that nothing of this world will ever compare to.

I have come out, and it feels so good. I hope my words touch at least one person, and if I made you mad, then praise God, I hit a nerve and made you think. I am pretty good at ruffling feathers, and I will keep doing it.

I am still the same silly, flip-flop wearing Teresa that you know, but I am also a Christian, and so thankful that I have done what Mimi said. I called him, and he came, it is that simple. Being a Christian doesn't take away from who I am, it only adds to me!

I love you all, and I pray you will be blessed in all that you do. If you would like to talk with me about this, feel free to message me. I want to see more people receive this gift! SING WITH ME! COME ON… Let the revival begin!

Teresa

Copyright 2016 © 

With This Ring, I Pronounce You Dead ©

I was invited to join an awesome group of writers to do a Halloween blog tour. I love fiction but as of yet, I haven't given the world much of mine to read. I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I loved writing it.  Below my post you will find links to the writer that was before me and then the one coming after. 

 She sat in the near-darkness, the only light being a streetlamp that beamed into the picture window. The eerie glow gave a sinister gleam to the items in her hand. She touched them with such excitement and pleasure, rubbing them upon her chest; and taking a deep breath, she pressed the cold metal against the scar that cursed her face-- from her hair line to below her chin.

She looked down at the irreplaceable treasures, clanking together as she held them to the faint light that pierced her comfortable darkness. It was almost time, she felt it. She could sense the urge rising, her heart beating with unbridled terror. The fear, the excitement-- it put her in a trance. “Halloween,” she whispered to herself.

She rose slowly from her chair, her trinkets still in hand, and gracefully climbed the stairs.

She had so much to do. She must prepare, for it had to be perfect. It had to be just like the time before, and all the times before that one. Counting her successes under her breath increased her anticipation.“One...two...three...four...five...six, seven...eight, nine, and...” She laughed a wild laugh and flung open her closet doors. “...this year will be ten.”

In the open closet hung her signature get-up, a masterpiece in black leather, smooth and taut. She put down her handful of the trinkets so she could take it it completely. She pulled the outfit from its hanger and held it close her. The leather still smelled the same, she thought. She felt the allure of a time long ago, a memory she saved for this night every year. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relive the night, to get her in the mood for what was to come. Ten years' time had led to this...

Ten years ago, she had been leery of dressing in such attire. Marco assured her that she would be the hottest woman attending the costume party, which was enough to persuade her-- she'd do anything to please him, anything he asked. She felt self-conscious as she slid into the black leather catsuit, but as it hugged her body, she began to feel an unfamiliar sense of empowerment. She zipped up her knee-high leather heels, and smiled. It was almost time to leave, and all her inhibitions left her as she felt his breath on her neck. She belonged to him; he owned her mind, body, and soul. He slid a mask upon her face, still unscarred at the time. He spun her around with a firm grip on her leather-clad arms, kissing her with a passion that she had never known before he came into her life. Shivering with the intensity, she kissed him back with greedy lust. He was hers, forever. As if he read her thoughts, he nibbled her ear and let out a low growl of “forever”.

The party had been a complete success, and she grew in her security as she overheard the other party-goers whispering about her striking look, and giving her praise that she had never known. She wasn't exactly the belle of the ball, but she was sure that she was the most envied woman in the room. Equally stunning was the man by her side: dark skin, long black locks, perfect lips, and shocking green eyes. His costume, despite her uncertainty as to what he was supposed to be, just worked: a cape, boots, and a low-cut white peasant shirt, worn with snug leather pants, gave an exotic, far-away air, and it made her certain that this dashing man would continue to delight her body and mind forever.

Before him, she had been nothing, a nobody. She had never been one to stand out in a crowd, but he saw something in her, and knew just how to bring it out. The two of them had planned for a late-night drink at a local dive after the party, just so they could absorb each other for a few more moments, before this magical night came to a close. They took a booth in a dimly lit corner. She was on fire for him, and couldn't wait to have a couple drinks to warm her up and feel his closeness.

Marco began to glance around the room, and, quite abruptly, he began to fidget and squirm. She couldn't exactly tell in the smoky bar light, but he seemed almost pale. He stammered his words, and it was obvious that she was the last thing on his mind. She ordered their drinks, and slid near him, hoping to bring back the man she'd been with just minutes earlier. Instead, he retracted from her, closing himself up in his mind, and shifting farther away from her touch. He watched the door obsessively, and without realizing, he gave a loud sigh of relief as a group of several patrons departed. He had not said a word up to this point, so when he did, he had her attention. “We need to talk,” he stated, his voice firm and determined. She sat up stiff and straight, removing the mask, that now seemed trite and silly. “I never meant for things to happen this way. I mean, I never meant to love you, Priscilla.” Her mind raced, afraid at what he would say next. Without emotion, he informed her that he was married, and had been for the extent of their relationship. This news, delivered so bluntly, rendered her breathless. She wanted so badly to scream, but nothing would come out. She felt her tears well, but held them back-- she couldn't cry in front of him. Marco stared at her blankly, as if she were to just understand and walk out the door.

She gulped down the whiskey sour that sat in front of her. “Why...? How...? Marco, how could you?” she cried out. He gave her no answer, and showed no concern. Robot-like, he lifted his glass to his lips, staring still so unemphatically at her. She was sure that this was a bad dream-- it had to be. He had sworn to her the greatness of his love for her, made promises and plans for their future together, and my God, she thought, she had given her body to him so many times.

He leaned in, as if the walls had ears, and whispered, “Did you see those people who just left? Those were co-workers of my wife. I could have been seen, I could have been ruined.” That was it? That was all he was worried about?, she thought. There was no concern for her, no worry about her soul being crushed-- all he cared about was getting caught?

She began to slide from the booth, when he snatched her arm with considerable force. “This is it, Marco. Goodbye.” Her words came out through choked sobs. She tried to pull away from him, but he clamped down harder on her wrist, and with a tug, he jerked her back down to where she had been sitting.

He was growling again. “You will get up and walk slowly to the door, and then you will go calmly to my car. Do you understand?” She nodded, truly terrified of the man who had held her heart in his hands just an hour before. They exited quickly, and he kept a torturing hold on her arm. He shoved her into the car and drove to a nearby alley. He ordered her to get out of the car, and grabbing her long tresses, crammed her into the backseat. He demanded her to undress. Numb with fear, she followed his orders. She tried to plead with him, begging him to stop. Where was merciful Marco, loving Marco, the man who's only aim was to make her feel beautiful and worthy?

Her words were only making him transform into more of a demon. He forced himself upon her naked, shivering body. She wanted to sob, but her fear did not allow it. He was repeating, almost chanting in her ear as he continued this vile act: “I will always own you, and you will never say a word, to anyone. I own you.”

After he rose from her, he glared into her eyes, hard and steely. He looked like a mad man, but her anger superseded her fear as she spoke. “I will get you back! I will tell your wife, I will tell the police, I will ruin you, bastard!” She had barely gotten the words past her lips when she felt a burning pain, and the trickle of warm blood down her face. She knew he was preparing to kill her, and prayed for God to save her, to give her mercy. Marco threw her down like a piece of trash, slamming her head on the door of the back seat. “Get out, whore, and when you look in the mirror, remember my warning!”

She ran and ran, naked and bleeding, ducking when she neared any sort of light. For miles she ran, and finally, she reached her door. She shook violently as she unlocked the latch, and ran upstairs to collapse. She would never forget this, and she knew that-- but, for now she wanted to hide, even if it were in vain. As she sobbed and bled, she could not foresee that her weakness would become strength-- even if it consumed her, she'd have vengeance.

Back to reality, she smelled the leather and caressed it, just as she had that Halloween night so many years ago. “This year will be special,” she chuckled. Since that night of terror, she'd made it a ritual to kill a married man every Halloween. If she couldn't take the life of Marco for the crimes he'd committed against her, she'd get her vengeance through taking the lives of scum just like him-- married men that cheated on their wives. She raced to the computer to hone in on her new “love”, the circle key chain in her palm filled with nine wedding bands.

It was all too simple, to her. She would log into her online dating profile and seek out just the right man, often finding him with plenty of time to spare. Meeting up seemed to be the easiest part-- men were so sleazy. She would describe, in the most sensual terms, how she would pick them up at the airport in clothes that were barely there, and bring them back to her house for a night of pleasure like they'd never had. It sickened her at how quickly they would fall for her ploy. The only factor that had to be present was that they were married-- they had to want something discreet. Oh, she thought, how expertly she could give them just what they desired!

She had baited about five potential candidates and now it was time to play hardball and decide who the lucky number ten would be. This year would be an anniversary of sorts, so she had to pick just the right one. She was about to log off, when when one of her late night perverts popped on and shot her a message. She purred to herself. Dark hair, green eyes, and eager to please her every whim. He was perfect! She finalized the arrangement with “LonelyinAtlanta”, and felt ready to pounce.

She laughed to herself at how trusting these idiots were. They never asked for a phone call to verify that she was who she pertained to be, they idolized her fake photos and hot inbox messages, and were willing to fly anywhere to meet this sexy vixen that they worshiped on their screen. She had to be careful where she let them arrive to, lest someone on the outside notice a pattern. This time, she drove to Atlanta to pick him up from a gas station. It was only a couple of hours from home, and she could get him so excited on the ride back to her place. She had a detailed process, her most important act being to to delete her dating profile and cover all her bases. She had to be meticulous with her method, as it had not failed her yet, and she didn't want her quiet life disrupted by these acts of brutal vengeance. She went over her practiced routine again and again, as she tried to ignore him next to her.

He was all hands, as he kept creeping towards her. She faked a giggle and told him it was worth the wait. She asked him about himself to derail his advances, and she almost fell asleep at the wheel as he talked on and on about sports and his boring job as the manager of a tire and auto shop.

She would give him hints of a smile and throw out some rehearsed line, and he would visibly tingle. She drove faster and faster, her urge to begin becoming strong. She needed desperately to make this happen. Halloween would be here in only four hours-- it was going to be just like before.

They entered her dark house, and she turned on a lamp to give a little light. He was already crawling all over her-- she wanted to punch him, but she couldn't, as she knew the routine and it had to be just so. She offered him a drink to loosen him up, and he was all too eager. She slid off her overcoat, and he nearly dropped his drink when he saw her shapely body. Before she could reach the stairs to beckon him to her bedroom, he turned on the strong overhead light, sighing that he wanted to see her beautiful face. He gasped when he saw it-- the long scar that disfigured her. She was filled with rage as he looked at her like she was a circus freak. He didn't seem to mind after she explained, but he was a chatterbox and kept asking for more details. She spouted out her usual story about a tragic accident in college, and she nearly rolled her eyes at how well she knew the invented story. He bought it, of course – he knew what he was here for, and wouldn't let anything get in the way. She hit the light switch and motioned for him to follow her. He practically ran past her to the bedroom.

She ordered him to lie down and wait, as she wanted to put on something more pleasing. She entered her closet and gratifyingly slid on the leather once again, zipped up her boots, and placed a mask-like veil on her face, much like the one Marco had given to her. She was ready, so ready. She sauntered out, and could already see that good ol' Albert was about to lose it before she could even touch him. She was going to savor this one, she could tell. She looked at the clock on her nightstand in eager anticipation. Yes, it was time. It was Halloween.

She rushed upon him, throwing him on his back into her fluffy rose-print duvet. He was fumbling and trembling with excitement, and she was nearly the same. This one was different, she thought. This was her tenth, she thought, and it was almost eerie how much he looked like Marco. He didn't sound or act like him, but she could pretend on appearance alone when he'd shut his trap. The thought of Marco made her tremble, for a hundred reasons-- passion, contempt, anger, fear-- yes, Albert surely had it in for him.

She threw herself upon him again, kissing him roughly, biting at him, and whispering just the right things to make him satisfied. She closed her eyes and imagined Marco beneath her, and as she did, her sadistic nature took over. She taunted him, and laughed a sick, maniacal laugh. The closet bulb being the only light peering in, she opened her eyes to look at him. He wasn't scared yet, but instead looked ready to indulge in whatever she was willing to dish out. She allowed him to touch, but just enough-- she wasn't ever going to let a man dominate her, ever again. She felt the rise of her chest, her breathing labored with the activity and excitement, and she leaned down on him. In a sultry, teasing whisper, she cooed, “Let's really play, shall we?”

The overly eager putz was all too willing, shaking his head and saying “yes, yes” over and over again. That was the difference in him and Marco-- Marco called the shots. He owned her, and he made her do things she couldn't fathom once daylight crept in.

She reached for her nightstand, and there was her trusty tape. She made a huge production of sitting atop her prey and pulling off pieces to bind him. She smiled, and thought about what an idiot he was, as he offered her his hands to be bound. She carefully wrapped his hands-- hands that were too soft, she noted. Her mind was in overdrive. This felt so good, and she could barely contain herself. Hands and feet now bound, she took one last strip and placed it over his blabbering mouth. He was still into it, and she leaned down and kissed the tape upon his lips. “I own you,” she whispered. She kept repeating it over and over, never getting above a soft tone. She continued to tease and kiss him, and as she reached his neck and said it one last time, she could see a glint of fear in his eyes.

She carefully reached into her drawer again, withdrawing from it her weapon of choice, the blade so shiny and clean. She straddled her prey, and studied his face. She wouldn't do a thing until she saw horror, panic, a man begging with his eyes to be freed. As she ran the blade across different areas of his face she saw his eyes flicker and tears begin to form. She was ready. She needed the satisfaction of seeing his face like she had seen her own so many times over the years in the mirror. She started at his hair line and slowly drug the blade down, pausing at his cheek to look at him. He was begging beneath the constraints, his eyes glowing with the terror of death. She continued to leave her mark, watching the blood and tears mingle together and puddle beneath him.

She felt alive again. She wanted more, so she taunted him, leaning in to rub her scar against his new wound. “I own you.”

She continued to rub herself all over him, watching his expression carefully. Most of the time, by this point, the men were ready to die, ready to surrender. However, as she looked down, this one still had hope. He was surely thinking of his life beyond this room, she reasoned, and she was going to steal that from him, too. She sat up, blade in hand, and stared down at him. A sudden pang of sadness struck her. Ten years ago, ten long years ago, she had lost the love of her life. She had been permanently branded, and with that thought, she ran her hand across her scar. She wept bitterly. She spat Marco's name repeatedly. He did this, not her. She didn't ask for this. And yet, as she mourned the hand Marco had dealt her, she felt her heart ache-- she still longed for him.

Ten years of loneliness, ten years of being the town 'spook', ten years of little children pointing and clinging to their mothers. Ten years of being avoided, and ten years of never being looked at-- only the scar, the terrible deformity.

Bile rose into her throat, the sadness now an anger at a height she had never known before. She needed to finish this, it would be her final act. She pulled him from the bed, giving no regard to who he was, now. He was just as dirty and sick as the others, and she had one mission: to end it. She was reveling in this more than she could even describe, and then it hit her: She hadn't deleted the profile yet! A mistake that simple could destroy it all. She couldn't slip up now, and she had to hurry. She used her burning fury to hurry the deed along. That damn profile...she knew she had forgotten something!

She had far more strength in her body than anyone would guess. She chucked him down the steps, pulling his body to the room where it would be complete. Next door to her home was the town funeral home and crematorium, owned by her grandfather years before, and passed to her. She'd closed it to the public-- the family business offered no interest to her, but the furnace room did. She had done this nine times before, and watched her grandfather more times than that. Right in this very building, she'd watched people mourn, services be held, bodies come in and out, and in time, watched the building be forgotten by the denizens of the town.

She had to focus. She was feeling off-- this one was messing with her head. She needed to finish this, clean up, and she could relive it later. She fired up the machine, and with one huge hoist, she plunged Albert's body into the device, from which he would burn in hell. “Ashes to ashes,” she whispered to herself.

She would do the normal routine later, when it was done, but now she needed to clean up, cover her bases, and take some time to relax and savor her kill. She ran back upstairs, her thoughts all over the place. She tried to force her mind to calmness, but all she could think about was getting that profile deleted. For all she knew, his wife could've had time to notice he was gone-- the police could be checking his computer-- they could even be on the way! She reached under her bed, threw open her laptop, and erased the profile from existence. Thank God, she thought, and reassured herself that not enough time had passed to make a difference. As she slammed the computer shut and began stripping her bed, she couldn't help but feel that she had missed something else. She was being paranoid, she assumed. She had let this one excite her too much-- she never missed anything. It was all too practiced and routine to go wrong. After showering and unwinding, she flopped down on the couch to catch her breath. Freshly bathed and extremely tired, she blacked out.

She sighed as she felt the crisp autumn morning air wave over her body. She must have fallen asleep on the couch, she guessed. She reached for her T.V. remote and tightened her robe. An egg and toast would be good this morning, and she wanted to enjoy such a gorgeous day. She was stunned when she realized she had been asleep for two days, hearing the newscaster announce the events and happenings of the day. She must have really needed the rest, she thought to herself. With a quick jump, she ran from the couch to dress herself. It sunk in-- she had been asleep for two days! She had one last step to complete. “Oh. how could I have been so stupid, and slept for so long.” she said aloud. Of all days, she had the fine people of the town coming over this afternoon for what they called “a wonderful surprise”.

She did the deed, disposing of the ashes in her favored way. Thankfully, it was still early, so nobody was mucking about to see her. She giggled, only she knew what she had done-- who could guess? She causally went back inside, the news in the background as she whipped up her light breakfast. She laughed a heartily, almost spilling the egg from her mouth, as the latest report of another man missing had come in. The reporters yapped on about the details, saying the police were again looking for the link between Halloween and these missing men. They couldn't be sure just how many had been killed, they stated. “Ten,” she smirked.

The committee of the town of Red Bank assembled at her walkway. Among them were a member of the town's women society, an esteemed member of the library fund, the town snoop Elma Waters, and an auxiliary police officer who headed up the “Yard of the Month” project in their quaint, little town. “This house just gives me the creeps,” Elma said as she nudged one of the ladies. “There's just something off about it.” The other woman laughed, “Elma, you say that about anyone, if you don't know their whole life story! Hush, now, and pay attention to her gorgeous fall mums! How on Earth does she do it?”

The committee knocked politely, and as Priscilla headed to the door, she straightened her hair and smoothed down her print dress. It amused her that they'd have no idea of her vile act two nights before. Before she opened her door, it hit her: she had forgotten to take off Albert's wedding ring and add it to the nine she that she often admired. Hopefully, this would be a quick interaction, and she could begin her search for the last piece of her puzzle. She needed to have the wedding band on the keyring with the other nine-- it gave her such a thrill, such vindication, to hold them.

“Priscilla, hello! We wanted to present you with the 'Yard of the Month' award, along with a gift card, a coupon for free doughnuts down at the bakery, and an invitation to tell us how in the world you keep such a lovely yard!” The group laughed together, speaking in admiration of her successes at having such a gorgeous landscape. Remarking about her hard work and determination, she acted so shy and sweet. “How do I keep the soil so fertile? Oh, it's just a little trick my grandfather taught me!” Winking, one of the ladies' club members joked, “If you told us, you'd have to kill us, wouldn't you?” This caused more laughter in the cheerful group.

Bidding their goodbyes, awestruck by the show of beautiful color all around, they stepped down to depart. Elma Waters was still gawking, and not looking where she was going. She tripped on a white rock that encircled the flower bed nearest the walk. The group all looked puzzled as the rock became unearthed slightly, and a band of gold glistened in the afternoon sun just below the array of fall flowers.

Teresa Hardister 

Copyright 2015 ©

https://medium.com/@shakirrashaan/thirteen-days-of-halloween-blog-party-dafa84fe2ad5

https://www.facebook.com/linda.dix

~Thought for the Day~ It Happened One "Knight" In Memory of David~ ©

     I haven't written a  “Thought for the Day” in quite some time, and I offer my sincere apologies. I have been submerged in life, and I am also writing a new book. Between the two, I have been more than swamped. I think of many things to write about, and I promise myself that I will get them jotted down, but it rarely happens. I sat down to pen this, and at first, I had no direction. So, I delved deep into my brain, and tried to remember the topics that had hit me at 3 am, in the shower, and mid-dish washing.

I began thinking of the events of this week, and one person kept coming to mind. As my tears welled, I found myself here, writing. Writing is my release, and my way of dealing with so many things.

I received word this week that a precious, dear friend had passed away.

I had no words. I felt like just falling down and crying my eyes out.

My thoughts have been a whirlwind. I remember his smile, his laugh, his care, and what resonated though my tears, was a specific occasion where, once again, he saved me.

It was my junior year, and the day of the prom had finally arrived.

I had a date, which thrilled me to the core. It was a friend who attended another school, and he also had a really cool car, so life was looking up.

I had chosen my attire a month prior, and I daresay it rivaled something out of a John Hughes movie.

My Mom, being a seamstress, helped me come up with my own, new fashion for this event, and of course I put my own touch of Teresa on it. She made a gorgeous, black, strapless gown. It was floor length with slits up the side to parade my legs, and she also made a see-through half jacket that was black with gold sunbursts that really jumped out at you.

I had practiced dancing all month in my black heels, and felt like I could twirl and swirl all night without looking dumb or hurting myself in something higher than my neon blue Reebok high tops.

I hurried that Saturday morning to the salon, for hair and makeup, and as I look back now, I realize how very eighties I looked: My hair was locked and loaded with enough hairspray to to last a good week, accessorized by a hair thing-y that was black with a gold sunburst on the side, matching my outfit. With my up-do in place, I smiled at myself and dreamed of the magical night that awaited in just a few short hours.

Upon returning home, I was startled by the phone, and I ran to the den to grab it. I almost fell over the table, realizing I was  in my heels, and sweats. My heart fell into my stomach as I talked on the phone. My teenage dreams were over. I couldn't cry because with all that mascara, I would have looked like a raccoon in red lipstick. I screamed for Mama, and she came quickly. My date had canceled, and I felt so hurt and mad that I tried to ignore Mom's advice. She urged me to go to the prom alone. How could I do that? I had gone through all of this make-up and fuss, and I suddenly felt so dumb.

She wouldn't let up, and I finally agreed to go alone.

I walked into the prom, got in line, and felt my tears coming again. I looked at the line at the door, and saw all the couples-- and then, there was me. I didn't feel pretty. I didn't feel fun or upbeat. I was just so sad. I had some others things going on in my life at the time, and this was just the icing on my teenage flopped cake.

As I neared the table where we presented our tickets, I said meekly, “One person,” and before I could feel pathetic, I heard him. “No, no. Your date is here.”

There was David, looking so handsome in his tux, and wearing that beautiful smile that made him appear even more dashing. I didn't know what to say. He offered me his arm, and led me to the table where he and his girlfriend were sitting.

I was so taken aback. He told his girlfriend I would be joining them tonight, and all I could do was smile. We laughed, and took in the decor of the ballroom that was decorated for our event.

I heard a slow song start to play, and after asking his lady if it was alright, he asked me to dance. Debbie Gibson had never sounded sweeter. We glided along the floor, the chandeliers above us twinkling, giggling and talking. I whispered to him, and nodded in the direction of my crush, who was standing across the room.

He nodded back, and whisked me towards my crush, and then whisked me just as quickly away. David teased at me as he would dance nearer and nearer to the crush, and then pull me away.

The night was perfect, and I wasn't even flunking out in my heels! Several dances and so many more laughs later, our junior prom began to come to an end.

“What would a prom be without a kiss, my Binkie?” he said sweetly, and so gently and tenderly, he kissed me on the cheek.

My David, my sweet, precious friend, had saved me, and given me a night I would never forget. We had spoken of it in times past, and of course he didn't see what a knight in a shining tux he was to me.

What could have been a lonely and highly depressing memory was transformed by someone who loved me truly, like all friends should.

That was David. He cared so much for the hearts and souls of others. He was genuine, he was real, and he never closed a conversation without telling me loved me. He helped me through some tough times, and never once did he look down on me, berate me, or walk away. He stood with me in my storms.

I can't explain how much I ache to know he isn't here. He was such a gorgeous soul, who rescued me so many times by just being there to hold my hand through the the hard parts of life.

In our lives, we are given the privilege to know incredible people. Some folks pass them up, some overlook them, and some pick them up and see what a treasure they have. I am so glad to have known such a man. I pray that his children will know and remember what a good soul he was.

I spoke to him recently, and of course, he was filled with positive words and love for me. That is something that will stay with me forever.

Love each other, go the extra mile, and if you see a girl standing alone, all dressed up, ask her to dance. It could change her entire life, like David changed mine.

Rest in peace, David. Not only were you Fred Astaire on the dance floor, but your memory will dance upon my soul forevermore. I love you, David Parsons. I'll give you no goodbyes, because I will see you someday. Every time I hear Debbie Gibson, I'll sway to myself, and remember how wonderful it was to have been so lucky to call you one of my best friends. I hope you dance, sweet one. Dance, and know no pain.

Here are my thoughts.

Teresa

© Copyright 2015 

~Thought for the Day~ Reality Happens ©

     This will most likely be the rawest and real writing I have done in some time. I am about to dump my guts out before you. This has been a long time coming, but because of time and new adjustments in my life, it is now that I am able to write this.

I want to give you some back story before I present to you my point.

Quite a few years ago, I took my family to a wrestling show. My Mama loved wrestling, believe it or not, and she and my Dad took me from an early age to many shows in our area. She wanted my kids to experience the thrill that I had as a child.

I remember that night so clearly; I had just gotten off work and hurried home to round up Mom and the boys. There was no time for me to change clothes, so I had to attend in my dressy clothes, and as I stuffed supper in my mouth, we hurried out the door so we wouldn’t be late.

We all had a blast, and as the show reached intermission, we were all smiles.

Mom took the kids to get some cokes, and I stood with the man who ran the center that held the event. He was an old family friend, and I had known him since I was a little one.  As we stood recalling old times and having a laugh, he looked in past me and said, “Oh, I have someone for you to meet.” I quickly smoothed down my hair and put on a smile.

As I turned, he was beginning to introduce the big guy approaching me. “Hey, Bobby Savage, I want you to meet Teresa Hardister.” I turned, and I had to look up, despite the wearing of my big girl shoes, and as I flashed my best smile and an impromptu flipping of my hair, this guy kept walking, only giving me a smug look and then heading behind the curtain.

Wow! Who was this guy? How rude! Who snubs me like that? I was as ill as a mean old hornet.

I went back to my seat pretty ticked off at this guy, and when my Mom asked what was wrong, I gave her a vague run down. She laughed and winked. Since when did she tolerate rudeness anyway?

It bothered me all night, “How dare him? Really?” I decided to sit down at my computer and ask a friend who was also wrestling that night about this pompous dude that had snubbed me. He gave me a link to his social media page, which at that time was all the rage. I quickly pulled him up on the screen and commenced to sending him a snippy little note. I was trying not to look at his profile picture, but I stopped and looked anyway. He caught my eye, he was different, and, dang it, he was cute. I was now becoming mad at myself.

Not long after I hit ‘send’, I received a message back. We began talking, and we ended up becoming good friends. He wasn't my type, but he made me smile, he was brutally honest and upfront, and as time passed, I picked up on a sensitive side that I was beginning to really like.  This guy had appeared in my world and at first glance, our first encounter he was bigger than life. He had real charisma and he was so grand in my eyes. I would chuckle when we would call me, and when I said hello, he always said the same thing, “Hey, whaddaya doing?”

We began dating, and that commanding presence was so great, not only did he tower over me in stature, but he just seemed so larger than life. I couldn't get past that.

On December 16, 2011, I married that man. Still so big and strong, we started our new life together. It didn't matter if he had just left the house two minutes prior and needed to call me, he would  call and say, “Hey whaddaya doing?” It always generated a smile, and me giving him a smart mouth comeback.

 It was our thing.

Our lives had many ups and downs, but never anything we couldn't recover from.

February 28^th had been a tough day for me. It was the day my Mom was in wreck, a wreck that later led to her death.

On Feb. 28^th of this year, my husband and son ventured out for a normal Saturday morning ritual, me at home cooking breakfast waiting for them to return. 

When I heard the phone ring, I didn't bother looking at the caller ID; I knew this call all too well. I almost laughed as I answered, and I waited for the familiar greeting and the excuse as to why they were running late, but instead, I felt my stomach turn. I screamed, I cried out in a desperate plea, “DEAR GOD, NO! HELP ME!” I felt my body go to jell-o as if I were going to deteriorate down to the floor. My worst fear was now playing out, and I could do nothing to intervene. The voice on the line informed me that my son and husband had been in a head-on collision an hour prior. After finding out where my son was, I begged and pleaded with this woman on the line to tell me where my husband was. She fell silent, and I then felt the vomit rise to my mouth, chills covered my body and I knew I was about to completely lose it.

Thank goodness my oldest son was now standing beside me, holding me up. I was switched from dispatcher to this person of authority and finally I got a law enforcement officer on the phone. I pleaded with him to tell me the truth, no matter how sick and devastating it was. My husband had been airlifted to a hospital a few counties over. He could tell me nothing of his condition. My only comfort was that he said they would not fly him unless he was alive. That didn't give me much to go on, but from what I was learning about this accident, that in itself was a miracle.

I felt my heart being pulled apart, and for the first time in my life I felt like I might not survive the horror that was unfolding before me.

Finding that my son was safe gave me hope, he was hurt but he was still here. The chaos was overwhelming, my thoughts were about to drive me insane, I clung to the fact that the officer said he as alive when he last saw them rush my husband to the helicopter. I had to believe he was alive, maybe it was a nightmare and I would wake screaming, and the only worry of my day would be to make biscuits for breakfast or not. Sadly it was happening and far too fast. I couldn’t manage all the calls, so my son again stood up as the amazing man that he is and handled things. I feel such pride when I look back and think of how well he handled me and also how pulled together he was through my madness. Every time I felt as if I couldn't take another tidbit of horrific information, he would hold me close, and tell me it would all be ok. I don’t know how he did it, but he calmed me enough to manage.

I waited for the state trooper to meet with me, and I shook, not from the cold but from the chilling details I was so afraid of hearing. Was I to lose another person on this day? I paced, I cried, I cried out for my Mama, she always made it all better. I felt so alone, and so cold. As the officer came towards me he could see my terror, I am sure he had seen it a  few hundred times before in his career but he never let on.  He was so kind, so patient. He told me the gory details of what had taken place. I sobbed and he I saw him tear up.  He assured me that my husband was in the best care he could receive, my son was safe, and so I needed to feel that my husband would be as well. I felt the rage boil into my being as I was told what had taken place. And then, the officer prayed with me, I was dumbfounded. I was in awe. I felt a brief moment of peace, and I pulled myself together enough to attend to things that only I could handle.  

I remember standing out in the bitterness of this winter day, feeling as if I were about to die, I was getting nowhere, I couldn’t find out anything and I knew what a sick, twisted mess my husband had been pulled from,  I was losing hope again, and quickly at that.

I looked at my phone, I didn’t recognize the number, was it the devastating news I was about to run from, I couldn't take it, I wanted to take off, running until the cold froze my lungs and I collapsed. I was numb and unaware of what was happening.

Oh yes, my phone was ringing, I managed to give a breathless hello... and what I heard next will stay in my heart and mind for as long as I live.

I heard silence at first, so I gave a slightly louder hello.

“Hey.” What? No way! Did I just hear that or had I finally gone off the deep end and I was in some dream world that I would live out my delusions in?  

I heard it again, “Hey, whaddaya doing?”

I didn't recognize the voice that my ear was hearing but my heart knew it well, I started screaming crying, how was this possible? He could barely speak, but on the other end of the phone was my husband, and I couldn't think of a thing to say. He was broken, he was not himself, and I could tell, he was so gone, but he managed to say, “I remembered the number.” I began crying in sobs, and of course, he tried as best he could to reassure me. I was feeling light headed, he was alive! He was right there on the phone. He was also very close to being dead and I wouldn't know this until later, but he managed to be that strong, stubborn man I had always known and he had worried about me and about my son, not what he was about to face- which was the unknown, possibly meeting his maker or giving the fight of his life to regain some sense of living.

Here we are now, he survived an intense stay in ICU, brutal therapy and he is home.

What are our lives now? My husband is in a wheelchair, he can no longer tower above me, and lean now to hug me and comfort me, he has given up his pride, he has seen much darkness, he battles sickening nightmares, he screams out in pain that I can’t even begin to imagine. Every single day is a struggle. He likes to joke around and pretend he is ok, but I see it in his eyes. I see the pain, I see the heartbreak, I see the rage as he watches wrestling from a wheelchair, something he loved, seeing his passion but not from the ring now, from the outside. I see the fear, I see him long to be like everyone else, I see him struggle, always pretending he isn’t hurting when I see the tears run down his face. I see a man who although he can’t walk to me, he still can let his presence be known. I see a man long to go fishing again, a man who would do anything to hear his entrance music playing and run into the crowd to face his opponent in the ring, I see man who longs to walk on the beach as he did growing up, I see a man who didn't die, I see man who is still here.

Why did this happen? Because someone decided they could take on the world in a motor vehicle while consuming alcohol. Someone’s idiotic judgment and slush for brains because the alcohol had given him liquid courage decided the lives of my family didn't matter.

Our lives are forever changed, we can’t function like most, I am not complaining but we will never be the same. At first I was extremely angry, but now I am highly determined to win this.

We have a ramp on our house, we have to navigate paths so he can access them, and we have to use equipment that I never dreamed I would need, we have long days and sometimes exceptionally long nights. But each time I see my life now before me, I feel my boost of strength, and I forge through.

I cry more days than not, but that is not weakness that escapes from my being, that is my will, that is my power over this. I will do it, and I know in time, we will be better. I refuse to lose this fight. We have been without, we have seen some very dark times but at the end of the day, we are still here.

I have learned some valuable things along this journey. I have learned that the human spirit is greater than we could ever realize until we are faced with circumstances that are overwhelming.

I have learned that people are still good, and when you least expect it, they rise up and shine upon your life and give you hope once again.

I have learned that some people are fair weather friends. You see, when the sunny girl is shining, people want to feel the warmth, but there are those who will sit with an umbrella and endure the rain with you until the sun comes again.

I have learned that waiting on people to change is stupid, people don’t change, and people don’t always keep their promises. I have seen my husband sit here; hoping to get a call, just another voice besides mine and the kids, and it makes me furious that it doesn’t ring. Where are those people who swore on his sunny days that they would always be there? He isn't asking for anything, but a phone call could completely bring some much needed joy and inspiration to his life at a time when he needs it is the most.

I have learned that the solid people in our lives are just that, they are beyond amazing and I am so humbled by their words of encouragement and show of kindness, just knowing people care gets up through many days.

I have learned that I become very angry when I think that just last week another person was lost to a drunk driver, a young man just beginning his life was taken, because some loser, a repeat offender, boozed it up and took the life of a beautiful young man who I had the pleasure of seeing grow up.

I have learned to not look too far ahead, live day to day, and now more than ever, revel in the simple pleasures, a hug, a smile, a hand reaching up to be held from the one person who always reached down to comfort me.

Most importantly, and this is the blessing we have been given, our family is now closer than ever, and our faith is so sturdy, we see daily miracles, and I could write a book about those. Our lives are a testimony, and I will gladly go into detail if anyone ever feels as if they can’t go on. I will give you some heavy things to think about and always some unreal happenings, some involving toilet paper, barbeque plates and a group of people who make me feel loved. To those who have ignored our pleas to just hear your voice or get a message back, I feel sorry for you, you don’t understand loving another and someday you might just be on the other end of that.

I hope you all will give thought before you ever drink and drive, or if you know someone who does, stop them, don’t be that idiot. Don’t play God, you will not win.

We are strong, we are weak, we are down, we are hurt, we are scared, we are broke, but we  are all together and we will withstand anything that comes our way, and the one thing we are not, we are not broken.

Reality happens.

Here are my thoughts.

Teresa

©  Copyright 2015 

~Thought for the Day~ Welcome To The Hood- Motherhood ©

  In honor of Mother’s Day 2015, I have decided to write about pickles. No, seriously, I think I should address being a Mom; but a pickle would be nice, now that it has presented itself. 
I have wanted to write this piece for a while, and now, here I am!  Just for a hearty laugh, I looked up the definition of “Mother”. Are you ready? Oh, and yes, I looked in more than one source. 
“Mother- a female parent.” 

Ha! 
 Holy C-section! Really? A mother encompasses far more than gender, and I have the stretch marks to prove it. 

I have survived. I mean, I am proud to say that I have been a Mom for almost 21 years now. Good Lord, when I say it like that, I see my gray hairs starting to cringe. 

I was 5 when I had my eldest son. Ok, fine, I was 21 when I gave birth to my big kid. I was so naive and new to motherhood. I had this image in my mind of what life as a mother would be, and I will tell you right now, it has been the best thing in my life. However, it’s not as June Cleaver-like as you’d think. Bless her heart, she wore an apron with pearls, and I am lucky if I dry my hands with my shirt and get my hair brushed, for the last 20 years. 
I am going to give you two sides to this: one from a perspective of being a Mother, of course, and also that of being a daughter.  
Being a Mother isn’t just a title, it is a lifetime commitment to help shape and mold lives. I take it very seriously, actually, but in order to survive the rough times, you must also pack a sense of humor along with your barf bag and extra tissues. 
I have learned that I can clean a dirty bottom while explaining the laws of gravity to a toddler, and all the while eating a sandwich. 

I have learned to pick my battles. This one took a while; some things you can preach about, and you can stress over, but you can’t change, so why waste your screams on those things? Let them slide, and save up for the big stuff that will actually matter five years from that point in time. 
I have learned that there is no greater joy in life than to feel little arms (well, big arms, now, with mine taller than me,) around your neck, and to hear that innocent “I love you” come out of their mouths. It makes you tear up; it gives you chills, because it is sincere. 

I have learned that sometimes you have to stop everything you are doing, important or not, to just listen. Whether it be a crisis of not finding “that shirt”, or simply because they want your time; that time can never be gotten back, and is the simplest act that can leave a child with a feeling of love and care. Someone listened. They have a voice, and they have been heard. That feeling will linger within them forever. 

I have learned that, that funky colored piece of pottery from elementary art class, the hand drawn portrait of Mom and child that depicts you with a deformed head and impossibly long arms waving with a crooked smile, a handful of weeds with the roots attached, and that song they sing to you and all the words are wrong, are what become your most treasured possessions. 

I have learned that mud, worms, and dirt under your fingernails are essential to childhood, and if Mom participates, that only adds to the experience and teaches them that life can be simply fun. 

I have learned that sometimes you can’t be their friend, and you have to tell them when they aren’t doing something that is pleasing, correct or is wrong. Kids need guidance, whether they know it or not, and the earlier we guide them, the better they become. 

I have learned that the phases pass, thank the Good Lord! The jet black hair dye, the weird clothes, and what I refer to as “kill-your-Mama-music” all pass. Just let them express themselves a little, and as they become adults, they will feel they were allowed to be themselves and open-minded. I am not saying to let them dress like hookers, but, hey, I think we all went through the ripped jeans and metal t-shirt era. (Ok, well, I still do some days.) 

I have learned that nobody on this earth can break your heart like your own child. Most of the time, they aren’t even aware. We cry at times when they can’t see, and hope that someday they realize Mom is more than a fossil, she has more feeling than a rock, and she loves you more than anything in the world. 
I have learned that some days, you just have to stop everything and be silly. The dishes will wait, but the chance to dance to around the kitchen like idiots is a memory you can’t get back. You have to grab a spoon microphone, some plastic bags for hats, or whatever you have handy, and just dance, why? Because you can. 

I attribute any skills I learned about being a Mom to my wonderful Mama. She led me by example, and what a glorious 38 years we spent together. Being on the flip side of parenting, this is what I learned as a daughter. 
I have learned that a Mother’s love knows no bounds. They will pounce like a tiger if their child feels threatened, no matter their age. They will soothe you from the cradle, until you are lulled not by a lap anymore, but by the sense of them just being there. 

I have learned that Moms make so many sacrifices for their children, and they do it silently and want nothing in return.

I have learned that my Mother saw in me something I can’t even begin to understand. There was a gleam when we would look at each other, pride in her eyes as she gazed at me. There is no feeling to match that of feeling so perfect and so priceless to another human soul. 

I have learned that my Mama had faith the size of the Grand Canyon, possibly bigger. At the time, it seemed so unimaginable, but as I age, I can see why, how, and most importantly, I see the legacy she left me to follow. 

I have learned that all those times I rolled my eyes and thought she was crazy, she was crazy. I made her that way, but the lessons she was teaching will last. They had staying power, and they will continue to teach me for the rest of my days. 

I have learned that when you make your Mama cry, be it for disappointment, joy, or sadness, it is almost as if time stands still. You are mesmerized by her show of emotion. 

I have learned (the hard way) that when you make your Mom mad, you would rather be attacked by red fire ants, as you lie slathered in tar and feathered. There is no wrath stronger than an angry Mother, and you cannot escape it.  

I have learned that even though my sweet Mama is no longer on this earth, she still is my girl. She lives in my heart, my actions, and my soul; and I must do my best to make her proud every day I am given. 

There you go; some things I have learned. 

Mother’s Day is coming quickly. If you are blessed enough to still have your Mother, celebrate her. She doesn’t require anything fancy; just being remembered, thanked, and made to feel genuinely needed is all us Moms ever want. I do need some new “out there” art pieces to grace my desk, though. 
Call her, go see her, write her. Just don’t let the day come and go without thanking her, hugging her if you can, and letting her feel special, because she is the very one who carried you when you couldn’t go it on your own. 
Here are my thoughts. 
Teresa  ;)

Copyright 2015 ©

Thought for the Day~ First Breath ©

     Here I am, unsure of where I am going with my words. However, I made a promise, and I do like to keep those. Every single day, my friend Renee has called or sent a text, and last night, as I was feeling unsure and pretty wiped out, she sent a text.  As we exchanged messages, she said one last thing: she told me to write. It had not occurred to me with all that has been going on in my life over the course of the last couple of weeks, but something clicked. She gave me the nudge that I have needed to release my fears, anger, sadness, and my hope. She knows me well enough to know that if I can find some way to write, that I will set free many of the emotions that are overwhelming me currently.

I will start with a few details of what happened, and then follow it up with where I am right now.

On February 28th, I was starting to cook breakfast when the phone rang. Thinking nothing of it, and not bothering to throw on my glasses to see who was calling so early, I said “Hello?”

My entire world began crashing around me, and there was nothing I could do to stop the actions that were already set in motion.

My husband and son had been in a horrific accident.  I cried out, I sobbed, I shook, and I felt the familiar arms of my oldest son around me, and then the arms of his fiancé.

“Not again, don’t take anyone else!" I pleaded to the sky.

I wanted to run, and I wanted to hide. I wanted to open my eyes, gasping for air, and realize that I had just had a gut-wrenching nightmare, but instead, I was given only a handful of details. In what seemed liked hours, I had to compose myself. I was teetering off the ledge, and what could I do to stop it?

My husband was airlifted to a hospital in another county, my son taken to the hospital in our town.

How could I hold it together? My mind went instantly to my Mama, the day I lost her, and I felt that same surge of sickening bile rise in my throat. How could I survive another loss? How would I live? Why would I want to? Somewhere deep within myself, I felt a flow of energy, an awe-inspiring power. I knew this feeling. It was strength- just a shred, but it was there nonetheless.

Fast forward: my husband was in critical condition, with many broken bones and a grim outlook. My son was also injured, and scared.

Needless to say, it has been a tough beginning to my favorite month of the year.

I have cried out so many times to my Mom, hoping that God would relay the message, and tell her that this grown woman needed her Mommy.

Many times I felt her; I could close my eyes and recall what she would tell me at a time like this. It felt so wonderful to remember, and it felt as though she were holding my hand, just as she would be if she were here.

Many times through this tragedy, I have felt so hopeless and alone, even when everyone said I was "never alone". I still felt so afraid,  but then, this morning, I got my reassurance.

I walked outside, and I saw it.

The last spring my Mom was alive, she loved nothing more than for me to take her outside to sit in the swing with our coffee, and though we exchanged few words, I knew the language all too well.

I glanced to my right, and I saw it. I instantly began to sob. There it was: my sign, my hope. Right beside the swing was Mom’s favorite bush. I am not certain of its official name, but she always called the plant “The First Breath of Spring.” She would always say it was a sign of better days, that the long, cold winter was withering, and that new life, new hope, and sunny days were to come.

I cried as I smelled the delicate blooms. I inhaled that smell, and tried to breathe it in down into my soul. For the first time since their accident, I felt that everything would be OK. Yes, my husband is still in the hospital with a long road to recovery, and my son is still in pain, but those beautiful yellow and white blooms consumed me and reminded me that sunny days were on their way. My tears fell, and I felt my fears washing away. I needed to let myself cry, so I just stood there, raining down on this gentle bush and giving thanks for all that I have been given.

I have so many things to tell you that I have learned though this, but I will save those for later. The most important thing I must impress upon you is this: Your life can change in a split second, without any warning, and without preparation. With a change can follow chaos and unrest, and you are left not knowing what the next minute might bring.

I urge you all to live right now.

If you have hard feelings towards someone, fix them.

If you have regret, do your best to make it right.

Let that grudge go.

And most importantly, if you love someone, tell them right now, and don't worry if they reject it. Do it for yourself, because you may not be given the chance to say it again.

That “First Breath of Spring” did more than just give off a pleasant scent: it reminded me of hope, faith and love.

Here are my thoughts.

©

Teresa