Friday, February 14, 2014


Gardening. I do think about it, and what I might do with this new yard of ours. I think that in about twenty-five years we'll have established, somewhat, a garden carefully planted and sort of sustainable. These things always change, as we know.

I'd like to know more about the history of the yard. I know that Dr. Ballantyne kept a rose garden in the NE corner... that is something worth researching.

The current arrangement is ...weird. No, not weird... it's as if someone used some kind of landscape software that mechanically plunked perfectly shaped perfectly boring shrubs in a perfectly boring pattern. Yeah, it looks nice, neat... too neat. Definitely not the jungle style of amygardenerd's blazed trail of past gardens around town.

The only thing that is good about it, in my very good - the trees. I'm in love with every tree on this property. Again, somebody carefully planned the planting of these trees, but this time I approve. A few maples, a very busy Mountain Ash, and that oak tree out front that has been the focus of my meditation when I'm trying to remind myself to breathe. In spring I'll start documenting them, start doodling some more maps of our outdoor space. I've never had so many trees - so many beautiful trees - to be responsible for, which makes me feel a little bit excited.

The trees are all nicely placed - with the exception of a little scraggly (ash?) out front. See, I really don't know my trees well enough. I have to get better at that. In autumn their colours put on a flawless performance, everyone in tune and complimenting the seat next to them. Spring should be just as good. Understandable how Vivaldi was inspired.

I'm going to call on Urban Greenscapes and the local plantcycle to help find new homes for any shrubs that are removed. Because I'm not entirely sure what the plan is yet - or even a semi plan, or a clue.. I'm not going to do any massive transformation of any bed. There are enough open spaces in the existing beds - large spaces that were filled (dotted perfectly) with yellow marigolds and random wispy cosmos unable to stand up in the wind up here on the hill.
I have photos somewhere of the perfect grids of marigolds, but I really don't want to face my photos folder right now - I'll did those up someday for a laugh.

I've been meaning to call Laura (hi..) .. I'm hoping she can help me with some division and relocation. There are some plants (okay, a lot of plants) at Pearl that I want to have, but I also want to preserve what's there. There are a lot of friends who could use a good division or quartering (that sounds horrible) - and if I could face the house maybe we could organize a plant sale.. *shrug*...
I really don't think I'll be able to go back there until I can see the house full with another family. That awful swirling dizzy feeling swooshes over me and through my body when I think of the air that morning, the last time I was there....the trees, Heather wishing congratulations through Rohan's driver side window as we raced off to the hospital in labour with Finn. The last time I was there, Finn was still safe inside me.
I don't want to see the house empty. Everything about it confuses my memory-reality-mixup in my head - was I really pregnant? Did all that really happen?
I can't go back to the house. Not now...I don't know when..

I'm going to bring my John Davis rose, of course, ...though I don't know where to put him yet. This new space isn't going to be as kind to him as his current space. The problem is, his current space is almost a little too kind, and he can get a little carried away. A garden person/family may not mind, but I suspect most people don't want long reach thorny branches poking into their back door.
It's a lot cooler up here, and the damn wind is effing ...windy.. I'm going to swear a lot about the wind I suspect.
I'm hoping to use roses around the yard as an extra barrier to keep critters both in and out. I'll take Marie Bugnet from Pearl too - I know nobody wants all those teeny thorns. I don't mind the thorns - they can be useful. There's that Morden Sunrise rose (still in his pot, I believe) and Morden Blush, neither very useful but definitely pretty. Front garden beds? They'll have to be tucked in somewhere warm against the house to survive up here.

New rose bushes with replace some of the boring shrubs, big ones, fragrant ones - the ones that remind me of my mother because they reminded her of the beaches of Massachusetts where she played as a young girl. Hansa for one, but I know there are others..., I'll find them.

Bigger space, bigger beds... means bigger plants. Dwarf varieties have filled my other gardens, this one is going to get some big guns. Solomon's Seal, Goat's Beard, hostas of ridiculous size, they'll all be joining us.

The backyard will be dog run territory - literally - enough space for them to truly run. That was another of the many reasons we wanted this house. How do you reconcile a love for dogs, gardens, family space, and still live downtown in walking distance to all the good stuff and the lake? Space was a big issue for us.
Before we moved in we worried we would alienate all our new neighbours. We'd be those crazy dog people with a poopy yard. Little did we know our new neighbours were worrying the same in reverse. Dog rescues to one side, dogs to the other, dogs behind, dogs down the lane - and as it turn out we have the yard to host them all. It's doggyville up here.
Our dogs are happier than they've ever been. It's like a little Tree Farm out there, complete with wide open spaces, and bushes to hide in to leap out on to your basset brother. They're having fun.
Most of the back yard will always be reserved for dog space (and skating rinks).

I'll keep my gardens closer to home.
You would think with all this space I'd have thought of a good place for some vegetables. I thought I had, but the wind blew that one away. The peanut shaped bed near the sunroom boasts nothing more than a cotone aster and a large rock (we like the rock)..., and not that I have anything against the reliable contone aster..., boring. This guy might keep his spot for the mere reason he's about the only one who can stand up to the wind tunnel that frequently, sometimes violently, blows through there. The marigolds and cosmos certainly didn't like it.
Low growing succulents might like the space - maybe some more rocks.., the pretty amethyst rocks Rohan put in at Pearl.

There's a bed at the back... there's a caragana in the corner, and I recall a bunch of hostas. Not much else.. I didn't look to closely before, so we'll have to see what comes up in spring. That bed would be (possibly) the warmest and most protected for a vegetable bed - but it's so close to dog territory it would be at risk for both the sneaky pea and tomato eating basset hound, but also the icky thought of pee seepage in the soil around it.
Let's keep the food away from that, okay.

I'm probably just going to pillage that bed and turn it over to the dogs.

If anything actually gets done I'll be surprised. I can't seem to get anything done these days. Small steps they all say. Don't get defeated. My body aches, it's sick from the grief, I still can't digest anything, and I'm in knots from being so tense and hunched over crying, I'm all twisted up. Sarah did some pretty wild acupressure yesterday to try to untangle some of the knots, but I think some new, bigger ones developed overnight.

Planting would probably do me some good, and I'm sure I'll find myself back in the back of the greenhouse digging in the dirt at some point. Maybe I'll just go for the ladies, wine-o'clock. Maybe a bit of both. Maybe not at all. I dunno....

I'm just not really sure where to direct my garden thoughts. I've thought often about what Heather said when she was here last week - about her birthday tree planting fundraising. It would be nice to do something similar but in memory of Finn. Heather just wanted to plant a tree, but her friends helped her plant ten - boulevard and public trees, carefully placed near people who will care for them all over Thunder Bay. How nice is that?
I'd like to plant some trees for Finn.

I think this year will be mostly about the trees. Trees and roses. Sounds like a good place to start.


Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Friday, February 7, 2014

Ma Petit Prince

Heather married us. She helped us organize the ceremony (in two weeks), helped us find the words for our vows, and made it all so... simple (in one word, all I ever wanted). She was our friend, my mother's friend, and also our neighbour. She's one of the reasons I miss our old home. There was nothing more lovely than hearing her play her piano while I dug around in my garden.

Heather was also one of the first to know of my pregnancy with Finn. We were at my mother's condo with Jean and Alison, some sherry, and some old gouda. I couldn't disguise my refusal of the sherry and old gouda. Heather was there all along as my belly grew and my mother faded away. She was there in the hospice at St. Joe's (with Jean and sherry and old gouda) on one of the last days my mother was alert.

She was there for me the morning my mother died, to hug me and counsel me in her front porch. She always has all the right things to say. There is a reason she floats a little, not just as she plays the piano but also when she walks.

Heather was one of the few people to meet Finn. She came by on the Friday before he died, when life was on the upswing, when nothing could go wrong. She gave him a knitted sock puppet in memory of his Nana, her friend. All the circles came together in love.

In the morning on the day we lost Finn I was asked a million times by people at the hospital who they could call - we needed our people, who could they call. I didn't know who to call. I don't have any people... my mother is gone, my father is gone, I don't have any parents, Rohan's parents are a hemisphere away, his whole family is in a different time zone, even as close as my sister seemed she was still too far away. I had nobody. 
They asked and asked again, who could they call, who could they call... finally it came to me - Heather. There was no one else.

She was there .. it seemed in an instant, and was there the whole time. She performed a naming ceremony to bless Finn's life, she held us holding him. I couldn't imagine that day without her. 

She performed Finn's memorial service. There was no one else.

There is no way to thank Heather for the way she has held our hearts through everything we've had to face in recent years. It's too much. How do you thank someone who has done so much?

When she was here to meet Finn she called him a little prince... a little nickname that has stayed with him. For her I made a needlefelted Le Petit Prince. He's from the scene where The Little Prince rakes his volcanoes, wearing his green outfit, blue belt, and yellow scarf.  

I made his asteroid - Asteroid B 612...

Then I made him a flock of wild birds...

I've been trying to string them as the mobile I see in my mind. 
It's working, I just have to tame the flock of wild birds a little.

When it's complete I'll take some better photos. I've really enjoyed making this one - it means a lot. It's been a challenge in design and engineering, wool, thread, fishing line, beads, and wooden rings. Every step has been made and constructed with Finn on my mind, and with Heather for all she did for my precious baby boy.

needlefelted dragonflies

I started needlefelting a few weeks ago. I had no idea how it was done, but was continually fascinated by the artistic creations I was seeing for sale on Etsy. I've been desperately needing something new to do, something to keep me preoccupied at home, keep my hands busy. I've always needed a creative outlet - photography, gardening, sewing, cooking.., and I've always like small crafts, fidgety things, details. 

I've also been wanting to do something special for some people who have done so much for me - more than I could ever put into words. Sarah, of course.. how will I ever be able to thank her for all she's done as a healer and as a friend. Making something to represent Finn - his conception, his pregnancy, his life, and his death has been healing in itself... it feels good to create things with him in mind. 
It's been difficult for both Rohan and I to count how many days we had Finn with us - was ten? Was it eleven? It borders the two and it's all a little confusing. The number eleven seems to be speaking a little louder these days, so for Sarah I made eleven little felted dragonflies flying around a felted branch. 
Needlefelting isn't complicated, and doesn't require a whole lot of equipment, and as I started I could only see more and more possibilities. It's been a great distraction for my mind and fingers. Each little dragonfly has unique blue markings of the wings, a blue bead eyes sewn on with metallic thread. Each one carefully brought to life to remember a life lost.

I've ordered a lot of wool from various places - some from Living Felt, a great resource for all things felted, including You Tube tutorials; and from places I've found on Etsy, straight from farms in New Zealand and closer to home in southern Ontario. Again, a new to me learning adventure, and already I've discovered preferences ..I can see the future wool snob developing in me. I'm constantly distracted with new project ideas. It's about the only thing that has distracted me in a positive way since we lost Finn.

I know Sarah will love her dragonflies and with them remember Finn. Her peaceful and calming way is so much like all the nice things we hear about dragonflies, the two go very well together.  

hormone soup

The first time a friend (a friend, not a doctor) asked how I was handling the hormonal fluctuations of infant loss I was a little taken aback by the question. "I've been thinking about your hormones..."

My hormones? I thought - somebody was thinking about my hormones? That's just ..weird.
It's not though - it's part of being an older woman and having older women friends who know enough women who have been exposed in some way or another by raging hormones. Whether it's cancer that put their hormones in the spotlight, or the whole process of motherhood from trying to conceive to breast feeding (... having a teenage daughter..), and of course there's just ordinary age and ordinary women.

My hormones get discussed often, as they should. They are the center of attention these days, my driving force. They're fucking exhausting. My system is so angry that there is no baby to calm all those raging hormones, and everything's falling apart. 
I was doing well-ish for a while - thanks to acupuncture, I'm certain. As far as my physical health went I seemed to be recovering. Everything returned to "normal" in good time, and I've already had a number of cycles - enough cycles to be able to call a few predictions. It's very clear that the week before I get my period is a very fragile time. 
Triggers are everywhere, and on a "good" day I can find ways to keep standing, but in the phase when those angry hormones rage I can't, and every trigger is amplified. It's an absolutely terrifying place to be. 

The subject of post traumatic stress has been discussed around me and to me since Finn died. I think everyone was (is?) afraid I was going to kill myself. I had good reason to, but I had even more reason to live..., I still have Hannah. I'm still a mother. 
I can completely understand how the symptoms of post traumatic stress could drive someone to suicide though. Am I really going to feel like this for the rest of my life? The thought of it sends a dizzy feeling swirling through my head - that in itself being a symptom. The nervous fluttery feeling in my gut has been around long enough to manifest in physical ways that tie me to the house as much as my irrational anxieties. I've had diarrhea for more than a month, made worse by a very confused appetite. Every morning I fight the urge to throw up nothing. It's not a medical thing - there is no Pepto for the kind of flutters causing this problem. 

There is no medication that will bring my baby back, so there is no medicine that can help me. I've never seen any reason to take antidepressants. I rely on acupuncture to settle a lot of the symptoms that any antidepressant would take care of, as well as any hormonal drug - acupuncture is so much more effective. Straightforward vitamins and some Chinese herbs, probiotics, juice with glutamine and flax seed, lots of protein, a simple healthy diet - chicken and vegetable soups, broth, pho, miso, eggs and spinach (which horrifies Hannah)... 
I'd like to add more exercise into the mix, and I had been walking for a while - but the groups of stroller moms out there the make amount of negative effort it takes to get out there outweigh the positive benefit of the walk. I still haven't found a better routine. 
I left the house by myself for the first time a week and a half ago, walked down Bay Street to Algoma to Cedar Grove for an acunap. It was great until I was on my way home and at the top of the Bay Street stairs I thought to myself ..ow.. and by the time I got home I thought ...OW.. and by the time the next morning rolled around I felt scared and defeated by the fact that I had obviously torn something significant around my c-section scar; something very internal that sent my whole pelvis into frightened inflammation. It still hurts. 
I can't afford to lose any strength in any of those muscles. Two c-sections aren't easy on the body. 

I won't deny the use of over the counter sleeping pills - even if it's just for the placebo affect. Sort of proven last Sunday when I took eight of them [sorry liver] hoping to escape the nightmare I was in, but all that happened was I sat with my eyes fixed open in a dopey daze for five hours. I should have known better than to test my limits as the hormonal hostilities were already giving me the shakes. 

The hardest part about being a mother of a dead child is being the mother of a living child. Hannah's hockey team had made the finals in the Fort Frances tournament. Rohan and I got the news she would be playing for first by text as we sat here across from each other by the fire. He suggested immediately that we go watch - I knew we wanted to go all along. He really enjoys watching Hannah play. I also enjoy watching Hannah play - especially now as the girls are older, faster, better players, clever, funny on the ice teenage girls. It's been hard to face this season without Finn wearing the little knit hockey outfit I had for him. Every game has been a trigger of torn emotions - wanting to go, not wanting to go, wanting to go, not being able to go, tears.
Hannah doesn't understand right now, her teenage female hormones aren't allowing her to. I understand that. I can only hope someday she understand me. Her father I sure doesn't understand - his excuse being complete ignorance and arrogance. Rohan understands, all too well, and he knew suggesting we go to Fort Frances was suggesting a lot. 
I felt I couldn't not go - my immediate reaction to the news of the final was that I wanted to see that game. Back to that want to go, not wanting to go, want to go, have to go, must try to go... tears...

It's been clear for years that I don't like driving. I don't think I'm a good driver - not because I don't know or am ignorant to the rules of the road, but because I'm scared, and I've become really hesitant (perhaps from having to drive in the la-la freaking land of Thunder Bay drivers for too long and not wanting to conform). Slow, hesitant drivers are just as dangerous as fast, arrogant drivers. I prefer to stick to my bike, or my scooter, or just let Rohan drive. 
I really don't like driving the highways around Thunder Bay, even less in winter, even less this winter - for more than one reason (they've been in the news lately for having had the worst snow clearing in history, with fines and more being placed on those responsible). 

Combine it all: raging hormones, triggers causing explosions in my head of visions and noises of things I've come to fear more than anything imaginable, a body and mind in turmoil, an aching pelvis - a reminder of the baby taken from me then taken again, irrational anxiety that partners with a flock of wild birds in my gut causing physical angst in every part of my digestive system, an inability to eat or be far from a bathroom, the fear of not being near a bathroom, the torn emotions over wanting to go and not wanting to go, an a justifiable fear of winter highways in Northwestern Ontario. 
It took a lot for me to get in the car that morning - the car with no red baby seat in it anymore, the car we bought because our family was expanding. It took a lot to face my fear of the highway at a time when my mind doesn't know how to rationalize anything because the chemicals my hormones are releasing are too overpowering; but I wanted to go, tears and all.

By the time the third semi trailer blew by us knocking even the heavy Subaru around in the gust I closed my eyes, only opening them for seconds here and there, for four hours to Fort Frances. We didn't speak because I could only speak to the voices in my head telling me to be the tree, breathe, let your body relax, let go of the tension as I sat white knuckled clinging to my purse strap. 
When we arrived I thought, okay - halfway... I can do this, I can do this. I just needed to stop shaking. Hannah knew something was up when she saw me, I told her I was car sick (also ordinarily plausible..). She could have never known that it was fighting the urge to crumble to the floor that was making me so sick.

The arena was pounding with loudest music. I guess they were trying to rival the NHL in between whistle energy - except it was just too much, and at the time there wasn't even anyone on the ice, not even a zamboni. I totally get loud music in an arena at a sporting event, but I also totally get acoustics and making that loud music sound like loud music as opposed to rattling vibrations through the steal beams and concrete. 
We found some rattling seats and sat in them, rattled. I thought it couldn't get worse. The noises in my head were only enjoying the competition with the noise outside.Human combustion isn't always in flames. Before I could even repeat the words this couldn't get worse a woman sat down in front of me and pulled out a set of bells, reaching up jingling them madly in the air in front of my face. It got worse.

We found some new seats a little bit away from everybody. I really wanted to be okay. I tried to be the tree, I tried to breathe. Rohan went off to get some stadium food for himself (anything goes in his gut of steal), leaving me alone in the noise with the noises. I closed my eyes and wished for any kind of peace, anything to help get me though this.. as I did, my phone rang, and as if a prayer was answered the voice of an angel was on the other end. It was Heather. ...and I couldn't answer - because it was so loud in the stadium you couldn't hear yourself speak, and even without all the pain in my pelvis I wouldn't not have been able to run out in time to answer. Yes, I could always call her back - that wasn't the point, it didn't matter - that was the final trigger in a series of triggers and the explosion was inevitable. 

I ran to find Rohan, ran to the car, shut myself in and immediately let a billion tears splash over the windshield. I haven't cried like that since around Christmas. It was ugly, painful, wrenching. Rohan followed, worried, wanting to turn around and drive home immediately to get me home as fast as he could..., but we couldn't, we had come all that way, Hannah's game was going to start in less than an hour. He went back to talk to Hannah, while I called Heather back and tried to speak through a mouthful of tears.

It was then that Rohan drove us to the Safeway, bought some otc sleep aids, which I promptly swallowed eight of. The wide eyed daze hit about halfway through Hannah's game, and successfully blurred the noise around me with the noise inside me. I was hoping to sleep all the way home so I wouldn't have to experience the road.., but I'm not that lucky.

I don't think Hannah's father has any comprehension of how his ignorance is seen on my end - I'm quite certain he could care less. Maybe he thinks he's demonstrating some sort of power trip, a big fuck you to me, not realizing its Hannah he hurts every step of the way. I've never understood how he can't put our differences aside and just do what's right for her. He denies her any financial support because she "has Rohan now" - not recognizing my contributions, or the fact that regardless of Rohan - he is her father and should take care of what needs to be taken care of. He never paid a daycare bill, or agreed to help watch Hannah after school so that I could work, he never bought diapers, or necessary things along the way - refused to help out when I bought her first real bed as a single part time working mother. He's never bought a winter coat, boots, school supplies, nothing - and only for a short while did he sort of regularly send checks (but only on his terms and I think he enjoyed making me feel dependent). The only thing he has ever paid for is hockey (refusing to help with swimming or piano lessons saying they weren't important) - and even with hockey he's failed. He often can't bring her to practices and games (just assuming my schedule is open), and he has chosen to go to his step son's games and practices over Hannah's. He supplies her with second rate gear that I constantly have to replace (her skates, for instance, were two sizes too big - when we took her to get properly sized last year. I was shocked her father wouldn't have considered her feet, since he himself has had such foot problems he's had to have surgery. Why - why doesn't he think of her?)
It's not about the money - there was a time it would have really helped, but it's not about that any more. I would just like to see him put her first instead of trying so hard to prove he hates me. She doesn't call him for rides, money for the movies or the mall, trips to Chapters, ...he even refused a single concert ticket as they watch his step son play hockey in the arena they were being sold at. If he thinks denying her hurts me, well...., then he succeeds. 

He proved his arrogance on the highway Sunday night as he passed us in a blaze, disappearing out of sight with my baby in his truck. I'm sure it didn't occur to him that the mother of his daughter is suffering, and trying so hard not to become a helicopter mom, trying so hard to continue to let Hannah go little by little as she becomes more and more independent. Being on the wrong side of statistics like this has done irreparable damage to my sense of security. I used to think losing a child was something that only happens to other people - but now that I'm one of those people I know too well that anything can happen, any time, to any one, no one is immune. I've lost one child, who's to say I won't lose another... 

I can't live like that though, and I can't do that to Hannah. It's such an internal battle now. I have to somehow rationalize these absurd feelings I have toward her safety while not letting on, so she doesn't roll her eyes at me, or tune me out. I have to choose my words wisely to get though the web of teenage nonsense she's dealing with. She finds my night time sobbing annoying, showing little compassion - and I have to just deal with that, knowing that it's just how sixteen year olds are, and someday she'll understand. 
I have to try to act stable for her while every cell of my body is begging to come apart. I have to, at the same, time continue to give her the freedom she's accustomed to. She's already been white water rafting in Alaska and on the Great Wall of China - the girl has big dreams, a need for adventure, and a serious case of the travel bug. It's what I love most about her, and I want to be able to give her opportunities to encourage her spirit. It take a lot for any mother to allow their child to dangle off the CN Tower or jump out of a plane, but a loss mother has so much more to contemplate. The need to keep the two sides from meeting on the battlefield of mixed emotions is going to make me learn to live with a sick gut forever.

Hannah says I shouldn't worry - she's with her father, he's not going to hurt her. Of course not, I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt her (physically). 
Finn was with his father. It doesn't matter - you can think you're doing everything right, you can love that child more than anything in the world and it can still go very, very wrong. Accidents happen, and there's little we can do to prevent them. Speeding in the dark along one of the most dangerous stretches of highway in Canada is only begging for something bad to happen. I know Hannah's father must have been laying on it heavily because I know how Rohan drives so I know we were already going over the limit. He and Hannah left quite a while after us, caught up to us, passed us, and disappeared out of sight. 

I received a text from Hannah a while later asking for us to meet them pulled over somewhere so she could get in with us because she didn't have her house key, adding that they were way ahead of us now. I said no - he could slow down so we could catch up and we could all drive in together. He could have just stayed with us, perhaps think it might be safer as we all drive home at night, in case something happens to one or the other. Instead his arrogant driving, out to prove god knows what, just had to make it all difficult, had to make it angsty, had to put Hannah in the middle between squabbling parents. Did it occur to him to set an example for Hannah - especially as she learns to drive with her new license? 
He didn't think of her, he didn't think of her safety first, he didn't think of me (of course not), he couldn't just put it all aside. 

I was so numb from the worry, anxiety, and tears of the day that by the point we reached Thunder Bay I was so weak I could hardly stand to walk. It didn't take long for me to fall into bed, with no energy left to even cry - the tears were just dribbling out by then. 

Monday morning was just a new start to another hormone-driven day. Tears were uncontrollable and came in every flavour. Sunday was now just a part of the bigger blur, the big nightmare, tossed in with visions of losing Finn, and all the other faces, sounds, scenes, and memories that haunt me. I know Rohan was very worried about me. He knows there's nothing anyone can do - my body and my mind are playing tricks that are capable of some really nasty things, and the only solution is time... I have to get passed that hormonal phase for things to start making sense again, and until it happens it only gets worse. 

Heather came by Monday evening and immediately upon seeing my blubbering state said, "are you sure this isn't a hormonal thing..." I laughed for the first time in days, agreeing. Yes, yes, it's the hormones...It's lots of other things, but it's definitely the hormones. It was such a relief just to have someone else say it - someone not a doctor, but a woman who knows.

I'm on cycle day two, and the world is starting to make a little more sense. The events of Sunday are going to continue to haunt me for a while - and I never, ever want to drive that road again at night. I'm still achy from being so tense for so many hours, and the emotional hangover is worse than anything Jenn's cheap red wine could do. 
Hugh Walker told me at the last session to be gentle with myself, and I think I have to pay a little more attention to that. As much as I want to participate in some things I have to hope the people involved understand if some days I just can't face anything other than what's going on inside of me. 

Thursday, February 6, 2014