Dear Friend:

How have you been? It has been so long since I have heard your voice or seen your beautiful face.

I miss you. I haven't forgotten you, or given up hope that someday you will respond to my texts or emails, far from it in fact. I have learned that things will happen in their own time; I now have patience.

I don't send you messages so you feel guilty about not communicating, I send them so you know that I am still here, in case you need a friend. In case you think you are not welcomed back with opened arms because of the way you left.

I am hopeful you will come back to me. And if you never do, I will also be grateful for the little time we had.

Although our friendship was brief, it was deep and meaningful. You came to me at a time in my life where I needed people like you.

When I met you I felt I had known you forever, maybe even in another lifetime. I understood you quickly, and quite surprisingly you seemed to understand me right back. I felt free to be  my curious self, to ask possibly unanswerable questions and to wonder at the answers with you. I never felt the need to prove myself, or to fit in. We just clicked.

From that immediate acceptance of all that I was, and was not, the burden of hoping you would like me was lifted. I simply showed up and you loved me. Your unbiased and unconditional love helped me believe in my goodness again, especially after a period where I felt lost and oh so unworthy.

Maybe that was all our friendship was ever supposed to be, you popping in to redirect me back to my path, but I really hope not.

I miss the moments when we unapologetically laughed and cried together. When our thoughts felt synchronized, as if sometimes we did it as one being. I was never worried that you would judge me or laugh at me no matter how much I dreamed out loud, or changed my mind. I never feared that you would ridicule me for what I believed, instead you helped me understand what you believed and that gave me hope that I would figure it all out in my own way someday.

Dear friend, I treasure those times we had.

My mean voice often wants to asks what I did to push you away? But I won't let it. Because the calm, still voice inside knows that very likely it had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you.

I am here for you. Waiting in the light as you once waited for me. I cannot understand (or support you through) what you won't share with me, especially not when there is only silence from your end. So the only thing I can do is hold space for you, until you heal. I pray that the time will come when you will emerge from your cocoon, ready to reconnect-- transformed, rejuvenated, peace-filled and free of whatever has weighed heavy on your spirit.

In my waiting time I will smile, filled with the joy of anticipation in thinking of all things that we might do together someday. If it happens, I will be grateful. If it doesn't, I will also be grateful for the brief, yet beautiful time we had together as friends.

Namaste, my dear friend. Namaste.

As I sat home on a March evening in 2013 watching a movie and sorting through paperwork, my best friend from high school’s life was changed forever. Her daughter died in a car crash on a cold Iowa highway. Addie had only recently turned 18. For those short months she had lived as an "adult", her Facebook posts and text messages reflected that life at college in Iowa was going well: she had a new boyfriend, a career direction she was passionate about, and felt a growing sense of independence.

I had known Addie since she was born, and although she lived in another state, we had stayed in fairly close contact. As it sometimes goes with teenagers, there were years we'd talk more than others. Yet when she needed me, I tried to be there for her and she certainly helped me keep tabs on my youngest son. On many occasions she knew more about what was going on with him from several states away, than I did living with him in the same house. And when she came back to town to visit her dad's family, she always made time to visit us.

It has been one year and just over nine months now since Addie passed away. Addie's birthday is January first,  so when the calendar changes to a new year; I am reminded that it begins without her in it. I think of her every day, sometimes more than once a day. I talk to her, too. All the time. She pops into my head when I need strength, patience, advice, confidence, or calm. She’s my go to help… and she always comes through, especially when I need that patience or wisdom to deal with my kids.

This "help" started soon after she died.

I was able to attend Addie’s memorial service at Cornell College soon after the accident and I helped her mom face the impossible task of cleaning out Addie's dorm room. What a strange awkward thing to do. Going through the remnants of someone’s life interrupted – it felt like such an intrusion, and yet it had to be done. Addie's mom, Jan, had flown into Iowa for a day and a half and had this one chance to get Addie's stuff all cleaned out. My heart nearly broke for her. We shared a lot of tears as we pawed through Addie's private things, boxing up what Jan wanted to keep (or what she was too exhausted to go through) and giving the rest to the local Goodwill or the friends who stood awkwardly by.

Jan asked me if I wanted something of Addie's and my first thought was "no", I couldn't take anything. It felt wrong, selfish, maybe even a bit creepy. But as I sorted through things and came across a soft, blue blanket; I reconsidered. I knew if I took her blanket I would think of her when I wrapped it around me, it would keep her memory close. And as I pictured the rest of her belongings being used by strangers (who I knew wouldn't think of her when they wore her shoes or her shirt) I decided maybe I would bring home a few more things. I had no idea then that she would become more a part of my life in death, than she ever had been in life.

That day I also felt compelled to ask for a necklace from Addie's eclectic collection. I let Jan choose which one she thought I should take. I have no doubt it was Addie who guided her to the perfect necklace for me. A simple silver chain with a charm that says “Follow Your Heart.” The words could not have been more perfect for me as only a month earlier I had done exactly that when I quit my “safe” job and left the business world I knew to take a leap of faith and “follow my heart”. I have taken the necklace off maybe twice since that day.

Except for the four or five times it randomly fell off in the weeks after my trip to Iowa.

The first time it happened I was certain the necklace had broken---I was drinking my coffee before school—I was substitute teaching at the time, and it fell off my neck and into my lap. In dismay I picked it up only to see that nothing seemed amiss. My husband confirmed as he put it back around my neck that it had just come undone. It seemed odd but I assumed it hadn’t been latched properly.

Until it happened again another morning. Same place.  Roughly the same time. I paid attention to what I was doing at the moment it happened again, somehow realizing that it was no coincidence. I knew Addie was trying to send me a message. She wanted me to notice something. To stop and pay attention.

Deep inside I questioned whether this was really a message from her, or maybe I was simply wishing for it to be.

But as the days went on and the necklace continued to fall off at strange times (always in places where I wasn't in danger of losing it) it became clear that someone or something was guiding me. I choose to believe it was Addie. I started meeting people who introduced me to new things and new ways of thinking, I reconnected with people I had lost touch with, and I started noticing unusual words that kept popping up in conversation or my news feed. (That is how I became a GROOVE dance facilitator, how I learned about Reiki and energy, and how I came to understand that I was a highly sensitive person.) All life re-directing events for me.

I followed the nudges. I worked to open my mind and heart. This led me to many places I would not have ever gone. I reconnected with my intuition, something I had long ago buried, and it changed my life in big beautiful ways. I started living more in the "now" and in short order the world became a beautiful awe-filled place again. I felt connected to the earth and to the universe. I became the person I had been born to be. And soon, instead of only shedding tears of sadness, I began to shed tears of joy and wonder. I now look at the world through "new" eyes.

I am not the same person I was a year and nine months ago. So much has happened. Growth. Acceptance. Love. Understanding. Joy. Wonder. Faith. So much has changed. For the better.

It is easy to get lost in the sadness of Addie's death, to cling to the bitterness about the senselessness of it all --- but I also see how many lives she has changed, how many horizons she has expanded. That is magic.

Part of me learning to let go of the control I clung to and the worry I lived with for most of my adult life, came from the realization that there was more to life than I had ever acknowledged. I am now able to live with hope and trust, joy and wonder, appreciation and grace instead of negativity and worry about the future. Without question Addie's death has created positive change in my life, and for that I am truly thankful.

I think of Addie at least once a day. I bet I always will. Calling her beautiful face to mind is as easy as breathing to me. Many times throughout a day I find myself holding the charm from her necklace between my fingers.

I wear her shirt to GROOVE in. I wear her Ugg boots around town. I carry her blue purse. She is always around me. She is always in my thoughts. She is forever with me. Thinking of her never fails to remind me to be thankful in that exact moment. For her. For my family. For my friends. For this life. And for the lessons I am lucky enough to be learning.

What matters is the love that is right in front of you. I hope to never take it for granted again. To never stop appreciating it. To never live for some time so far in the future that I miss today.

Follow your heart. Believe in fairies. Trust in love. Know that magic exists. Make your dreams come true while you still can. I hear you Addie, I'm trying.

RIP sweet girl -- I hope your spirit soars freely and with great abandon in Neverland.

As I sat at the computer this morning with my beautiful mother-in-law on my mind, and having just re-read my post about Angel Addie, I didn’t realize she was taking her final steps into the light of Heaven. I knew the end of her time here on earth was near, after an early morning phone call and several texts I’d received as my husband made his way to Jackson, but not that it was actually happening while I sat and let my tears and words flow. It comforts me now to know that even though I wasn’t physically there with her and the rest of the family ---I was thinking of her—and connected in spirit---at pretty much the exact moment she moved on.

My husband feels bad that he missed being at her bedside by only minutes because he thoughtfully stopped on his way into town to get some food for everyone who had stayed over at the house. He feels guilty thinking she was holding on for him to get there, and the food stop caused him to miss her passing by mere minutes. 

What if she wasn't waiting for him to physically arrive, instead she just wanted to make sure he was safely back in town and ready to step in and be a calming force in the sea of ensuing sadness her departure was sure to leave?  I think what she needed most was to know that everything and everyone would all be okay --and his place wasn't to actually be with her in those final moments, but to facilitate her peaceful release by giving her the last piece of reassurance she needed that it was okay to go. Once she knew he was in line paying for those donuts she was able to let go of any lingering doubt and leave peacefully.

I hope that is how it will be for me someday --- when I am minutes from Heaven, I too will just want reassurance that my family will all be okay.

Here is what I was writing as my mother-in-law met Jesus. I was even playing the song she loved, too. http://youtu.be/N_lrrq_opng

Dear Mom:

You are minutes from Heaven and I am so thankful that of all the mother in law’s in the world, I was lucky enough to get you. These past two years while you have raged your battle against cancer, you have done so with such grace.

As I wait here praying that the angels bring Mike safely to your side, the tears are slowly falling.

We will miss you here in this world but know that you are heading home and you are not scared. You are ready. We were the ones not quite ready for you to leave us. Your obvious excitement at meeting Jesus however has given us comfort that you will be more than okay in your new home.

This is hard sitting here and waiting. I see why so many have trouble letting their loved ones go. We don’t want you to leave. But we also do not want you to suffer. So go peacefully mom. Don’t fight the light and the extended hands of those who have gone before you. They are patiently waiting for you as well. I know Grandma Wallis is first in line—say hi to her for me will you? And hugs and love to Grandma and Grandpa Spaulding.

Mike is almost there. I don’t want to call him because I don’t want him to start driving faster to get there, either you will wait or you will be drawn to the light just before he gets there. The timing will be perfect whatever it turns out to be.

It is interesting that yesterday I celebrated Addie’s life and felt her presence so strongly all day and now today you will be joining her in Heaven.

Will we feel you, will you send us signs? I hope so. It is so comforting to be able to know that love never really ends – it changes sure, but we will still feel your love and send our love to you. Always and forever, until we meet again. XO

Your daughter in love.