What do we do with the images of our loved one's last moments? And just like that , news of political corruption, or some other headline, has taken over the airwaves. I live in San Antonio, Tx, less than an hour from the horrendous floods that, only a few short weeks ago, gripped the Nation's attention. While the Nation is moving on, those in central Texas who lost so much may be only beginning to experience the depth of their pain. Some are grieving multiple family members taken all at once, others, their only child, and still others, the center of their lives -  their home. There is so much about what these families are experiencing that is bringing back not only memories of my own loss, but lessons I took away from it. My first husband was a fisherman lost at sea when I was 24 years old.  A month went by before his body was recovered. His Captain's body was never found. The sound of Coast Guard helicopters, the front page news updates of the search, the drowning...there ...

I relate with this substack so much, The Writer's Calling . As I was commenting my number of words had surpassed the comment phase and entered blogpost territory.  So here I am, sharing my own writing process. A few months ago, after much prayer and prompting, I revived a blog that had been dormant for 16 years.  No, that is not a typo. I am always writing, but have not been blogging.  Because my blog has not been an active space, I also decided to start pushing it out there again. Just last week I decided to move my blog to Substack. Those three steps, publishing, pushing out and moving to Substack,  have added different layers of pressure in the writing process. I write and it sits, sometimes for days, as I am praying and often reworking, just as the substack above described. Please take the time to read it, by-the-way. It is very good! However, I don't have a time limit. I can post whenever I want because no one is really watching. I find ideas need to simmer and ...

During the last few days, the Kerrville floods, the overwhelming loss of life, children, husbands, fathers, brothers and sisters taken far too soon, has caused me to reflect on a single moment that I have spent years processing through my own grief-journey - the last goodbye.  I can't help but imagine Moms or Dads dropping their kids off at camp, little feet squirreling impatiently as they wait through the registration line. Little voices squealing as they notice their friend has just arrived. The tensions of keeping an 8 year-olds feet close by, while Mom runs over the details of packing; did I remember her toothbrush, swimsuit, towel, store money? How is she going to do without me? He is going to have so much fun! How am I going to spend the week? Swirling thought after thought, as Mom or Dad wrestles between the responsibilities of sending an 8 year-old off to camp and the ball of first-day-of-camp energy crying out to be unleashed.  Then the moment comes. Cars are unloaded...