"Dana, your surgery is over now. Everything went very well."

I opened my eyes and struggled to process this information. The searing pain emanating from my abdomen needed no substantiation. It was was unmistakable. 

Free me from this pain. 

I've often wondered where hope comes from. Is it inherent in our being? How do we hold onto it? When it's lost, where has it gone? 

I wish there was a Red Cross for hope. When you have extra hope, you could donate some. When you have lost all hope, you can become a recipient. Just imagine the possibilities in both donating and receiving! All types are welcome; after all hope is hope, right?

I remember it like it was only yesterday. In actuality, it was three years ago, but the lesson learned will last throughout my lifetime. In sharing it with you, I remain hopeful it's sweet message will live on in the hearts of many.

On a cold, wintry, late December day, our youngest daughter asked if I would go with her to the mall. My initial instinct was to remind her that it was 23 degrees outside, and being 4 days before Christmas, there would be no parking and the mall would be packed with panicked people frantically looking for that perfect present. Within seconds I reminded myself that there will never be a better time to make memories and fortunately, I rethought my decision.

As a writer, I am inspired by many things, most especially stories. I also happen to be an artist, nurse, a wife and a mother of 5. No matter what occupation or degree we hold, essentially we are life-long students afforded a daily opportunity to learn lessons that teach our souls. Some lessons are clear and concise. Others seem like glass shards that stab deep into our souls; these lessons take on a life of their own, almost begging to be told. 

Allow me to tell you a story about Ryan, a 27-year-old man I never met, whose story I can never forget. To hear him tell his story in his own words would be nothing short of riveting. Sadly, this cannot and will not ever happen.