How I love those brilliantly spectacular days when the sun shines, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. The breeze is calm, and the air is fresh. I could sit under a tree and watch nature just “happen.” These days come only a few times a year, and when they do, I remind myself to allow my soul to take it all in. Every breath. Every sound. Everything.

But sometimes the breeze picks up.

So much to do. So little time! I see where time has gone but what I need to know is how do I find more of it?

To me, the world is like an ant colony. Busy beings are buzzing about, walking into, over and around one another, meeting impending goals, challenges, and deadlines. But where has the humanness gone? How do we maintain and protect the feeling, understanding, empathetic side of our interactions and our lives?

We are here. We are survivors. We are warriors. And even when we are too tired to fight, our blood still courses through our veins to bring us to where we are. Our weak flesh and sullen souls are somehow still intact despite what tried killed us.

But we blame ourselves. Why? WHY didn’t we walk away long ago. WHY were we chosen to be the victims we never volunteered to become? WHY are we left with the baggage, pain, anger, confusion, and depression? Where was the mercy we deserved? WHY was it okay for our abusers to saddle us with horrors that are often too burdensome to bear.

I’m always late. For everything. That simple phone call from one or more of my five children asking where I am. Still the same answer; “I’m coming home.”

But now that all of the kids are grown and living on their own, it’s a different story. A beautiful yet bittersweet tale. At times I miss the hours that passed by like seconds. I donned my Superman cape to get every one of our kids everywhere. Then there were the times when all plans fell faster than a fallen sparrow. Together we learned at the end of the day that we still find our way home. Now the kids have flown to nests of their own.

As a little girl, I wholeheartedly believed there was a monster under my bed. I pictured it being so furry I couldn't see its eyes- yet it could see me, even in the dark. This horrible demon had a mouth armed with sharp, razor-like teeth and made low-pitched scary roaring noises that echoed down the hallway outside of my bedroom. I would lie very still, listening intently for a sign that I was about to become its prey.

I was in second grade when I realized I had only imagined this monster. Monsters only exist in scary picture books and horror movies my babysitter described. I found it quite amusing that I was so fearful of something that never really existed! I realized I was safe and had nothing to fear. Or so I thought...