When I was seven years old...

Two years ago today, I lost my Mom. My life changed. Grief becomes bearable as time goes by, anniversaries put it right back into your face, and your eyes. Writing is cathartic-whether about grief, dogs, life, things I love. I write here often, just never hit "publish". 

As the world gains instant access to your every move, if you read it on social media it must be true, the world is a marketing machine of me, me, me, Google follows your every keystroke...I have become much more quiet these past two years. I have no patience for drama or falsehoods. There are so many public circuses, I try to stick with my own monkeys. I do not suffer fools gladly. 

When I was 7 years old, I started my first journal. Not really a diary, as my thoughts were more about what happened on a daily basis and why? Already keeping a "farm journal" of the multitudes of creatures in my life. Around the age of 7, was pivotal for me, for our family, our lives changed. When you are hurt at pivotal times in your life, they shape you. Trust is a fragile thing.

My Mom was always our champion, she loved her kids, even if she didn't always know or understand what the hell we were doing. She could be mercurial, but was loving and loyal to a fault. She loved flowers, and hers and my fave Irises and Clematis bloomed yesterday-new life and beauty is always a positive sign. The sunset last night was also spectacular-a ring of fire reflecting on clouds in the sky. I can think of her most times now, without tears, even though my heart still aches. I miss her daily, even more so today! Love you Mom, hope there are many flowers up there with you, you taught me to love digging in the dirt. :)