For Him ~ For Me

Most anything that you want, girl, is all right by me.

Girl, ‘cause I just wanna make you happy
That’s all I’m tryin’ to do

Yes, I just wanna make you happy

And spend my lifetime with you

Our love for each other was genuine and intense – from the moment we met, ‘til the day his spirit left Earth. Bob’s eyes literally smoldered when they lit on me. I felt cherished. I knew I was loved. Passionately. Intensely. The air surrounding us sparked with the intensity: our love towards each other was tangible. People noticed it.

I always felt blessed and highly favored to have had Bob in my life, and to be loved by him. Exclusively.

My life with Bob seemed extraordinary – Bob made it his mission to please me. In every way. He told me in 1974 that if I married him, I’d never regret it … and I never did. He loved me with a pure and true love. He pampered me. He spoiled me for anyone else. My King bee treated me like his Queen.

Our love for each other humbled me.

Because Bob loved me so unconditionally; so wholly, and with such a purity because he was a good man with a good soul … I became a better person. I wanted to BE a better person.

For him. For me.

Though I had loved Bob from the moment I saw his face, when he pursued me and caught me, I felt undeserving of his attentions. Of his love. His fussing over me confused me – until Bob came into my life and showered me with attention and love, I had never experienced real caring or love that wasn’t shallow. I was happy. I was thrilled. I was scared. I had trust issues Bob had to wade through.

Bob’s love towards me was a whole new experience. I wondered about it. I gloried in it: I loved the passion. I loved him with an intensity that kinda frightened me – but I was not sure how to deal with the intensity of his love: I felt unworthy; I came to Bob with baggage.

He knew I loved him. Deeply. Passionately. But I had serious trust issues that had nothing to do with “us”; and those issues did, on occasion, affect us. Bob was patient. He always told me I was worth the wait. Bob loved me – a difficult woman under any circumstances – effortlessly, purely, and beautifully. Bob was love personified.

I miss the way Bob loved me.

Bob lavished love on me the way women dream of being loved by a man who adores her. Being loved by Bob taught me that love CAN be trusted.

Now, I am finding myself distrusting anyone concerning anything, again. That may be an unfair assessment – but, I am ‘right back there’ again.

Admittedly, I am standing on shaky ground.

My new life began across the Columbia River, in another State, on December 14^th, 2018 at precisely 8:05 a.m. at OHSU in Portland, OR.

My new life started seriously taking shape 45 minutes from home, August 30^th, 2019 at precisely noon; when I laid his cremains in the family cemetery in Eden Valley, WA.

The significance of the moment … though I have been dealing with the seriousness of the situation for months … has set me back some. Where I was making headway, I now find that I have regressed: I am back to stuttering (that started with the onslaught of widowhood). And some days I am paralyzed with unrelenting sneaker waves of raw grief that keeps me off balance. Since August 30^th, it has been a continual ‘1 step forward & 3 steps back’. Simple things are difficult endeavors again. Whole days can pass and I wonder at the end of the day what the heck I did with the day.

I am living with grief.

I don’t like it.

I don’t like that I no longer have control over my life – I have always had control of my life; I did give way on some ground with Bob because I loved Bob and I trusted Bob with the small pieces of my life I allowed him into, but in general I always had a firm grip on my life’s situations & circumstances.

Now, every day seems like I am engaged in a morose game of a pick-up sticks-scenario life. My current life lays scattered in a precarious jumble of shattered pieces I am delicately trying to pick up and form into a workable solo life.

I miss my old life.

The life I had with my husband.

I am living with grief.

I don’t like it.

I feel like I am living a provisional existence that will never be set right again.

And that scares me.

I want to honor my husband’s memory by living with joy those memories gave me.

Fully. With hope that there is light at the end of the grief tunnel.

With some degree of happiness; a half-cup level would be welcome.

But I.D.O.N.T.K.N.O.W.H.O.W.T.O.D.O.T.H.A.T.

My kids want me to come spend time with them during the upcoming holidays season, and I would love to do that. But I also know that my emotions right now are in a vacillating ‘bummer’ mode. I can’t promise a jovial attitude. I am not feeling celebratory – and in truth, I may never feel festal again given the entire Fall & Winter months of 2018 were filled with death watch vigils. I watched my life wither and die from August 30th to December 14^th. Festivity is not on any future dockets that I can foresee in my new life.

I do “get out of my head”. I do get out of the house. I do engage in busy work. I have been to Grief Share meets. I have joined Widow Groups. I have talked with local widows & widowers. And it is disheartening to hear that some of these people have been caught in the life-sucking grip of grief FOR DECADES.

God help me!

I do not want to be tip-toeing trough my life for decades.

I love Bob.

I do not want to replace Bob with another man or with a deliberate erase.

I will always love my husband.

Bob is my forever man.

But I don’t want to be snared and hamstrung by grief for the rest of my life – I do not, for 1 second believe that Bob would want me paralyzed with grief, or crying every day until I am laid beside him in our familial cemetery plot block.

‘Most anything that you want girl’, at this point in time, would just be a reprieve from these unrelenting waves of grief.

So, Babe, if you can hear me … and you can see what I am struggling with in my new life … I would really appreciate some slack in the grieving process.

I can’t rebuild a happy new solo life if I am crippled by the extraordinarily happy life we shared together.

I Love you, Babe.

Always.

But I need some real relief with the grief thing.

OX

1 CORINTHIANS ~Chapter 13

1 CORINTHIANS ~Chapter 13

If I speak with the tongue of men and even of angels, but have not love, I am like a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And, if I could prophesy, and could understand all the mysteries, and knew everything, and if I had perfect faith so that I could remove mountains, but lacked love – I would be nothing. Again, if I gave away all my goods to buy food for the poor, and gave my body to be burned, yet had no love, it would be no profit to me.

Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is not envious, or vain-glorious, or arrogant. Love is not unmannerly, does not pursue selfish aims, is not quickly irritated, does not think evil. Love takes no pleasure in wickedness, but rejoices in the truth. Love is considerate in all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails. Prophesies will come to an end, speaking in tongues will cease. Knowledge will pass away. For our knowledge is only in part, and our prophesies are likewise imperfect. But, when the perfect comes, then the imperfect will disappear. So, when I was a child I spoke as a child, I thought as a child, I reasoned as a child; but when I became a man I gave up my childish ways. At present, we seem to see only blurred reflections in a mirror, but then it will be face to face. Now, I know only in part – but then, I shall understand fully, even as Elohim has fully understood me. And now we still have faith, hope, love … these 3 remain, but the greatest of all these is love.

**1 CORINTHIANS 12: https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/10/1-corinthians-chapter-12.html

HERBS & SORROWING SLIDE SHOW

The first thing I saw this morning when I walked down the hallway to make my morning cup of coffee, was a fog bank lifting …

It reminded me of those early morning and late evening drive to and from the local hospital this time last year. Sometimes the fog settles so thick in here, it is hard to see even a foot in front of you.

One late evening last October I was returning from the hospital and Ron’s grandson had parked his car kitty-corner in the carport – with it’s ass-end over the Fire Lane markings and into the main street of Pheasant Lane: if I hadn’t been watching so carefully I could have hit it because it blended in with the shrouding fog. When I notified Candy of the foggy hazard and asked her if she’d talk to Ron about it … Candy did nothing. Typical, and expected; but I wanted it on record in case there was a future accident. I am glad that family is gone now: now praying for Candy to leave the premises.

Thinking of those heart-rending drives in the fog last October, and WHY those drives were so urgent and necessary hurt my already bleeding heart. Fresh pain hit me like it was only yesterday; and in my heart, it was.
(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2018/12/that-woman.html)

I MISS BOB.

9 months/25 days/1 hour & 51 minutes since becoming a widow. Only a short period of time … yet, an eternity.

Without the love of my life.
(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2018/12/widowhood.html)

(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/01/grief-hurts.html)

I have been in a perpetual blue mood since clearing the dresser of Bob’s jeans 14 days ago.

Every day brings a new untried reality to my new status in life.

I am trying to rally.

(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/09/redefining-my-life-this-shabbat.html)

But it is H.A.R.D. when every place and every thing constantly revives memories that cripples you on every level of your life now. I am even stuttering again: I haven't done that in a couple months. I only do it when highly stressed - I noticed that life change right after I became a widow.

Hoping the spiced coffee would boost my mood from the deepest depths of blue the fog bank catapulted me to, to a lighter shade of the sucking emotion, I sipped it while glancing out the livingroom window to see how my mums are faring. I like lining the front porch steps with them:

Front porch Mums Pots; Parrot Tulips & Foxgloves to come into their glory in Spring, are on the 2 lower steps.

The white mums are really too much for the small pot they were sold in; I’ll have to switch those to a larger pot.

The White, Yellow & Purple Mums Pot is not doing so good this year – I was surprised they even survived & thrived this year because they were literally forgotten about last year while I sat death watch with my husband … and my mind has been filled with widow’s-fog-cobwebs most of this year. Hopefully, I will be dealing with everything much better in 2020, and they will look better next Fall: that’s the plan anyway ;-)

It would be a shame to lose them. I want to hang onto as many things as I can that were part of our life together - tired of losing ties to him.

When I was looking my neglected plants over March 29^th this Spring, to see what survived … I was surprised and happy to see new growth on the dead looking Chrysanthemums :-D

The poor things ... not a very pretty sight this year :-(

This is how the combo pot should look … and normally does when I am on top of things around here; hopefully next year I will be. Chrysanthemum Pots ... 3 in one. Cut in half and re-potted. Sorry about the poor picture.

Coffee finished; I made the bed. And thought that I should probably bring the herbs pots in the shed into the house to overwinter: I had squirreled them in the shed when we got hit with our first seasonal frost a few weeks ago – it was the only frost so far, but I didn’t want to chance them getting killed by a frosty nip. Some herbs, like the French Tarragon & Rosemary will absolutely die; and I am not in the same financial bracket I was 9 months ago. I have to really be careful now how I spend $$$. I’m fluid – but just barely. I can’t afford to be careless.

So, I started shifting the pots from the shed to the house; and pulled the Shallots on the way back inside …

Potted herbs stashed in the back entry/laundry room awaiting cleanup before being shifted to the livingroom.

I cleaned the herb pots up: washed pots that needed exterior cleaning, & pulled the violets that had reseeded into a few of the herb pots while they were in the garden area; then I watered them before setting them in the windowed areas:

Cleaned up pots set atop a large plastic bin placed in front of livingroom windows. Oregano, Chives, Marjoram, English Thyme & French Tarragon.

German Thyme set on a little low stacking hassock & garbage can lid. May not look pretty ... but it suits my need at the moment.

Rosemary reset in pot. I love my roomy country farm kitchen sink! Thank you, Bob for buying it for me - OX. Thank you, Chris, for putting it in (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2017/09/happy-new-year.html).

Sad about this … Bob’s Grandma, Myrtle Smalley, gave me this pot in the 1980’s. Now it has to be replaced :-(

Potted Rosemary placed next to the potted Coleus’ in the livingroom window.

And I sliced the shallots for the freezer; and pulled the dried herbs off their stems to be stored in their labeled containers – I had set the harvested herbs to dry weeks ago …

Pulled & sliced Shallots; pretty easy to grow from seed, so I will plant a lot more come Spring ;-)

Dried herbs ready to store: Rosemary, Tarragon, & English Thyme.

I also moved some furniture around, messed with the fireplace mantle décor again (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/10/rainstorm-thunder-spiders.html), and placed MOD little crocheted scarecrow where it will bring a smile to my face everytime I see it:

I switched out the China Blue vase for the 4-sided-Owl vase. Bob spotted it at the last Bazaar we did 2 years ago: he saw it while walking around, told me about it because he knew I like owls … and the greenery arrangement was nice too; so, I bought lottery tickets, placed my bid: and won it! I am glad I will have that memory every Fall when I use this vase.

MOD Crochet Scarecrow on the kitchen window sill.

But no matter how busy I was, I was hit with some serious blues all day long.

I noticed the heavy sorrowing coming over me like fog rolling in after I cleaned out Bob’s dresser drawers the other day (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/09/i-could-learn-to-hate-cleaning-house.html).

I should have left that drawer alone following so closely on the heels of his Celebration of Life event (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/08/between-now-and-then-until-i-see-you.html).

My heart whispers “I can’t believe he’s gone …”

My mind screams, “Believe it!”

My eyes blind me with tears, and my throat is raw from chocking on those tears.

I MISS HIM. I miss everything about him that made him his unique self – the man I love.

Slide show clips of our life together never ends … and I really don’t want it to end: even if watching it replay over and over and over again is killing me.

It is torment.

It is sweet torment …

1974 - April 19th. Our 1st date. Bob was 24; I was 17.

We were inseparable from that 1^st date, until the day Bob stepped off this planet. By the end of August, we couldn't wait another day to start our life together ... we called Judge Hall and set the time for that night. After Supper we called our parents and let them know where to meet us if they wanted to witness our marriage. The parents were seriously PISSED. We didn't care ;-)

1974 - August 27th. 9 PM - Our Wedding. Bob was 24; I was 17.

(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/08/when-we-married-in-1974.html).

1976. July. Home after our California Coors Beer run. We were young. And in love. And thirsty for a beer that wasn't sold yet to the public outside a bar in WA State.. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, a block party happened - the 3 cases of beer didn't last long. Bob was 26; I was 19.

1978. October: my parent's house. Bob home after his 1st death - he literally died in front of me when he passed a blood clot following an emergency surgery to save his fractured left leg. The leg was salvaged - he was paddled back to life - and we were thankful to be given another chance at building a life together. Bob was 29; I was 2 months short of 22.

While working and living away from home in 1981, Bob died his 2^nd death and was rushed to the local hospital - tests were run for 72 hours straight. And when I went to collect him, I was told, "Find a good nursing home Mrs. Hargand, your husband's brain was without oxygen for 25 minutes - he will be in a vegetative state the rest of his life. I'm sorry."

My husband was 31 years old. NO WAY I was putting him in a Nursing Home! I said, "Thank you for your diagnosis, but, my God is bigger than that. I am taking my husband home ... and God will heal him."

I did.

God did.

At first Bob didn't know who I was, where he was when he got home (that house was the home he grew up in), and he had to relearn talking all over again. But Bob KNEW he loved me - that never changed. We were favored with 38 more years of a good marriage.

1981. October. Bob home after his 2nd death - docs never figured out what caused him to die for 25 minutes before suddenly coming back to life and scaring the EMT and witnesses to death when he sat up on the gurney (tagged for the morgue) and said, "WOW! I think God means business this time." Those were the last words he spoke for 6 months. Bob was 31; I was 24.

(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/01/in-yeshuas-presence.html)

Our daughter was told at 16 she'd never have natural children of her own - Yeshua laughed :-D And, HE - the Creator - blessed our union with TWO grandchildren: "natural born" & 18 years apart. Alyna was graduating while her mother was giving birth to her baby brother. We were excited.

Alyna's graduation. 2014. Liam holding his diploma - they are still together.

 

2014. July. We drove to Vegas to see our newborn grandson. A BOY! There hadn't been a boy in the family in 41 years! Bob was 65; Azariah was 1 week old.

So, you see, I can’t begrudge Elohim for wanting His son with Him – He was gracious to favor us with those extra years to enjoy our life together. And we were blessed and highly favored all of our married life with a solid, passionate, and abiding love.

It really wasn’t that hard to let Bob go Home – he was ready. I was happy for him.

It is the learning to live without him that gets to me.

It is staggering under the heavy sorrowing coming over me like fog rolling in – so stealthily that one doesn’t even realize they are shrouded, blinded, and disoriented until they notice they have been hemmed in by a fog bank they can’t see their way through without battling a creeping claustrophobia that threatens to undo them (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/08/boulevard-of-broken-dreams.html).

That is how I feel when this grieving sorrow creeps up on me.

I don’t actively court misery: it just happens. Out of nowhere. For no apparent reason. I can’t seem to stop it before I am caught in its grip.

106 days out of every 356 days for the rest of my life I can expect this?

ELOHIM!

MERCY!

I want to move forward. I really do.

I just d.o.n.t.k.n.o.w.h.o.w.

I loved Bob ALL of my life (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/08/it-took-while-but-we-finally-got-there.html).

I will love him all the rest of my life (https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2019/08/i-only-want-to-be-with-you.html).

Please, Elohei …

I shagged my hair the other day because I like my hair layered. And then I cried when I got home because a memory came hot and swift of how Bob loved my hair. He liked it long. He liked it shagged:

 

Remembering how Bob loved my hair shagged was an emotional connection … so I slipped into one of his roomy tees. Although they are very big on me, I always liked wearing Bob’s tees, polo's, and woodsman flannels shirts. Man! I miss my man!

He liked to touch my hair ... run his fingers through my hair. I remember how upset he got one afternoon when he came home from work and noticed I had cut my hair into a cute, short, pixie style. He wasn't even all the way in the door yet, and said, "What have you done to your hair!" Our daughter was an infant and I didn't want to be dealing with long hair while tending to infant needs that were pretty much on-going with barely a break to drink a hot cup of coffee; so I whacked my hair off so all I had to do was wash and comb it: d.o.n.e. Then I could take care of my baby and have time to play with her too ;-) I told him, "It's only hair, Babe; it will grow back. But I have a baby to take care of now, and THAT takes priority over hair." It took Bob a while to get over my short hair. I never cut it again, except to tidy the ends.

Though that memory warmed my heart, it also hurt.

Help me rise above the sneaker waves that are sure to roll in from August 30^th to December 14^th and threaten to suck me under.

Every year.

For the rest of my life.

I used to love Fall & Winter months.

I don’t even think I like them anymore.

MISERY'N & TRUST ISSUES

Yesterday I was hit pretty hard a sneaker wave – it came out of nowhere and tried to suck me under all day long.

But Yeshua's presence was stronger.

I hate crying: it is a defining weakness everyone can see (I rarely even cried around Bob!) ... and feel uncomfortable around. I cried several times in public yesterday: it is uncontrollable; which makes it more mortifying for me.

On the handful of occasions, I ever broke & cried in front of Bob, he always opened his arms to me and let me cry against his chest; he didn't say anything, just held me until the storm passed: then he would go change his soaked shirt. It was enough just to be sheltered in his love. And he knew it was a seriously big deal IF I was openly crying. Bob knew I hated appearing weak about anything in front of anyone.

Also, yesterday, during one of the many crying jags throughout the day, one of my daughters called - and I did try to talk with her: I tried valiantly. But I was literally gasping for breath.

She said, "Tell us what you want from us Mom: we can't help you if we don't know what you want from us. We know you are a private person - we are trying to respect your privacy."

I said, "I just want your D.A.D I just want your dad right now ... I'm sorry I am crying ... but I MISS him: he was the only one I ever let close to me – I don’t trust anyone else."

She said, "Well, we can't bring dad back, but we are here for you. It's okay to cry, Mom - Dad hasn't even been gone a year yet. You don't need to apologize for crying. Please don't shut us out ... we love you; we are here for you. I think we have proved ourselves by now; that we don’t want anything from you – not your money, not your house, not your car. I think we have proven we are trustworthy."

She missed what I said. Totally. My trust issues aren’t with things … my trust issues are with my heart – with my emotions.

Bob was the only person I ever let close enough to me to trust with my heart. With my emotions. And that took time. Even after we were married. Bob was a patient man; Bob loved me.

I believe her - really, I do. I know my kids (2 sons, 3 daughters & 4 grandkids) have grown a lot after Bob’s graduation: they aren’t so selfish anymore – and they have really gone out of their way to make sure I know they have changed. I can see the changes.

But, can I trust them WITH MY HEART? With my emotions?

There is a lot of water under the bridges they kept burning behind them in their rushes to forge separate lives and leave Bob & I choking in the dust. Things can be replaced … and most things are meaningless; just window-dressing in this life journey. It’s not things I have trust issues with.

Bob is the ONLY PERSON IN MY ENTIRE LIFE who loved me just because I exist. Bob loved me unconditionally. There will never be another Bob in my life. I feel the emptiness acutely. I don’t want to go back to building walls around my heart. I don’t want to learn to couch my emotions again. I LIKED the freedom Bob gave me to simply live without being judged or condemned. I LIKED having a companion and a life partner who didn’t make me apologize for my feelings, opinions, or actions.

My kids are “happy pagans” (their own words), and condemn me for being a Christian – they openly talk about their religions, but forbid me to mention Elohei or Yeshua. They censor my free speech on any topic they disagree with my opinion on, and get embarrassed by my actions when it goes against their actions. In short, they want to redo me; they want me to become an extension of them to fit into their circle – and that I can never do: our lives are polar opposites in every way. The only thing we have in common is Bob and a shared DNA pool.

Don’t get me wrong – I love my kids. Every one of them. But something has to give before I can trust them on a personal level: and that something giving won’t be all on my end.

Plus, they all live in other States; from one coast of the USA to the other. They work staggering schedules that may or may not 'dovetail'. They just can't pop in.

And, in reality, they can't truly help me in WHAT I NEED THE MOST: I need Bob. And Bob is no longer available to me. Memories are good - but memories aren't Bob in the flesh. I want Bob in the flesh. And Bob is no longer available to me.

I'm not deliberately shutting anyone out.

But, right now ... I only want to be with Him.

Maybe that is selfish - I don't know. All I KNOW is that is HOW I FEEL.

I need Bob. I want Bob. My heart cries for Bob.

Bob is no longer available to me.

I am seriously {misery’n}.

No one here on earth, can help me with that ... sometimes, in the grip of misery'n ... even Elohim seems very, very far away.

I have a feeling those sneaker waves will assault me repeatedly through December.

THANK GOD for HIS continued faithfulness and ever-present presence!

I have a loving and patient God.

I had a loving and patient husband.

THOSE KIND OF PEOPLE I can trust with my heart.

With my emotions.

CHANGES

Lots of changes taking place.

I’m planning a trip into the interior of Oregon the end of this month – really stepping out of my comfort zone big time; but it is a necessary leap.

Major change.

Mike & Cheryl stopped by to drop off a bag of Chanterelle mushrooms Mike had picked …

Bob loved mushrooms – he would have loved to sample these. They are very fleshy, and the smell is pleasant too. I’ve never eaten these type of mushrooms, but they look interesting.

… and I asked Mike to demonstrate to me how to put the faucet covers over the outside spigots – and he showed me 1 … I did the other: now I am pretty confident I can do it on my own from now on ;-)

They are good friends to me, and for me; and I really appreciate them. They are good people to know. I hope I am as good a friend to them; I am trying. Making and keeping friends does not come naturally to me, but they understand that I am by nature a lobo & trust doesn’t come easy to me: and that is okay with them – they are moving slowly with me as they come and walk alongside me. In this way we don’t crowd each other, but we can still enjoy each other’s company. Seems to be working for all of us :-D

Changes.

Bob would be proud of me in this leap of trust.

I had 2 minor upsets after mail delivery that led to a mini cryfest (I hate crying! I hate feeling vulnerable on any level, about anything), but they got straightened out speedily, so I think everything will be alright now. But I am really getting tired of dealing with the same crap over and over and over again. So, I enlisted help: another big step for me. I normally fight my way through most issues, but I am just too tired to fight anyone anymore about anything: being a 62 year old widow drains the fight right out of a person. While I can still get my own licks in, on occasion when necessary; with major issues … I am learning to let the bigger and younger dogs deal with the prevalent assholes in life – personally removed from the issues, they can bite asses with much more tact.

Changes.

After that upset, I had my hair shagged; Bob always liked my hair long and shagged. It was long and shagged when we met, and would almost turn silver when I spent a lot of time in the sun; weird, but true. Now, I am getting so much gray in my hair, that is starting to look ‘silvered’ again. Bob would have liked my hair today if he were still around to see it, touch it, admire it. Bob waited a loooong time for my hair to start turning a prominent gray. LOL

 

It may not look like it, but trust me: my hair IS graying up - quite a bit more since Bob left earth ...

Changes we both like ;-)

Then, I came home and made a hot cup of flavored coffee:

Pumpkin Spice fits the changes happening in the air, and in my life. Bob used to always get me Pumpkin Spice lattes when October rolled around …

Not really a bona fide ‘change’; but a familiar change from the regular coffees I have been drinking lately.

So, I am counting it as a change today :-D

And, a few minutes ago, I got this picture texted to me: my younger sister. Carla is a riot!

We are back in touch with each other; Bob’s graduation brought that change into being.

This is a bittersweet change.

Bob wanted his death to bring healing to family relationships. In the case between my younger sister and I, whose lives are HUGELY different, that change is happening – a healing is being wrought.

This is a good change.

I just wish the healing change didn’t require such a steep price.

MISSING MY KING BEE

Bob always treated me like his Queen …

I really miss my King Bee.