I have always had an adventurous spirit. I’m not complaining or anything, but sometimes it does get me in to a bit of a bind. Since I am a writer, I’ve been considering the best way to capture some true stories in a fictionalized way.

Writing is difficult. It is a way to say all the things you cannot speak, but the thoughts somehow come out under the guise of a character: any resemblance to a person living or dead is purely coincidence. I think we all know why that was added to the information page of novels. Writing this way, whether consciously or not, can take a physical and emotional toll on the author. Often after I finish a novel I need time to decompress, to let go of that world and those people(characters) that have filled many days and hours.

So, what of writing a memoir then? How does one manage the inevitable pain of revisiting the past? The happy memories will help, but each memory carries with it sights and sounds and scents of a different time. Some better than others.  And it seems that once you delve into the memory pool, other things you haven’t thought of in years begin to come forward. Each moment carrying you to other moments until you are immersed in a sensory explosion of emotions.

I am immensely grateful to have these experiences to share.  No matter how embarrassing some might be… the most pleasure I get from writing is when someone says: I could relate, I’ve been there and I’m glad you told it the way it really is. It creates a sense of community and sometimes, that is just what they need.

Not all my tales are pretty. Not all are happy go lucky, but I’ve always made my choices knowing that sometimes, things don’t end up the way you plan. Sometimes you get lost. Sometimes you give up. And sometimes, you make bad choices. Still, I would not change a thing because what if…
It’s not for the feint of heart. Often my friends who’ve chosen a more secure lifestyle, say: I wish I could travel alone, live in another country, give up my day job, follow my heart… Sometimes they can but are afraid. Sometimes they have obligations, but more often I think they enjoy the vicarious fantasy of it all, but know it is not their path. I have always encouraged others to live their dreams and maybe someday they will too, yet, I caution them--it isn’t an easy choice.  When envy raises their head and they whine, I ask them to walk in my shoes for a minute. Most do not take me up on it.

I still have plenty of adventure ahead. I’m not sitting debating how someday old age will find me, I’m deciding how to pack the most in to every day I have. With the loss of my parents and the inevitable departure of my now adult son, I find myself on the precipice of a freedom I’ve never known. I have always been a wanderer and soon I will be off again.  Our worlds change every day. In a heartbeat, nothing is the same as you’ve known it, but when you open yourself to new places and new people, that happens more often than not.  

We are all on our own journey. Looking for something that fills that sacred place deep in our soul. Sometimes we find it, but it can be tenuous. Sometimes it fills us so full, we are bursting with it and other times we must journey on until it is our time. I have pushed through fear and indecision and heartbreak, yet, I still rise each day and hope to conquer my fears again. I have experienced true joy and unbearable sadness. To that end, I am grateful that my life has been so full of feeling. I have logged miles and days and years of living and still I carry on searching for more.

Will I write of my adventures? I am not sure. Perhaps they aren’t as thrilling as I think, but if I do, you can be sure that I will tell it just like it is (or was)—and if not, I’m sure my characters will tell it for me.
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One thing you can be sure of, each new step of a journey is scary. I am not the bravest person, but I do it any way.  What are you afraid of? You will probably come up with many answers, but start small and one day, you will find the adventures that are waiting for you.         

Some years ago, I read about medical phenomenon called Broken Heart Syndrome. Being a romance writer, I added it to my file of tidbits that might make a good story someday.

From www.heart.org: Broken heart syndrome, also called stress-induced cardiomyopathy or takotsubo cardiomyopathy, can strike even if you’re healthy. (Tako tsubo, by the way, are octopus traps that resemble the pot-like shape of the stricken heart.)
Women are more likely than men to experience the sudden, intense chest pain — the reaction to a surge of stress hormones — that can be caused by an emotionally stressful event. It could be the death of a loved one or even a divorce, breakup or physical separation, betrayal or romantic rejection. It could even happen after a good shock (like winning the lottery.)
Broken heart syndrome may be misdiagnosed as a heart attack because the symptoms and test results are similar. In fact, tests show dramatic changes in rhythm and blood substances that are typical of a heart attack. But unlike a heart attack, there’s no evidence of blocked heart arteries in broken heart syndrome.

Although at the time of learning this, I smiled thinking back to teenage years when I would lament that I would certainly die of a broken heart if some boy or another wanted to break up, I now realize there is nothing romantic about heart problems.

Did Elizabeth clutch her chest when Mr. Darcy walked away? Did Jane Austen write that angst from experience while her own heart palpitated and ached? (Most likely, but still, she did not die of a broken heart.) Does every chick flick end up with ‘the chick’ dying? No! Though writing from a place of pain is often the most creative and productive time for many writers.
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We read of long time couples who die within months of one another: the family shakes their collective head and sigh, she was broken hearted and could not live without him. I always believed that to be true. And perhaps in some ways they are the lucky ones, not the others that must learn to live without their true love for the rest of their days. I reiterate from last month’s blog: 'Rabbit, how long is forever?' 'Sometimes just one second.' Aside from the grief, pain, and death, to know that one has been loved so completely is indeed romantic.

And what of the lovers lost, forbidden, unrequited? What of those who made plans and dreams that never came to pass? The miles that separate the touch of so many?  How about those that spend their nights weeping into a tub of ice cream or a bottle of wine? The tough ones who push through with false bravado? Do they not too have Broken Heart Syndrome? And is there a cure? Yes, but it isn't an easy pill to swallow. Time is the only cure for many, and if not a cure, then surely a way to keep the symptoms in check and prevent further damage.

Though, fortunately, I am not suffering from the Broken Heart syndrome,  I recently began taking a medication for my racing pulse. Normal resting pulse for me is around 90, but the DR said we should control it and see what happens. I was horrified! How would my heart pound when my lover stepped through the door? Would it no longer race when he whispered my name?  

Well, after a week, that was the least of my worries. I quickly became a walking shell of a human being. Dazed and confused… unable to drive and little energy for pounding or anything else. It was as though a fog had settled all around me. Ah, but the quiet of 70 pulse rates, the lack of thudding in my chest, and the lazy days were not without benefits.

As I weaned myself off the medication, I could feel the curtain lifting and could see the clear skies around me. I will probably have to start something new, but until then I am enjoying the return of ‘me.’ I am working hard to do all I can to control my physical issues without drugs and trying to remember that I have survived broken hearts before and so, I shall again. Ice Cream may not be the best choice, but I admit it does help. Everything in moderation…

Stress, depression, loss, heartache can all cause very real physical problems and should never be dismissed. It is often the strongest that end up with problems as they push their issues down and carry on until it presents in a physical way. It has been a long, complicated season for me. Much has changed and continues to change, and I have finally learned that there are many things I cannot fix or control. I must simply breathe, trust and let go of the things that make me crazy.

If you ask the romantic in me, I’d say, ‘my heart has been broken so completely that it cannot be fixed’ but the truth is we just need to take more time for ourselves. Time to breathe, to take care of our bodies, our minds. Time is the best medicine of all, so, take all you need- your heart will keep beating while you do.

Besides, it would be terrible to win the lottery and have stress take you before you could claim your prize!
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​Author's Note: If you are experiencing any chest pain, shortness of breath or heart related issues, call your DR or 911 immediately.

​When my father passed I had a little time to prepare, but unfortunately, he was unable to communicate during those all too brief days. They said he could hear us and I knew that to be true when I told him goodbye and he kissed me on the cheek.
My mother has recently been diagnosed with Stage 4 metastatic lung cancer. The prognosis is another month or so. Although the diagnosis was a shock, it was not a surprise. I have watched her slip away for some months now.
My mother has always been a caregiver. Her sisters, then her children, then her parents, and on it goes. I have been there at times to help her to care for those transitioning and have learned many life lessons, so, now as she prepares to move on, I will care for her.
It is already challenging, trying not to smother while being present. Having her at home is a choice we made together and I am grateful for the time to mend fences and share memories. Although, it seems that once we heard the news, all the old hurts faded away. Perhaps it is something I will need to reconcile once she is gone, but for now, I chose kindness and love. I offer her the best care as not an atonement for real or imaginary slights, but as a part of the grieving process.
Mothers and daughters are the best and worst of our relationships with life. So close, so similar, yet insisting on finding our own way until we realize that it was indeed in front of us all along. I have missed my mother for a long time now, situations that have come between us creating hurt and anger may have disappeared now, but the time lost can never be returned. I look at it as part of growing up, away from the pettiness of life and learning to focus on what is important.
As my father taught me the importance of self-reliance and dying alone, my mother is showing me the importance of forgiveness and unconditional love.
I try not to look back at the good times, the easy times, too much right now. It is difficult to maintain the calm demeanor I present not only for her wellbeing, but the peace of my family as well. My son is here and helping, but I remember, too, that his grandmother was an integral part of our single parent household and like a second mother his loss will be profound.
One day at a time… I find myself spinning like a top on most days and bone weary exhausted at night., but somehow the adrenaline keeps me going. Hospice and her caregiver have been a huge help, but the constant waiting is emotionally draining.
I may be a little lagging on the blog over the next month or two, so, please bear with me. And any prayers, good thoughts, petitions to the Universe are welcome.
My goal is for my mother to die with peace and dignity in her own way. We may not want it to happen, but it will regardless, so, I plan to grant her final wishes. I know it is the right thing to do and that I can do it, because she taught me how. Thanks, Mom.