I'll Call It Karma

There have been times in my life where I am at a place or an event and something happens or someone says something that moves me to my core and I think, "this is exactly where I'm supposed to be" or "I was supposed to hear that, that's why I'm here today". You get the idea. Karma. Coincidence. Intervention of some kind.

The funeral, or as I prefer to refer to it, the celebration of life, was simply beautiful last Sunday. Of course, the brilliant Fall sunshine, my adjusted attitude, the company of my parents and daughter and friends may have had something to do with it and, if so, for that I am grateful. We celebrated our friend's life. The family reflected on her incredible sense of humor, her devout loyalty to Virginia Tech, her recent conversion to Coke from Pepsi and her undying love for animals. I wish the world could have known this amazing, whack-nut woman. It was a better place with her in it...

I ended up staying the night with my daughter and had the great pleasure of spending a few hours with her at the clinic (her place of employment) Monday morning before heading home...

If I had not altered my travel plans for last weekend and opted not to attend the funeral and not decided to stay with Bran overnight and not gone to work with her the next day, the change that is getting ready to happen in my life would/will not have taken place.

Every single thing for a reason. Coincidence. Karma. Maybe it was all just part of her plan. But I am certain I was where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there.

Scars And Working On A Change Of Attitude

I have a few select television shows that I watch/record (is that still an appropriate technological term?) each week. Recently, I watched an episode of one of them in which a character said "scars tell our story of where we've been, they don't dictate our future". I've thought a lot about this lately, especially since I've been nursing my own physical scars from a recent fall back to healthy tissue - to say nothing of a broken heart, which carries the biggest scars of all. I've thought how I'll laugh (hopefully) a year from now over my scraped up palms, banged up elbow and torn-open knees. How the cop that helped me that afternoon looked at me as I was down on all fours and said, "Yeah. it was REAL pretty" when I asked him if he saw the entire event.

That character was right. The scars on my body and the ones on my heart tell my story, tell all about who I am and where I've been. They aren't, however, dictating where I'm headed. They'll be there for me years from now. They may be the reason a conversation is started with a stranger and, as a result, I make a new friend. And when I look at them, they may make me cry at the memory they carry. But there's the possibility that they'll make me smile warmly because they've brought a sweet thought of someone I love to the forefront of my mind. And then I will try and remind myself that it's all worth it.

My family will be traveling soon in order to attend a funeral, a funeral that none of us were expecting to ever have to attend - at least not for many, many years. A funeral that most of us agree didn't have to be. A funeral that is going to leave a deep scar in our hearts.

I've decided that I need to change my attitude before I head out. I need to be a better example for my daughter. I need to accept the things I cannot change and work harder at moving forward and take comfort in sweet memories.

I need to realize that I will always be able to read my story simply by looking in the mirror.

I have to go now. It's time to change my bandages!

Breaking Points

We all have them.

But I thought good was supposed to prevail over evil.

I thought love conquered all.

And I thought having faith in "God" could see us through anything.

If I haven't been in doubt these last 6 months, I most certainly am tonight.