9 Ways to Mourn with the Motherless on Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is a beautiful day in which we honor the lives of deserving mothers all around the world. For those without mothers, today is a painful reminder of the loss or absence of their moms. Whether someone has been motherless for a year or 30, the pain is still just as prevalent as the day she left. As you go about your day today, here are 9 ways to help you mourn with those who are motherless on this special day.

1.) Refrain from “your mom” jokes. They’re not funny and they’re immature. Stop.

2.) Don’t talk about our situation in public.  You saying “your mom would be so proud of you,” only makes us think about her absence which leads us to getting upset which leads us to tears which leads us to messing up our makeup which leads us to being paranoid about our smeared makeup. So just don’t.

3.) Do talk about it in private. We need to know that someone realizes how painful today (and every day) is. We need reinforcement about our worth. We need to hear those sacred words that “she would be so proud.”

4.) When we cry, don’t say anything. Just hold us, listen to us, and be there for us. Because unless you are motherless, you can’t fully comprehend our pain and won’t have the right words to say. But we don’t expect you to have the right words to say, we just need you to be there.

5.) Give us our space. While we do need some extra physical and emotional support today, we also need some space to think, reflect, and cry on our own.

6.) Try to refrain from “mom boasting” around us. Hearing about that really funny moment one time when you and your mom rocked out in the car to “Wannabe” by Spice Girls and she ended up spraining her neck from head banging so hard is not exactly encouraging to us. Don’t get me wrong, we are happy when you are happy, but stories like these only remind us of the memories we will never make with our mothers.

7.) Not everyone has had a utopian relationship with their mothers. While some of us had mothers who were loving during their time on Earth, others did not experience this blessing. We must also acknowledge the variations of “motherless,” and realize this doesn’t subsume the category of physical death. Some folks may have mothers who are alive but not present or supportive in their childrens’ lives.

8.) Perhaps you’re reading this and you are a “non-relative mom.” You’re one of those women who has ” faux adopted” a child that is motherless. Don’t take our distance today as an insult. We love you and cherish you deeply, but today is a reminder that our “blood relative” is no longer with us.

9.)  When a mother dies, a child’s mourning never ends. This might be difficult for you to understand, but there will always be something spiritually peaceful and overwhelming about visiting her grave site.

For those of you with your mother by your side or in your life, realize the beauty of her existence — cherish her. For those of you without your mother by your side, know that she is around you in spirit and in love. When the breeze blows through your hair or the warmth of the sun shines on your face, know that she is present. And lastly, know that you are a beautiful and worthy product of her but also of yourself. Life without a mother is hard. Period. And look at you, you’ve made it this far and you’ve done a wonderful job. Keep your head up and your heart high.

Much love,

T

Christmas without Christmas

Snuggled up on the couch with my dog, Libby while Momma and Daddy sit holding each other’s hands. The candles flickering, filling the room with smell of warm vanilla and pine while the lights from the Christmas tree give the room a dim glimmer. Baking cookies, watching Christmas movies, laughing, sharing past memories, drinking eggnog…this is all I’ve ever really wanted.

The Christmas season brings with it a whirlwind of emotion for me. This will be my fourth Christmas without a tree. Not only without a tree but also without Christmas music filling the house, without gifts, without my Dad and without a home to call my own. I feel like it is rather easy for folks to quickly say “ohhhh, Christmas isn’t about the gifts…its about Jesus’ birth! With Him, everything is okay!” And while I mostly agree with this statement, I have to disagree with some of it. In a world that is advancing at the rate my leg hair grows (that means really quickly), we as a society are becoming more and more obsessed with the materialism this world has to offer. I mean, look at Santa Claus…delivering his precious little elementary schoolers with iPads, his middle schoolers with iPhones, his highschoolers with new cars, and his college students with trips to Paris. 

Personally, I do become a little bitter that I won’t be waking up on Christmas morning and walking into my own living room to find gifts from “Santa” and my dad stuffed under our own decorated Christmas tree. I’m jealous that I won’t get to spend time with my family, eat a delicious Christmas dinner and catch up with relatives. I’m upset that I won’t have the option to curl up in a bed of my own, in my own house on Christmas night after a long, rewarding day. Does it make me selfish for not solely remembering Christmas as Jesus’ birthday?

I am blessed to have TWO friends in my life who have offered for me to spend Christmas 2013 in their homes. Let me explain why I have declined their offers: It would honestly be like having everything I have ever wanted dangling right in front of my face while others get to actually embrace it. I could only see myself becoming jealous, depressed and closed off in this situation. Not only would I feel terribly uncomfortable watching my friends family open their gifts and share family memories, I would feel intrusive. As much as I may feel a part of my best friends’ families, I ultimately am not a biological equivalent.

You often hear the cliche “Christmas isn’t about getting, its about giving,” but what if you aren’t being given anything? Although I don’t have a physical house to visit over Christmas break and I don’t have any gifts to open from my parents, I want to focus on the blessings that I do have and all the gifts that I have been given. And I’m going to start by making a condensed list below.
1.) life
2.) good health
3.) a scholarship to one of America’s best universities
4.) some great friendships
5.) a living father
6.) (and best of all) my salvation…

Because after all, Christmas is about a man who saved my life and continues to shed His love, mercy, and unending grace on me.

The F Word


Friends. Yep, I said it. Pardon my French but lately I’ve been having a friend crisis. I’ve had so many teachers, preachers, (okay maybe not preachers) tell me that “meeting people is so easy” and “college is where you’ll find your lifetime friends.” Well, sorry ‘bout it but, I’ve found that those two statements couldn’t be more of a lie than saying that Channing Tatum is ugly. I’ve also found that college is where you find you have no friends and you’re going to die lonely. Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. But, personally, I feel so lost.

I come in contact with a lot of people who are in sororities (aint got no time or money fuh dat), fraternities, and different organizations…blah blah blah. They seem to have their own friend circles within those different groups. They also seem to have their lives and friendships in perfect condition. Now obviously, this white picket fence lifestyle isn’t true for everyone. But I feel like such an outsider sometimes. I’m always being told “you have so many friends, you know everyone!” But that’s just it…I know a lot of people. I have a ton of acquaintances…but so few of these have blossomed into legitimate friendships.

Both my freshman and sophomore year I’ve roomed with really good friends from high school. I guess at first this was great. But I feel like it’s been more of a curse at times than a blessing. Freshman year I felt content with the few friends I had from high school. I did what I could to make other friends – like the girls in my suite, but nothing too much. The suite situation was a great way to start out my first year in college, but of course good things must come to an end. Some of our personalities just didn’t mesh well, drama ensued, friendships ended and undoubtedly that’s a part of life. So now, here I am: an older, more mature, knowledgeable me. Tons and tons of events, months, and awkward moments later…and I can say that among all my “friends” I’m left with ONE reliable, true, committed, loving, caring, investing, and trustworthy [genuine] friend attending Chapel Hill (yes I have others but this one is best of the best…sorrynotsorry). This tells me 2 things.

1.) Genuine friendship is difficult to find.
2.) I may be setting my standards too high. But come on…doesn’t anyone also want genuine friendship anymore and not just the superficial “hai gurl, wuts UP, how’RE U dOiN gurrrrl?!?!”?

I often struggle with self-confidence and I’ve found myself pointing the finger in the mirror. I feel like something must be wrong with me since I lack genuine friendship – I don’t meet their standards: I’m not quite pretty, I’m fat (another F word for another blog), my personality is unattractive, and the list goes on and on. I constantly scrutinize myself over little things. And this leads to scrutiny in other areas of my life…such as my “friendships”. My over-analyzing is unhealthy and I realize it, but it’s also extremely hard to discontinue.

Aside from my over-analyzing, I have a huge heart…for every single person on this planet (mostly…kinda sorta). And sometimes it bites me right in the tush. (AKA I care too much, sometimes) I have a few friends that I feel like I’ve invested so much time in, who, in return, refuse to invest time back in me. Yet, when I initiate a discussion on it, they have no conviction. I feel like we have contrasting definitions of what it is to be a “genuine friend”. Even when I’m listening, praying, caring, and loving my friends, I sometimes feel a shallow inconsistency from them. I feel like I expect that genuine friendship should exist more frequently in the world when maybe it just doesn’t…

I’m super jealous of the people who have close friend circles. Many of them began pursuing these friendships freshman year and have bonded closely with these people. So, now they’re attached at the hip…and then there’s me just chillin’ on the sideline. It’s like this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ep4BRlusApQ sort of…Any way, I feel like these folks are just so content with their jolly lives and friendships that they hang the “no vacancy” sign in their little friend hotel windows. Their friend capacity has reached its limit. And here I am going into my junior year with no “friends”.

All of this is really kind of crazy. Last Thursday night I FINALLY got the chance to go to Cornerstone, a campus ministry large group meeting (dang that was a mouthful), because I didn’t have to work (PRAISE THE LAMB…I ALWAYS WORK DURING THESE MEETINGS BY THE WAY). The whole friend-y, clique-y, happy thing is rampant here and although I’m not the biggest fan of the friend-y clique thing (to all the Cornerstoners reading this…keep reading) I love Cornerstone, the students in cornerstone, and the focus of Cornerstone. The speaker’s message was on decision-making and one of his points was to have 2 to 3 rooted friends in their faith that will pray for you and think about you on a daily basis (so that in that time of decision-making, when you have absolutely no clue what decision to make, you can go to them and trust that they will give you upright, Godly advice). I didn’t have to work for a reason…God wanted me to hear this message. So now the friend crisis has been made even more real but God has put it into focus.

This F word crisis has really been an eye opener. It’s helping me to put a lot of things into perspective in my life. I realize that my scrutiny and lack of confidence has helped to create some barriers in this area. The bible verse that keeps coming to mind is “A friend loves at all times” which is from Proverbs 17:17. I not only want to epitomize that verse, but I pray that God would place some people in my life to do the same. Throughout this crisis I’ve also really learned to cherish the genuine friendships I DO have. Now is the time for change. I hope that as I begin letting some of these walls down that others will be turning off their “no vacancy” signs and welcoming new guests. I aim to challenge my boundaries and step out of my comfort zone to pursue some friendships, myself. I’ve learned from experience that you can’t idly wait for something to come your way – you’ve got to work for it…or else it will pass you by. In the words of Neal Donald Walsch,
“Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”

I’m not your average girl.

I figured before I began blogging about my life and experiences that I should probably provide some background information on how and why I think and act the way I do. A song that really gave me the boost to take this step was “What If We Were Real” by Mandisa. Some of the lyrics are below and completely covered exactly how I felt.

Well, I’m tired of saying everything
I feel like I’m supposed to say
I’m tired of smiling all the time
I wanna throw the mask away
Sometimes you just have a bad day
Sometimes you just wanna scream
Tell me I’m not the only one
Tell me that you feel just like me

We keep tryin to make it look so nice
And we keep hidin’ what’s goin on inside
But what if I share my brokenness
What if you share how you feel
And what if we weren’t afraid of this crazy mess

What if we were real
What if we were real

I’m over hidin my tears
I think I’m gonna let em’ go
I’m over actin so strong
When I ain’t even in control
We make it so complicated
But why does it have to be
Why can’t we open our hearts and let everybody see

     I strongly believe that each of our stories and experiences have a huge impact on the people we are each and every day. And so I’ve arrived at this point right now, nervously awaiting to share my life with you. I’m not doing this for a pity party, I’m not doing it for popularity, I’m doing it for myself and for others. We all have our ups and downs and that’s why I’m here, opening myself up like a book. I want YOU to know that you aren’t alone in this journey called “life.” I want my story to lend genuine encouragement (and hopefully a few laughs) to all who choose to hear it, or in this case read it and experience it. If you aren’t interested in any of the above, I encourage you to click the little “x” icon in the top right hand corner of your computer screen. But if you’ve decided to risk it and continue to read, I warn you, this is all real, its me. You may love me or hate me by the end of this, but hopefully you’ll gain something from it. Here goes nothing.

I’ve grown up in poverty ever since I was a chubby, curly red-headed, little girl. Trailer parks, hand-me-downs, food-stamps and Christina Aguilera were my childhood. My dad wasn’t in my life at a young age and my mom worked all the time so I stayed with my grandma, better known as Nana (my mom was adopted, so my Nana wasn’t blood related). My mom was diagnosed with Lupus which is a chronic autoimmune disease in which the body’s antibodies attack one’s own tissues. In English this means that her body worked against her. Every day she was made weaker and weaker. When I was 7 the doctors found a blood clot in her leg. In attempt to save her life they amputated her leg. I don’t remember much from my childhood, but I do vaguely remember the day momma was able to come home from the hospital. She had a mechanical leg and crutches. When she got in the car I might have been crying or something but I remember her saying “see punkin’, momma’s gonna be okay.” I wish I could say that was true. She was soon hospitalized after growing even more ill. It turns out that the blood clot had regrown and moved to heart, killing her. I remember being at her viewing and my aunt pulling down her shirt to prove to me that they did try and save her as best they could. I saw the seared burn marks on her chest from the doctors trying to revive her…but it was hopeless. This was a really hard time for me as a child. I remember seeing the pain in the eyes of so many people that she touched. This was when I began writing songs. I was a hurting seven year old girl that tried to write songs to make everyone else feel better. Looking back on it now it kind of makes me smile.

I have to pause for a moment and give thanks to a woman that saved my life. When my mom found out she was pregnant she did not want to keep me. When she went to the abortion clinic a woman by the name of Frances Cook took her aside and soon adopted her as if she were her own daughter. Frances convinced my mother not to have an abortion. I had no idea about any of this until Frances, who had become my grandmother and a very influential woman in my life, passed away. In someone’s speech at her funeral they mentioned this. I remember completely breaking down. Grandma Frances had saved me and helped my mom through a tough process. God places people in our lives to do amazing work.

I lived with my Nana in our little trailer for two more years until she was hospitalized after breaking her hip. It was all my fault, too. We had a dog named Cocoa – he always scared the crap out of me because he wasn’t afraid of growling or biting anyone. I don’t remember why but Nana asked me to pick him up (probably to put him back in his doggie area). I refused because I was too scared so Nana sat on the edge of the couch and as she bent over to pick up the mean Cocoa, she fell. I remember her telling me to go get the neighbors. I was frantically screaming/crying/running to help save my Nana – I felt terrible. While she was in the hospital she got double pneumonia and ended up having cancer – she soon passed away. She always stayed strong for her family though, and she taught me so much of what I know today.

I was stuck in a war with incompetent people trying to get custody of me. One day my life changed. I remember being pulled out of my fourth grade class and being told I would be going “home” to a different house…I wouldn’t ever return to my own home. They had moved what they could of my belongings to a foster home and I was told that this was my new home. (It turns out a lot of my belongings were hidden from me on one side of my family so I am still deprived of pictures and belongings of my mother that were supposed to be given to me.) I had an older sister and 3 brothers. I remember that very night for dinner we had tacos. I also remember my older sister (she was probably in middle school at the time) coming in with all of her girlfriends and giving me the dirtiest look when she saw she had to deal with another kid living with her – her friends didn’t know that she was in a foster home at the time so she was disgusted and embarrassed. I spent about a year in this home – my dad was a pastor and mom was a teacher. Looking back, this was the most crucial time of my life. I learned so, so, so much. Being raised and loved by such spiritually sound people is exactly what I needed as a broken little girl. After this year, one day my social worker came in and told me that I would be moving out…just like that. I was enraged – I just wanted to live with them forever. Why did I have to be tossed around like the wind? My dad had been getting his life together, dropping the alcohol and drugs, to get custody of me. But for this transition, I was placed in another home with a lady and her sons. She was supposedly my “great aunt” but as far as I know I don’t even think we were related. After about 6 months it was time for me to move in with my dad, and this was when they found out that I had been living in the presence of drug dealers.

It was finally time: I went to live with my dad in the middle of my sixth grade year. He had gotten himself cleaned up, started buying a trailer that we could call our home, and began rebuilding our broken relationship. We got along perfectly, I was daddy’s little girl. He loved me and did whatever he could to make me happy. But as the years passed, things started to change drastically. He got engaged to a woman that was pulling him away from me and back to his addictions. Things with her were great in the beginning years. I finally had a mom-like figure, a woman I could talk to about stuff that my dad would kill me over. I loved this woman with all that I had and she seemed to love me. But when things increasingly began going downhill, they realized they were incompatible and called off the engagement, breaking up for good. I have never felt so hurt and betrayed by someone. This woman who claimed to love me lost all contact with me. She deleted my number from her phone, my Facebook from her friends list, and she ignored multiple attempts from me to contact her. My dad began getting back into his old habits of drugs and alcohol. He struggled with depression and anger problems. When I needed this woman she refused to be there for me, and it hurt. I remember thinking to myself that it was like my mom had died again – I had lost yet another person that I loved. (During this time my Uncle and Grandma Frances died) My dad’s anger would root itself in vicious name calling and rampant mental abuse. (He wouldn’t hesitate to slap me in the face if I offended him.) One of our neighbors was a druggie who beat his wife, and of course my dad ended up befriending him. My dad would tell me of how he hated the guy for beating his wife, but I always wondered why he still hung around the man. Daddy got deeper and deeper into his old habits – the drugs and alcohol became more important than his own daughter…and that’s what cut deep. There were times I would get so depressed and frustrated knowing that he was choosing these things over his own daughter. He had already missed out on seeing me grow up and now he was choosing the same things over me again. It hurt me most that he didn’t realize the time lost with me was something he could never get back. With the constant brain washing and abuse, I began struggling with low self-esteem. I never felt like I was ever good enough – I always felt fat, ugly, incompetent, and hated. I still struggle with these same feelings.

My dad had hurt himself on the job a few years back, and so after surgery he was unable to go back to work. Being unemployed my dad scraped metal for a living. Almost every day of my sophomore, junior and senior year I came home to a dark, empty house, made my own dinner and did everything for myself. My dad would be gone for days at a time. LETS PAUSE FOR A SECOND. This is one prime example of how our past experiences mold how we act today. Even though I was forced to grow up at a young age and take care of myself, I was at least in control of myself and everything around me. So now, sometimes I tend to be a control freak. But recently I received some news that would take everything out of my control. We’ll talk about that later. LETS RESUME. Christmas of 2010 I didn’t get any gifts from my dad, which is fine. But I put up the tree by myself and also took it down by myself. Christmas morning I even made breakfast for both of us. He came in 30 minutes after I said it was done, heated it back up and took it to his room. Later that night I went to check on him and as I opened the door the smell of alcohol consumed me. He looked up and started freaking out. He began crying telling me that he had been calling and looking for me and that I had just been there but an angel took me away. He thought I left him. He was hallucinating from the drugs. I was of course freaked out by this but tried to keep him calm as his sobbing transformed to a fit of rage. He began yelling in my face then finally returned to his room. As I closed his bedroom door I began to cry. I snuck out crying and running to my cousins house who happened to be my neighbor. There hasn’t been Christmas since 2010 for me. (I did however get an awesome surprise from some friends though. God works in crazy ways because none of them knew that I was going to get nothing for Christmas, but they all knew that I had a rough home life. They threw me a surprise Christmas party. In that moment I had never felt so loved in my entire life.)

Before you all begin to think my dad is a maniac, I do have to take up for him. This blog is the story from my eyes. I know that my dad loves me with all of his heart. I am the only reason that he chooses to live another day in this turmoil. What I’ve come to realize is that my dad, in his love for me, sacrificed family time and daddy-daughter time for “work” so that he could provide a roof over my head and food for me to eat (even if I had to eat alone). He had to find some way to pay the bills as a single parent. He also had to find some way to cope through the physical pain his body gave him and the emotional pain his heart gave him. I see it as him choosing drugs, alcohol, and work over me. But I know he sees it as him choosing me and (functional) him over no home to live in.

Now back to the story. There’s a lot that families do together: have meals together at the dinner table, watch TV shows together, go shopping together, put up the Christmas tree together, spend holidays together, laugh together, love together – and I didn’t get any of that. I constantly find myself struggling to get rid of the jealousy in my heart. I hear my friends talk about hanging out with their families, I see pictures of them all going to the beach together, doing this and that, and yes I get jealous. When you’ve been deprived of such things it’s hard not to get jealous. On top of it all, I could never get away from the situation. I didn’t have a working car. I got my license my junior year and couldnt even drive. My dad kept making broken promises saying he’d get the car fixed and I could drive it, but that never happened. I was ALWAYS stuck in a home, in the middle of turmoil and depression – alone. I still don’t have a car to this day and it just makes things a lot harder. Especially when everyone I know has a car. I can never just take a ride to get away from reality and destress. I’ve been stuck smack in the middle of it all and thats when things begin to get overwhelming.

In the middle of all this, my senior year of high school had been the roughest year of all. But I was getting in all of my college applications and scholarships ALL BY MYSELF – talk about a stressful situation. After this grueling process, I ended up getting a full ride to UNC Chapel Hill as a Covenant Scholar which is strictly financially need-based with academic upholding. When I got this news I had never been happier in my entire life…I remember thinking as a little girl there was no way I was going to be able to pay for college – I was worried and didn’t know what I was going to do with my future. But with this scholarship I was able to be the first in my family to go to college and boy was I so excited and proud.

Back to my all-over-the-place story…SORRY ‘BOUT IT. My dad has been going to a Methadone clinic every day now for almost three years now. Methadone is like synthetic heroine and if it the dosage is not eventually terminated, it can kill you. It’s a drug that the government legalizes that helps people that have previously been on harder drugs, such as heroine, take a step to get off them. But my dad’s dosage hasn’t been lowered at all and I’m constantly scared about losing him. The crazy thing is he has no clue that I know about it. He pays $11 a day to receive his dosage plus a good bit of gas money to go all the way across town to the clinic. Added up that’s over $400 dollars a month, and for a man who is unemployed and behind on bills, the next set of news was only inevitable, but heartbreaking to say the least.

It came this summer, the biggest heartbreak of my life. I was working at that camp and got a call from my cousin telling me that our trailer had been rolled off the lot…taken away – foreclosed. This news was given to me a week before I had to move back home and get my things together to move back up to chapel thrill to start my sophomore year of college. I was devastated, completely crushed. Being told that you and your dad are homeless is some really rough news to handle. The day I got back was one of the hardest days of my life. I had to face my dad who it turns out had been homeless weeks before I received the call. Looking into his eyes, I’ve never felt so broken. My dad is literally the strongest person I know. Regardless of all the hurt I’ve suffered, words can’t begin to explain the extent of love I have for my father – he is my ultimate hero. I look at him with an unshaven face, dirty neck, and big jacket – he resembles the homeless men on Franklin Street. It breaks my heart to know that that is now my daddy. He is living in a tent with no means of personal hygiene or food. This is the point that I referenced earlier on my “control-freak” ways having to be thrown out the window. I care so much about my dad and not being able to do anything to change those circumstances is one of the most discouraging feelings in the world. I really wish I could reach someone of relevance – wealthy, famous, whatever – that could help him out of this desperation. I don’t need anything, I don’t want anything – except a better life for my dad. I’d give up whatever I could just to see him happy for once in his life. I’m terrified of losing him…because it could happen at any moment.

Over our school breaks I’ve had to try and find places to stay the best I could. It hurts the most not having a solid place to lay my head, not having a bed to call my own. Even hearing someone say “I can’t wait to go home!” triggers so much emotion for me. I’ve thought about it a lot recently on Christmas break. I’ll never get to see my room again, the way it was decorated, my posters, my bed, my armoire, my TV stand, the living room, the kitchen…even the refrigerator. There was so much memorabilia on the fridge that I’ll never get to see again. Losing my home forced me to realize how often we, as humans, idolize our belongings – we love them. It also made me realize how little they matter.

But being placed in the situation I’m in has literally just placed me on my knees. I worked at a church camp this summer and my prayer was for God just to break me down and build me up the way He wanted me. When I got the news that our home had been foreclosed, I felt like God had done just that. I no longer had any control over anything and it forced me to just lose control and give all my burdens to Him.

The biggest thing I’ve realized in my life is that everything works to strengthen who I am and will be in the future. The verse I constantly turn to is James 1:2-3 which says “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, when you face trial of many kinds. For you know the testing of your faith develops perseverance.” That’s so encouraging to me. So whatever you are going through at the moment, please know that you are not alone. I think loneliness is the easiest way to get entrapped in depression – I find myself there at times. The reassurance that present and past experiences will only lead to strength is encouragement alone. No, I’m not perfectly jolly all the time but when a troublesome time arises I find hope in the following verses:

“I am tired of crying inside myself. All night long my pillow is wet with tears. I flood my bed with them…For the Lord has heard the sound of my crying.  The Lord has heard my cry for help. The Lord receives my prayer.”

-Psalm 6:6,8-9

Even David understood MY pain…that’s crazy awesome! An even great reminder that we are not alone.

In conclusion, I know this has been an extremely LONG, scatter-brained story, but it has been straight from my heart. AND YOU MADE IT THROUGH THE WHOLE THING! So there you have it. A little chunk of my life. It’s real. It’s me. Thanks for reading.

Until next time,

In the words of Mandisa, “What if we were real?”