For All the Marbles

Being a woman. It's unfair.

It's unfair that you live all your life in pursuit of your family.  You give up sleep, the most precious of all the things, to change poopy pants McGee. You watch infomercials and beg that bottle to empty faster.  

It's unfair that while you pursue your family, time is watching, waiting, and moving swiftly.  You catch a ride one October night and before you know it, it's March, two decades later.  You see no bottles, no toys, only a young man heading out the door.  In desperation, you say, "Wait!" but Time, that old guy, has lost his hearing.  

It's unfair that you give yourself away. Constantly. And when it's time to focus on yourself, you want only to continue to give but the moment is past. 

It's unfair that no one prepares you for the overwhelming emotional journey you must take as your nest starts to empty and your body prepares for menopause.

I never understood how painful aging would be.  I was unprepared.  I am unprepared. I am pure liquid loss.

I can feel Noah's small, chubby hand in mine. I hear him saying: "I don't want him" when Aaron finally comes home from the hospital. I see Aaron's baby chunk and his insatiable sense of style from age three onward.  (He rocked a suit jacket, sweat pants and flip flops like nobody's business.)  I hear: "Mommy, Mom, Mom, Mommy, Mom" and then it slows to an almost grinding halt. When was I last needed so desperately?   I can't recall.

High school orientation is in three weeks.  High school will be over with a click of my finger.

It's so complicated - womanhood, motherhood. You have emotions, hormones, chemicals coursing through your body.  You have demands on your time, your mind, your soul.

You realize that sometimes you are permitted to wave a white flag.  You are allowed to say, "I can't."  Sometimes wounds need gauze and attention.

I tell these sweet boys, "I can't bear you growing up. Mommy is going to be so lost without you." They giggle, and they give me hugs and they say, "Oh, Mother, it's fine, you're fine, plus maybe we won't move out."   Wait. What?

It's no wonder I have lost all my marbles.

For the love. Of all the rollercoasters I am on.

And Now Abides

It's late on a Friday night. The dishwasher is running because no one likes it to run during the day.  The Christmas tree has been down for a week but there are a few straggling lights and tinsel to remind me that the holiday was recently here.  It's cold. I think I say that about every place in which I find myself.  Does heat exist anywhere?

I feel empty.  Really empty.

Sometimes it happens in this life.  Sometimes it is by choice and sometimes it just creeps in.

I recently visited my grandfather and that took a deep, deep toll on me.  When my husband picked me up at the airport at 2330 on a Monday night, I was toast.  It was the worst flight of my life because I felt very unwell, my ears would not pop and it was excruciating, and I was holding back a sea of churning emotions.  Ryan said, "I know you left a piece of your heart..." and that's all I heard.  Hugging my Grandpa in the car at the MARTA station, feeling very much like it was my very last, was wonderful and painful and quick and slow and time felt like it had stopped and started a thousand times.  I didn't say anything of value as you might expect, because. Useless.  I am absolutely useless in times like this.  You expect a grand speech from the wordsmith  and you will always get nothing. My Grandpa has been my best birthday pal, Scrabble opponent, hero of faith, Sunday dinner neighbor-to-the-right for 40 years, and I cannot find the word for "goodbye."  My grief was so deep that Monday night that I felt it would suffocate me. Grandpa, you have been witness to my whole life.  You still believe in me after all this time; that is no small thing.  I am profoundly honored to be one of the apples on your family tree.

Cue the busy, exhausting holidays. I start taking a medication that has difficult side effects, and there is no rest when you work in health care; in fact, it is worse than usual during the holidays.  I try to spread Christmas cheer by singing loud for all to hear.  Cue the grumpy people:  "Why are you singing?"  Well, Scrooge McDuck, I'm singing because you need a real attitude adjustment and "Jingle Bells" is the best cure.  This goes on for several days, with several people coughing and not covering their mouths, and snotting and snorfling, and singing until.....it's the new year and you are sick....at the hands of these grumpy non-singing cheermeisters.   Then in two short days, a dear family friend meets Jesus face-to-face; a new, chubby, sweet baby niece is welcomed; and you cannot sustain another day.

That's today, gentle readers, that's today.

I have nothing left to give.  I have given the best years of my life in just five short weeks, and now I am done.

Everything hurts (my entire left arm, my right wrist, my head, my heart, my throat, my lungs).  I am waiting for death or the ticking of the clock to tell me to get up and care a bit.

Love has weighted me down and lifted me high.  I fear that sometimes love costs too much.  It seems it would be better to be alone and then nothing would overwhelm.  No outside parties would prey on your emotions and cause you grief.

It seems right and logical.

But I would bear all the grief, a hundredfold, if it means I have paid the cost of love.  For while the price is high, the stakes are permanent. Love always leaves a mark.  Always you will be changed for the better.  Always you will know abiding joy coupled with deep grief.

"And now abides faith, hope, and love, these three; but the greatest of these is love."

Emmanuel

Good morning, dear ones.

It's early on Christmas morning.  The house is quiet (and chilly!).  I'd like to make a toasty fire but it's a loud process.  I love my tree this year; some years are better than others and it's just a special kind of beautiful this time.  I'm usually the only partaker in the trimming; I guess it's not an activity for boys.  I guess this might be one reason mother's appreciate daughters - sharing the joys of holidays.  Men are not so sentimental and emotional.

I almost always struggle at Christmas.  I struggle with my idea of what it should look like versus what it does look like.  In my mind it should involve big families, tasty finger foods, funeral potatoes, cookies for days, fudge, strawberry pretzel salad, Christmas punch, maybe wassail, games for hours, hugs, gifts, and the general feeling of love and acceptance.

Christmas in my house doesn't look much like my description of perfection.  I've done a terrible job of raising my children - they aren't very interested in board games. They also don't like funeral potatoes too much.  Four people can't eat strawberry pretzel salad so I often opt out.  We don't have cookies for days, in fact, I think there might be just 13 sugar cookies left right now.  Christmas is four people, not sixteen,  we will have some gifts, and in 5 hours I'll be sitting in a movie theater watching Star Wars with 3 of my favorite people who are anxiously awaiting that unveiling. (More on what might have been a better option later.)

I have made huge strides, though, in "growing up." This entails minimizing expectation, stepping away from living in Christmas past, and embracing what is.

We often say "Christmas isn't about the gifts." But it absolutely is about the gifts.  If Christmas were not about the gifts we wouldn't be staying up until midnight on Christmas Eve wrapping and piling an explosion in our living rooms.  We wouldn't be worrying about that Prime order that didn't make it by December 25th.  We wouldn't stress over equal gifts per child divided by the cost and multiplied by the common denominator of Santa.

As devout Christians as we were, we rarely went to church on Christmas Eve when I was a child. It was all about family and fun for the Eve in my mind.  We always read the Christmas story and did Advent before opening our gifts on Christmas day, of course.  You know what I have loved since moving to NY? We always go to Christmas Eve service. I'm usually running straight from work to church and it is always worth it.  My church nails it every year.  They put so much love and effort into everything because they know how many non church attenders will attend simply because "it's the thing to do at Christmas."

Last night, for maybe the first time, I realized how precious it was to be with Jesus on Christmas Eve.  I wasn't thinking about gifts.  I wasn't thinking about the missing cookies, potatoes, and Scrabble.  I held a lighted candle in a dark church, knowing deep within my soul that Emmanuel was here.  Jesus was enjoying spending Christmas with me. The peace and joy I felt was priceless. You can't buy that, dear ones, no store carries peace.

I make Christmas so difficult.  I often focus on what is not rather than what is.  I focus on how it looks different or less or lonely-ish.

Emmanuel is here.  It doesn't matter what the celebration looks like.  It doesn't matter what explosion or non explosion in the living room looks like.  It doesn't matter that Scrabble will stay in the box.  It doesn't matter that there are no cookies.  It doesn't matter that because you live in a house full of males that you are going to see Star Wars instead of Little Women.  You can take one for the team.

Emmanuel: God with us forever.

We say "Jesus is all we need" but do we mean it?  I think we often don't mean it. We want things, perfect holidays, not to be lonely, wealth, health, and happiness. When we don't get them, we are disgruntled.  We say, "It's not about the gifts" as we continuously exemplify to our children and families by living room explosions that gifts ARE what matters.

Emmanuel.  It doesn't change.  God chose to be with us.  I'm finally starting to feel Christmas for what it is.

Treasured

I sometimes can't imagine a different life than the one I've had.  I think most people looking from the outside in would peg it as a bit peculiar because it certainly was unorthodox.  It doesn't look anything like the lives described to me by the people I've met.  It looks quiet, ordinary and unspectacular.  I'm not certain how it's possible I am nearing forty when I was reared without television, movies, jeans and jewelry.  Yet, here I am nearing forty, living with little concept of ET and a warehouse of stories, aches, memories, and griefs.

Already I see the many mistakes I've made in the rearview mirror; they multiply more than I care to admit, but I also see grace that shines through the days and minutes of a past I often want to forget. When it's painful or sad or when I think of the stupid things I have said or done, I close my eyes, shake my head, and try to think of something else.  I have a lot of these moments because I'm far less than perfect and I have a very good memory.

It is a treasured thing to be witness to a life that is waning.  I know I have often spoken of death and what it is to taste it in small doses; I have not experienced it much.  It is so impactful to watch the pieces moving, the roles that people play, and to feel the memories with all your senses.  It is both bitter and sweet and having a window into the process prepares me for the future.

It takes grace to be aged, it is for the strong, not the weak, of heart.  It looks lonely.  It looks frightening. It looks overwhelming. Understanding first hand what you wondered it would be like your whole life is, well, anti- climatic. It isn't at all what you had hoped and you more than likely wish you could turn the ticking clock back even just five years please.

I made fudge with my eighty three year old grandfather yesterday.  Fudge is his specialty and really is a far cry from special when my hand is involved in the process.  It turned out well, despite a few snafus, and when I looked at his face at the end, tears came to my eyes.  Remember this, Angela.  Remember this moment of victory in a life that ever draws near to an end. It's not over, but it's getting difficult, and once joyful tasks cause anxiety and stress.  This should be easy, but it is hard, and yet, he is happy to be doing this with you.  Remember the feel of his hand in yours; it is not the confident hand of a younger man but of an old and uncertain one, one that once held your entire body in his hand.

Stories have been told.  Memories have been shared. Twice he asked if I wrote a book yet and twice, with great emotion, he said I really needed to do it.   Tears have come.   I look at this man and he is crying because he loves me.  I am crying because I love him.  And I look back on my life.  I look back on my mistakes.  I look back on painful events. I look back on a little girl with blonde pigtails, blue eyes, and a book as a forever companion, and I know she is far from perfect today, but everything she now is, she owes to God and the legacy of family.  To be loved is no small thing.

Who needs ET?

A Highlight of My Life: Part 2

I have been waiting for the right time to share more of my travels with you. Something about writing, you have to be in the right frame of mind to do it right and well and I've been rather out of sorts the last few weeks.

My least favorite part of flying is landing.  Next to landing is taxiing. Upon arrival to Amsterdam, I was not feeling well.  Actually most of the flight I was not feeling well.  I'll assume it was the sweaty, stressful marathon in Washington.  We taxied for 20+-are-you-kidding-me minutes to the gate.  Even upon approach they mentioned how far away we would be from the airport and how long it would take for us to get there.  I needed to get off the plane.  I needed fresh air.

Customs was a breeze and I was hoping to find Ryan by the Burger King as he said he would be.  I didn't have much cell battery or international service so winging it, I was.  He was there.  With flowers. (and a Coke Light which is NOT a Diet Coke)  I am such a girl. And my husband knows it.  I carted those flowers from hotel to hotel and I even brought one purple bloom home with me.  It now resides in my Bible where all the precious items are kept.  

I stayed up all the first day watching TV in Dutch and occasionally finding a show in English; nope, not Castle, of course, but Truckers take Manhatten in case you were wondering. Fascinating.  Riveting stuff.  Truly.  I might have snoozed a minute or two.  Don't tell Ryan.  One thing I learned quite quickly from the first day in the first hotel, is that 1) there is little privacy in Europe and 2) the elevators are SO tiny.  I mean two suitcases, two book bags, one giant and one dwarf and that is ALL you will fit, but alas, no, three more friends want to join you and join you they will.  (smh….huh uh...I ain't doin it.  Can I decline you entering?  Is it rude to mash the "close door" button like it's my job?)   As for the privacy, two hotels where we stayed had glass bathrooms.  GLASS bathrooms. Everything is clear.  Literally.  Could I have like 3.6 minutes alone? Or is that too much to ask?  There is nowhere to hide, y'all, nowheres.  

We enjoyed such warm and wonderful hospitality by our former boss in the comfort of her home.  A simple and lovely meal was served; something I would like to try to emulate.  The Dutch have mastered the art of entertaining in simplicity.  Soup, bread, spirits, coffee and conversation.  The hours passed so quickly and I do mean hours....we might have overstayed our welcome, but the conversation flowed so easily and it was so peaceful.  I got props from her children when they heard I tried a frinkendel (it's like fried sausage) and fries with mayonnaise. That's right, fried dipped in mayonnaise. A Dutch treat.  I got to see the ASML home campus and we escaped The Netherlands without killing any bikers which is no small task.  They be zipping around like they own the planet.  So.many.bikers.  Doesn't anyone take a car anymore?!

Berlin was SO enjoyable. It truly was a highlight of my trip even though it was a big, smelly city.  History beckons around every corner and I was enthralled with all of it.  We toured an underground bunker which incidentally is just off the subway line.  You could hear the trains underneath you and it absolutely sounded like airplanes above you.  You could easily put yourself in the place of those here before.  It must have been so scary. Cool artifacts were in cases - Nazi uniform pins, helmets, artwork from the Nazi perspective, games.  Our tour guide was phenomenal - definitely go if you have the chance.  It must be said that I had the most amazing hamburger in Berlin!  Maybe the best one I have ever eaten.  I'm okay with eating "American" in Germany because Burgermeister was worth it.  Right here, right now, I'm going to drop a truth bomb.  The traffic is ridiculous.  Not like a little ridiculous, whew it was rough, but like what-in-the-heck-are-these-friends-doing ridiculous. I knew I was going to be in good hands when my husband got me through Berlin safely.  

We stayed the least amount of time in the Czech Republic.  And here is where we almost met Jesus face-to-face.  From the front desk of the hotel we received information on getting to the old town and we were able to purchase tickets for the public transit as well.  They called a driver to take us to the tram station which was about a ten minute drive.  He rounded the corner and abruptly stopped and dumped us off on the side of the road.  (I don't think he "had much English" and I have zero Czech.) We found the tram station and off we went on our journey.  Prague: Old Town is more than you hope or imagine it will be.  Architecture, culture, sounds, flavors...you know this is the place for dreams and writing.  The statues on St. Charles bridge whisper and beckon you toward shadow, toward quiet, the soft lights shine on the water and the street musicians transport your soul to another time.  When we left old town behind us we missed our tram stop.  No matter how hard you try, public transport in a different language is tricky.  We didn't have to wait long for the next tram and soon we found ourselves on the same familiar side of the road waiting for our young driving friend.  He did not, however, make the same return trip to the hotel; instead, he made a left turn when we expected he would take a right turn and we headed down a bumpy road.  As we passed by the "end of the line" bus stop, I thought we must be picking up other guests who had chosen to take the bus to old town.  Nope.  We headed straight off the road into the bushes.  The driver seemed to have little care for the vehicle as we hit every single hole known to man.  I looked through the windshield and I saw only trees whipping the glass.  I started giggling uncontrollably because I knew we were about to die in the Czech Republic.  No one really knew our itinerary, no one knew which hotel we were at.  No one would call to check up on us for a week.  Good gracious how did we even know this guy worked for the hotel?  How did we put our trust in complete strangers to care for us and get us to where we needed to be?  I twisted the ring on my finger and considered he might take that...   It might be worth some Czech crowns.  We headed up the mountain, rapidly, ruts and holes, zero suspension and then whipped around a corner....to our hotel.  We threw some tip money at him and bolted.  I giggled the whole way to our room.  And breathed a sigh of relief. 

I begin to consider anew what "winging it" looks like.  It looks like death on the outskirts of Prague with your best friend.   I know for the tenth time in four days that this adventure is completely random. It is intimidating.  And each moment is indelibly imprinted.  

A Highlight of My Life: Part 1

Friends, it has been a busy season.  October and June have got to be the worst months of the year for hectic chaos.  While I am not a fan of the old "turn the clocks back," I almost welcome the dark, quiet reprieve of November.   It means you are allowed to rest, in your sweatpants, with a cup of coffee on a Tuesday night at 1830.  No one is going to judge you because, guess what, they are doing the same thing.

People have asked me repeatedly to write about my experiences these last few weeks. I haven't had quite the right amount of time, but now I might be able to take a deep breath, and write.

If we're good friends then you will know I have just celebrated my fifteenth wedding anniversary. All you need to know is that this means I was married at the ripe age of 10 for I am far too young to have all that sage wisdom and experience.  Not quite true, but the time indeed has gone so quickly.  The person I was then, thank goodness, I am not today.  The person I am today, thank goodness, my husband still loves.  He is perfect for me in every way except height and something really has to give about that.  It was quite difficult to scurry after him like a church mouse as he traipsed around Europe.  God has shown great mercy and favor over my marriage and I am grateful for that gift.  So much living in these years, may there be more to come.

I have been trying to join Ryan on his business trips to Europe for years.  All the wives have been and I had yet to darken the door of a plane and get there.  It was decided, when Ryan received a voucher for travel after a flight delay, that this would be the year I could go.  I was set to join him six days into his trip. On the day of travel, we experienced torrential rains in upstate.  It rained and rained buckets but it did not occur to me that I would experience travel delay until I got to the airport, and in fact, experienced travel delay.  Nothing could dampen my spirits as I heartily ordered from the Chick Fil A menu and plopped down to enjoy southern hospitality for the first time in months.  It looked like I was going to be re-routed through Frankfurt, adding an additional layover to my itinerary.  I wasn't overly pleased, because it was going to be a long flight time and I'm a lonely solo flyer, but still I persisted in feeling joy when all around me angry people roasted the customer service agents.  I met a mouse friend at Gate A3, who I promptly named Gus-Gus because I was headed to see a fairy tale castle.  It felt like kismet.  

Upon landing at Dulles, my almost dead phone prompts me that my flight will be leaving in approximately 45 minutes.  Relief washed over me with the knowledge that the arriving plane I was to depart my international leg on was also delayed into Dulles. I might avoid the Frankfurt reroute and make my original timeline.  But we taxied.  And taxied.  My stress level is rising because I've never been to Dulles, and although Ryan gave me the rundown it just wasn't going to be easy with limited time.  I deplaned at ground level and walked into the forsaken, back alley bowels of the airport in terminal A.  Hello?  Buehler? Buehler?  Is this an airport or what?!  It's so quiet.  There is no McDonalds.  I run through what appears to be several switchbacks.  Up and back, up and back, through hallways. Forever.   Following the signs for....that's right....terminal D.  For the love.  

Got my video game running guy mojo going on....and I head down, down, down to the train that will take me to terminals C and D.  I hop on the right train and check my phone, the battery percentage is in the teens but my time until departure is not too bad.  The train stops and most of the passengers get off and I stay on.  This is most likely not a good sign but I'm committed.....to heading straight back to where I started.  Apparently, I was supposed to get out at C and then walk to D from there.  No problem, I'm cc1ool as cucumber as I nonchalantly hop off this train and walk back to my starting point to try again.  Peeps got no idea that I'm riding circles around the airport, because if they do that means they too are as lost as I.  I enjoy that 90 second train ride as I prepare to sprint for the next 15 minutes.  And, sprint I do, from C1 to D26.  It's like the movies. I run up all the stairs, avoiding the escalators, and just keep running.  I'm basically dying.  Literally. To get to Europe.  I cannot wait here for four hours, take an 8 hour flight to Frankfurt, wait there for four hours and take a flight to Amsterdam.  My life suddenly, as I see it, is over if I do not make this flight.  People stare. All the people turn and stare as I run.  I'm struck at the oddness because if people are running anywhere, it's definitely in an airport.  This is not unusual. I'm going with it being my video game running guy stride that is likely no on YouTube somewhere...   As I am about to physically pass from this life at D23, three gates from my destination, I turn my head to the right and see 5 doors that appear to be entrances from security or something.  Here, I realize, is where that blessed people mover car object thing that only lives at Dulles, lands. 

It's sole purpose is to carry folks from Terminal A to Terminal D.  

Let me say that again.  It's sole purpose is to transport Angela from A1 to D23 in probably eight minutes.  Of sitting down.  No trains. No stairs. No CPR needed. 

I am the very last person that boards the flight bound for Amsterdam, but not before taking four precious minutes to buy a bag of Reese Pieces and Twizzlers that will be our mainstay snackies for all 1600+ miles by car across Europe.

I can already tell this is going to be one of the highlights of my life, because I clearly have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.  

Prepare for take-off.

Enough for Reese Cups

October is here.  It came in so quickly, just like I always say.  You never notice the exact moment when summer relinquishes its hold and you are in the middle of autumn color and chill.

Each step of the journey wearies me, as if old age is upon me too fast. I crunch about in the day to day, weary, oh so weary.  I'm not sure if my peers and colleagues quite feel the same aches in body and soul.

I've had a lovely three day weekend, full of respite but actually not respite.  It is an annual tradition for my family to try to gather in the fall and spend a few days together.  If you are familiar with us, you might be able to picture it, if you are not so familiar you might wonder what it looks like.  The time is meant to strengthen ties, to eat lots of good food, to rest, to fulfill some wanderlust, to argue, to conquer or suffer defeat, to know that this group bound by blood is also eternally bound by friendship.

If you are not parted by distance, if you are not part of a larger family, then the scenes might not play and replay the same for you as it does for me.  I always look forward to the time, more so, as years pass.  You can't understand what it is to age in the heart until you are, in fact, aging in the heart.  The seasons continue to pass so quickly, the seasons are draining me, especially the season I will be in for the next solid 3-4 years.   Everywhere I turn, people need support.  I am the supporter, the giver, the leader meeting needs, the listener, the adviser.  I don't mind the role. I don't mind the responsibility.  I think though, that for a solid three weeks now, I'm trying to give on empty.  I'm waiting on the edge of the group, peering in, wanting to participate, but feeling unable to dive in despite my desperation for my bucket to be filled.

You must already know that I am the youngest in my family for we are dear friends.  In that role, I am cared for and protected.  I might not quite know how the world works because I am to young, but one day, I will know.  The others will help me.  It is their role to provide for me.  Into this world I step a few times per year.  Already the roles are changing and that dynamic is not nearly as pronounced as it once was.  I am more an equal, it will continue to change.

Four households converging into one is recipe for disaster.  Nothing can change that.  Four sets of house rules, four sets of shower schedules, four sets of food and beverage needs, four sets of hierarchy into one chaotic, strong willed engine that powers through the extended family experience.  What I know is this, we can, have and will survive the 45 minute whirlwind pack-up with our love for each other still intact.  If you can survive that, you can enter the gates of Mordor without fear.

Do we discard the leftover salad?

Uh, no, I think there are starving children in Africa.

Well I know that I don't have the space to take it back because all my ice is gone.

Does this sock belong to your child?

Go back in that bathroom, someone left the soap in the shower.

Who threw away my cup of coffee?!

Wait, why is this salad on the counter?

Don't throw that out!!

Where is the charger for my phone?

Where is the charger for my Kindle?

Where is the charger for my kids' phone?

Kids, go back upstairs and clean that room.

Babe, you left your sweatshirt on the dock.

Nope, not my sweatshirt.  Ask the kids.

For the love, why is the salad still not being dealt with?

No, that is not my sweatshirt.

I'm throwing the salad out, last call.

Again, no, on the sweatshirt.

Have you seen my sweatshirt?  Yep, Ryan is looking for the owner.

YOU ARE THROWING AWAY THE SALAD?!!?!?

And.....that's a wrap, we'll see you next year.

It is so much fun.  It is so much chaos.  It can also have a lot of angst in the middle. But in the end it comes out right.  It fills your bucket, even if you feel like you have to force yourself into it because you don't have the energy.

At the end, at the very end, when the house is quiet....  It's early morning. Your room is in China with the mice and cold breeze, so you trek through the dark to use the bathroom in Switzerland.  You stay in France because it's easier than going back to bed, in the dark, down the twisty stairs.  You broke your foot once trying that nonsense.

You are bundled up on the couch, reading, the light is just beginning to show over the lake.  Your mom comes in, smiles and walks over to hand you a Reese cup.  You tell yourself to remember this.  "Remember this, Angela."  You remember hearing just yesterday from your stepfather's lips that your mother loves to eat Reese cups for breakfast.  She walks over to the window. "Remember, this, Angela, remember what she looks like as she watches the sun rise.  It's just you. Her. The lake."  This snapshot of time is so tiny, so tiny, and so precious.  It doesn't really mean anything at all, and yet it does.  You are almost 40 and you are her baby and she is giving you a Reese cup at 0630 in a quiet house on Keuka Lake in NY.  And she is beautiful.

Hold onto this moment.

Do this every chance that you get.

Even if you think you are rather grumpy and not quite right.  And currently emotionally empty.

Enter the gates of Mordor without fear because the group beside you loves you.  Enough for Reese cups.