Today’s not a sad day — more so I’m wistful and quiet and somber, a personification of the grey sky and misty air that follow a cool rain — but, rather, a time to meditate on all of the gifts I’ve been given since I spent a summer allowing myself to be battered and beaten down. They are infinite, and I am grateful. Namaste.
When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be the mother of an eleven-year-old boy. Don’t ask me how that happened, because I don’t remember a thing. What I do remember is that a year ago today, I learned not only how much love my friends had to give but also that my they would be there for me long before and long after any man came into or out of my life. What I hadn’t yet learned was that abusive tendencies don’t magically disappear and change comes from sincere action rather than empty promises.