Nineteen years ago today, I returned home from the hospital without my daughter. Her empty car seat seemed to mock me from Columbia to Greenville, South Carolina — and had I listened to the voice of the enemy for the duration of that trip, I’d have returned home bitter. Instead, I crossed that threshold broken. And I believe there’s beauty in brokenness, because it’s there that we are most truly held...
Piecrust on the ceiling? I stood there staring at the clumps of dough now clinging to the ceiling above me. Having arrived there by accident, the clumps clung tightly out of place. They told the story of ingredients, stirred over and over, creating the perfect mashup of loss, tragedy, and loneliness.
The lady behind the airline counter looked as if she couldn’t have cared less. I was at the airline’s special help desk, holding my airline confirmation email for a flight now leaving in forty minutes.
Last winter, my world turned upside down. Health issues I battled reared their ugly head. These issues caused financial burdens and negatively impacted my marriage, relationships, and life overall. There was no area of my life my illness hadn’t touched.