The End of Active Grieving: Wellness Comes By Taking Responsibility and Deciding to Choose Bliss

 

Photo Credit Nanette Wheeler and Taylor Tremusini

You can heal yourself. Just make it about the enjoyment of it. You should try everything that you want to try that feels good to you, that is fun and engaging, that sweeps you into movement and laughter. For in play, we find love for ourselves. That blissful ecstacy you feel when you’re happy is the vibration that will bring to you your loved one and the feeling that you already have everything you asked for. Lean into techniques unique to you in order to relieve your pain while grieving or sick or anxious. There’s no guilt in a mental health day where you rest, take a bath, eat a lot of food or drink herbals, whatever you want. Walk alone or go to a park and watch the water. There is no reason to explain it to anyone. You need nature, the bilateral stimulation, and the calmed mind to proceed with success in the present moment. You can start any healthy hobby or habit with the two rules: It must be enjoyable for you and it allows for you to practice actions of being kind to the self, inviting all of your parts that may act out to be heard, hugged, and invited to integrate within the self. Find IFS or Internal Family Systems therapy.

Find and try techniques in your tool box that remind you to be grateful that you survived and that you love yourself enough to understand that you create a future for yourself. So, as stated by Seth in Seth Speaks, the bigger your imagination the less restricted to a time lost reality and regret. Instead, you know that you create wellness by choosing again and again what you want through the phrase Abraham channeled that we can and do build worlds with our thoughts and emotions. And, there is not one way to heal the body, mind, spirit in order to calm the body and mind and settle into the lap of the Inner Self.

Please don’t close your mind or heart to creative ways to stay grounded in the present moment, even if you’re crying your way through that moment. So, it’s courageous to heal and once you make the choice to heal, the methods and techniques will wax and wane, grow and cement. You’ll see a myriad of supporters and sometimes sit alone, resting under a tree or on a river bank. Riding a bicycle through a woody trail, hiking, or forest bathing bring you to the bosom of mother earth.

For me, I took a long drive to think and to hike many hours from home. I learned self-love in the car and it was not through one of the magical, mystical nuances I searched for all my life. I found a secluded cabin to stay in and for 2 days with crayons and no internet. I enjoyed the silence enveloping me to figure out that it would never be possible to hate myself as much as I felt like I was hated by the people around me. There was no end to it. I would have either had to die or change completely. At the beginning of the drive, I didn’t know how anyone found self-love or why anyone would love me at all.

Cruising the smoothed country roads enveloped in a heap of the trees’ fall colors lining that remote roadway in Kentucky, I heard the audio book tell me to love yourself like you love your own kid or significant human or critter. Think of yourself, maybe around 2 or 4 or 6. We are now the parent of that inner child and can have compassion for him or her. And, we love ourselves with actions like fixing that mistake then celebrating a job well done. You celebrate someone you love or you try to teach them, but you don’t criticize them as a human. Treat yourself the same way. Support yourself and get that project done. Always celebrate yourself along the way. Choose to FEEL happy, tuned in, tapped in, and turned on and watch life flow your way.

The feeling of protection that you have for a human you love is the feeling you need to recognize in yourself when you sit alone. Are you okay by yourself? What do you like to do? Feed the artistic and creative kid in you. When you make a mistake, tell yourself how to fix it the next time it happens. You love yourself and you want the behavior to stop. You choose to laugh it off and try again or change direction because you support every version of yourself, even the one who risked that latest venture! Picture yourself talking to the part or age you were when you acted out, made a dumb mistake, or self-sabotaged. Ask him or her why she/he acted in this way; what’s wrong that they don’t feel heard or loved. Then, tell them you love and forgive this very important part of you, that age you need as part of your family experience inside. Rely on that part to contribute now when appropriate.

Note: This is not shadow work. Shadow work calls on negativity to lecture parts of yourself. Never do this. Only share and FEEL positive to the part of you who didn’t have a voice. You are the voice now.

I did not learn self-love in any Reiki session, hypnosis, even through psychics and mediums who connected me with my daughter, although it does help. I’ve experienced bliss in Christian churches, on a beach in meditation, on a hike or in yoga practice. But, I only learned to love myself when I thought of who I was as a child. It started then and my new growth is now, always the present moment to choose better for me. Only I have my answers and by going inside, my redemption lies.

Self-love is reaching out for support and a lot of learning to support others. You share what you learn and friends try each other’s ideas. There is so much blame of others, too. Can you stop judgments or expectations of other people? With whom are you angry? How do you find peace? You’re in pain and practicing all the ways to end your pain and you’re learning that those tools you’re using to cry, work, and plan your way through will be the support you provide to others when you stand in your own power of self-love. Then, you will be an example for anyone struggling with that issue. You will have provided a dimension for others to reach to and find support in the greater consciousness and from within.

I still feel confused before I set myself straight sometimes. Isn’t that everyone? So, if I’m really getting upset, I know now to put my phone in a drawer for an hour. I know to pat my chest and touch my tummy, make sure my stomach muscles are relaxed. I hum to myself or swallow, make sure to relax my throat. I walk, run, bike, kayak, or write. I color or play cards or music. I dance or laugh or sing. I ground myself into the earth, oil my body, drink tea, nourish myself, practice yoga or Reiki or meditation, rest, pray, or breathe. We love to use the techniques we learned. There will always be a need for this care to change the pathways of the brain, the physical is-ness of who we are.

The brain is a social organ. We must connect with other eyeballs, other humans to have positive future plans and experiences. We must settle the brain in nature and decrease our anxiety and stress using our breath and foods and peace. Keep building and one day, you’ll look at yourself and realize that honestly, you’re not any worse or better than any other human. Humans mostly do the best we can. You create the love for the self to fully express the soul’s desire, manifesting care, safety, and success in grounding yourself. You create a life full of healthy, sustainable channels to self-love you’ve been collecting all this time. It’s just time to take your power back.

Grief Recovery

Choosing Healthy Behavior

Law Of Attraction

Videos Featuring Taylor Tremusini

 

Videos Featuring Taylor Tremusini

I have gone back many times to capture little moments that Taylor recorded and all of them have cute stories. 

                                               This is Taylor and friends headed to Florida 2015

Is Living With Estrangement Harder Than Surviving Her Suicide?

Healing the body of past traumas is imperative because most people experience instability or project that instability onto our children, unknowingly causing irreparable harm. Healing grief itself constitutes a forward thinking lifestyle and lots of hard work. You must act, do, keep moving, find something that you resonate with to keep your brain focused in the present moment with every breath and grounding exercise. You must be allowed to express your grief according to Dr. Mary Frances O’Connor in The Grieving Brain: The Surprising Science of How We Learn Through Love And Loss. She states grief can be caused by separation in empty nest, divorce, death, and estrangement, arguably the most damaging next to a suicide of a child. But, I think estrangement from a child is harder than my own daughter’s suicide. I know where she is. I can’t think about how she got there. It’s madness to dwell in deepest grief and regret but incongruent to behave as if you don’t miss the person. But, in death you know they are not returning and can accept just that in time.

Healing modalities at home help us calm and work allows for us to practice mindfulness, like resting

or taking a walk to get out of our heads and into gratitude. According to O’’Connor, humans have physical place

cells in the brain that act as place holders in a hierarchy of your relationships. Those cells look for and categorize

all the important people in your life all day, every day and it runs in the background. Reacting and lashing out

come from unprocessed fears or anxieties.

So, when I snap at someone I don’t even realize I just saw a billboard of a successful and beautiful mother daughter realtor team who reminds me that my entire life will be without my children, and look alike like my Taylor and me. I have to ignore the general public in which mothers and fathers talk about their sons being in the same trade or coming to move a couch or having a baby and I have to ignore it all. I can’t allow myself to conceive the idea that I’ll never be close to my son’s children or have a daughter in law to love…and it makes me feel like I don’t want to be here anymore.

O’Connor explains those place cells are arranged like a bingo game board. Picture each square filled with avatars of people ranging from people who are closest to you in location and in emotion to acquaintances at work and people you don’t like. One example is when out of the blue you randomly think of a co-worker you haven’t seen in a while and say, “Oh, hey whatever happened to Mike? I haven’t seen him for a while.”  That’s a great example of your brain rearranging place cells in the subconscious, maybe moving him down as less critical and someone up who you’re engaged with but it can be taxing, according to the author.

So, when my brain constantly asked where my daughter was after she died, the PTSD I experienced would not allow for me to close the loop in my mind as to where she is.The brain only wants to solve your problems. In all death and ghosting or separation, guilt is the most natural response. Neuroscience proves that the brain in all separation, death, or ghosting wants to know:

1. Where is the loved one in the world? How close are they physically? Lack of physical contact brings many more issues, like the hormonal and chemical bonds from physical contact can calm. The physical pain is real and ongoing.

2. What did I do to make them go away? That’s the problem-solving part of the brain and where guilt can be processed in trauma therapy like EMDR.

3. What do I need to do to get them back? The brain needs to settle the question, maybe with an altar or ritual for the lost loved one.

O’Connor presents the evidence that we don’t compute death. We compute ghosting. So, in a matter of ghosting, we keep reaching out because our subconscious mind is struggling daily. That is the loop that can’t be closed. That’s where control is initiated along with depression, desperation, anxiety, and the need for self-love and care becomes mandatory to change the definition of you.

You are not only a mother/father, or spouse, daughter/son, co-worker. You are the manifestation of the Divine in action. That means you must find yourself within a construct that is new and can be created and manifested with joy and confidence as long as you continue to strive to settle your issues with love and acceptance, dignity and grace.

Our children feel fear and refuse contact to diminish their trauma response or negativity, whatever they feel is right for themselves. They should never be the enemy. Our children are not wrong or lazy or incompetent. The truth is that our behavior and lack of knowledge causes an effect that we may never heal. I may never have grandchildren or a daughter in-law who loves me. My son may never feel safe with me. So, my mission is to love myself beyond the mother I was or am. I am finding my strength to be in the world as myself beyond a wife or daughter, too. We do this work alone. It’s normal to miss those we care about on our bingo card. And, all the desperate attempts to love the unwilling is normal. Wanting to give up is normal as long as you can express it and move through it. 

(If you’re thinking of giving up, reach out. Don’t do it, it’s also part of the brain trying to work out the right thing and it’s confused. Put yourself to bed or get on the phone or out on a walk.)

It’s time to engage with acupuncture, yoga, breath work, massage, Reiki, Rolfing, sun exposure, walking in nature, meditation, writing, and lots and lots of support. Even that sense of hope that seems to thread in is part of the process of neuroscience, love, loss, and life. I know I’ve been growing since she died and will always carry a very large hole in my heart that is filled with her spirit in the quiet moments and in dreams. I also go to see my son in my meditations and love him. I won’t give up on love. Finding gratitude, present moment joy and forward thinking physical activities along with trauma therapy, and remembering who you are, we come back different as we all shed the old and discover the You.

Telling Stories

University writing peaked my interest in writing. Animal advocacy spurred my writing into a new direction, and I learned new writing styles and formats, including how to write in technical formats. Writing helped me process through a bit of grief, too. In fact, I wrote blogs and Facebook posts about the ramifications and realizations within the tragedy of my daughter’s passing.  In October, 2018 I stopped writing out my pain. Eventually, I had to learn to stop expressing it to people who could not support me or talk about Taylor at all. I utilize a multitude of practices to heal and to cope and after moving through the shifting intricacies of life and death, I destroyed some practices I engaged in during the most shocking and intense times of pain, too. For example, I listened to a certain meditation app to help me sleep, I visited a horse that lived close by, and I wrote this blog.  

Something happened after I stopped blogging at the end of 2018. I couldn’t visit the horse anymore. I worried about him dying, a natural and temporary casualty in death. I most definitely do not listen to that mediation app I used in the beginning. In fact, when people mention events from 2016 and call to mind people or memories, I feel panicky and I exit the topic immediately. I choose not to expose myself to the trauma of the first minutes or year. I found those triggers to be driven by anxiety still.

So, what is this if not a blog about grief and pain? Well, I think I created this blog to talk about Taylor. I thought a few things would happen:  People will call me and message with lots of memories and laughs and they will send me pictures of Taylor with her friends and we’ll all live in togetherness with stories of Taylor as our bond. We got the bond part. The rest never happened. To be fair, after 4 years it’s still hard for people to talk about someone who dies by suicide.

As I looked back at my blog recently, I couldn’t understand why I would title the blog about my daughter’s life and then just write about my pain. I understand now that I start to panic when I think of telling a story about Taylor much less about how to celebrate her life. I feel nervous and she’s my daughter. I want to celebrate her life and still my memories are scant. The brain fog of grief protects us for a bit but I’m not sure why I struggle with the best part of my daughter; her life.

I’ve been alone so much in the past 4 years that I may have processed through the public side of myself, the one who wants to scream at the world that I messed up or that she should be here or no one cares about her to talk about her or no one cares about me; temporary manifestations expected in grief. I triumphed over loneliness. I like being alone. I read, hike, write, research, eat, and micromanage three pain in the ass dogs.

The truth is, I don’t remember so much that I maybe should. I feel like I don’t know how to tell her story or to bring her to life in words. I feel like it’s not real or it’s not enough or it’s diminishing who she is. Talking about her dying isn’t working anymore. 

Telling random stories or packaging her life feels like I'm boxing her in, like this is all there is. How do I put her in a box? What the hell kind of box could contain Taylor? Why can’t I do this? I’m an expressive writer, I know the subject, I adore her. She’s worth talking about. She’s interesting and funny and those are just words and they don’t mean anything on paper, you see. 

How do you choose to describe the sky, the earth, wind, and water? I know big words. I know how to use big words and flowery adjectives. I am ashamed of myself for feeling this way. It’s not that Taylor isn’t worth a library of books written to, for, or about her. I think that maybe if I really concentrate on telling her story, on talking about her, really digging in and finding the right words, doesn’t it diminish her to being just a story that people can't identify with or relate to? I can’t answer my own question and I can’t get this lump out of my throat. 

My worst fear is happening as I write this. In my last blog I talked about her. Now, I feel anxiety and I'm rattled. I feel defensive and caught. Why can’t I just write page after page of stories?

I don’t know where to go from here. I know I want to tell her story. Maybe I already am. I hope I don’t forget all the stories I want to tell by the time I’m brave enough to tell stories. I hope I don’t start resenting all the people who never mention her but also lost her and are not expected to do a thing? There's no reason for me to feel left out of her life via others. I know it doesn't make sense, like everyone else who knew her holds the keys to who she was as a human. How does that even make sense? 

I guess the reason I stopped this blog in 2018 is that I’m not ready to progress here. I don’t know what I need to be ready for, how long it will take, if I will forget, or if anyone really cares that much about Taylor to read stories about her by her mom. I’m not sure why bitterness leaks out here after I feel like I’ve resolved these issues. I just typed above that I’ve healed a bit! Did I learn something today or just give myself more suffering in effort to do the impossible? Damn all the expectations in the world that we place on ourselves. You'll get your story, Taylor. 

I Miss My Mom

Taylor called my name at least ten times a day. Or, if she wasn’t home, she called or texted. A crisis of epic proportions called her to the phone. I smile thinking about how she said my name. A lot of times, she’d call me when she felt safe. She called my name while she was in bed, worrying sometimes, but never showing the extent of her emotions or state of mind. She worried about beautiful hard things. Not always. Like my sister and me, she giggled a lot with her friends when she hosted a sleepover, the best time in my life. She liked to be held. I think it was the dark that soothed her into conversation.

She worried about the animals at a nearby circus and I sometimes wished I hadn’t educated her about their plight, but Taylor knew how to fight her battles one at a time. She fought for other people’s rights. She spoke gently to them, whoever it happened to be. When she called me to her at night, even until she was 22, she wanted to be held. The visceral connection of mother to daughter and the devotion and struggle we shared…so many parts of us wove together and I felt as if my heart grew two sizes bigger when she held me. Sometimes, she’d tell me about a dog WE needed to go find again because she couldn’t catch it.

She called my name when she felt safe in the shower, too. Maybe the curtain between us, the excitement she felt at going to a carnival, the mall, or if in crisis, Taco Bell or Buffalo Wild Wings. I never did convince her to eat vegan. She chose her battles, I thought. I feel like I was suspended when she talked to me. I didn’t want to move. She told me funny stories about her friends and family members. It was like news hour. She didn’t speak negatively about them; she and I shared a love for our gang of miscreants. She told me about a person who needed help or needed a phone call. Her loyalty gave her authority and power and she showed love with a hug, a tiny smile, and a kick in the pants.

I turned off my ringer at night because she would be in an area with people who were not healthy, and some crisis would occur, usually a traffic violation or something minor. If you ask her about the people she could have avoided, she said they needed her. Taylor was right. We needed her.

When she was born at 9:05am on June 23, 1993 Taylor brought with her a tiny face surrounded by thick, soft and dark hair. 4 pounds, 11 ounces and 21 inches long. She arrived into the world in protest of the light and cold. I’m sure she was hungry. She cried, I cried, her dad cried, the nurses laid her on my body, no clothes, just physical touch and quiet. Taylor Nicole fell asleep with the sound of my voice.

I dutifully returned to full-time work and after three very short weeks, I vowed to sell whatever necessary because I decided to raise my child. I am grateful to have been supported in raising her and her brother. They benefitted immensely from support systems and unconditional love. But, Taylor experienced crying spells earlier than normal colicky babies. She was overwhelmed by too much movement or stimulation. Rocking her, patting her, singing to her with the lights on could not happen and Taylor mostly napped in some lucky soul’s arms. But, she needed me then too. I didn’t want to work full-time and the crying became a problem and it seemed as if I calmed her.

When she was about two years old, her dad and I watched her scream under the coffee table where it was safe, I assume. She screamed at 6pm and it usually lasted for about a half hour. Although hard to watch, and doctors who tried but couldn’t’ determine any issues. So, naturally Taylor talked early enough. She also frequently stated, “I miss my mom.”

I remember that she didn’t want me to see her smile. Often, her cousins and friends descended upon the house and she hid her smile. But, if there was a single problem, question, request, “Mom!” I don’t know what it feels like to win an award but hearing her call my name was my favorite sound in the world.

Ghost

I stopped writhing. The ocean tossed me out and I feel like I’m laying on a deserted beach secured. Tightly bound ropes hold me down. Even as I renew my commitment to journal my thoughts and feelings, I can see the word rope and scream inside. It hurts my throat. I pant; broken and hoping to see a glimmer of the fading sun. The tide still comes in, rocks me, like a Siren she screams for me to return to the depths of despair that I now hold inside me. I can’t go in. I can’t cry anymore because it hurts too much. I can’t get the ropes off, they burn now. I am still.

But, I see my efforts all around me. I see the glimmer of crystals. Did they really help me or maybe I was lying to myself to think that I could be healed with a divine magical rock or rocks. I see the cards strewn on the beach, the foretelling of the nothing. Yes, I see your god. Ask “Him” for help. To save me. Now, I’m writhing. Now, I’m screaming. “Why didn’t your god save her? Why didn’t I know? Why do you allow people to feel so deeply for our children that we’re forever broken? I don’t want this!” The ropes cut into my flesh as they rub and my fingers dig deep into the sand. I’m panting, still looking.

Photos of her. Photos of my family, even my sister missing from this Earth. Why? This is just life. I see my son and the people I love in the photos and feel love for them. Sorry for them because we share this pain. I see the phone and hope it dies. I don’t want it anymore. I tried to replace her with love for others and mostly her friends and I didn’t understand. Remember? I was drowning, grasping at the water, screaming from my burning throat. Why isn’t it enough? Why am I not enough so they, the tiny few who love me, can have what I could have given. I don’t remember what that was, now.

I close my eyes and I still can’t cry, can’t move. I hear the waves and think of the beach we used to visit. I don’t want to see a beach again. Just this one. This is the one in which I almost drown. Remember that night that I tried to choke myself? It hurt too much and I drank too much and I cried and screamed but I stayed. I stayed for everyone else.

I stayed because I thought she’d stay with me. I see her standing in the tide but is she? Is this some kind of sick joke? Did she reincarnate? Is she in heaven with my sister? Is she inside my soul, are we together and I don’t know it? She’s a ghost. 

I had to stop believing in ghosts.

I can wiggle my legs free. I look and she’s gone. She’s been gone and she is never coming back. I looked for signs a long time ago or maybe a few days ago. I looked for signs in the woods: turtles, hummingbirds, butterflies, a random light bulb popping. It’s her. She’s here. I can touch her. I can’t talk to her. I can’t hold her. There is nothing to hold. She is ashes. They burned her body. I can’t chase a ghost anymore.

I kept looking everywhere; one year, two years…no words of wisdom, no daughter of mine to appear magically. How is it possible to let that go, to let her go without screaming. The Sirens are deafening my ears and I want to pull my hair out. I didn’t ask for this. I thought I would be okay and maybe one day I will.

I’m sitting up now. The ropes left marks but I can hear the waves crashing. I know I have to go back in there, into the black. I must heal. I read that you’re no good to anyone if you’re not good to yourself. That’s a classic. I’m only here because of everyone else. I don’t care about my Self. I don’t want to change my beliefs. I don’t want to sit on this beach. What time is it, anyway? I’m sure there’s someone somewhere who knows.

As I stand, a sea turtle lopes and claws to her nest. I see her. The photos are blowing in the wind, the crystals have sunk to be found by someone else. The turtle is a mother. She’s alive. She’s a miracle to me. She’s fascinating. How did she grow without being eaten? How did she survive the holes visitors scrape out of the sand to build their castles? How does she know she must leave the nest and what if her babies don’t make it be a mother like her? My heart is racing, again. I’m spinning my abrasive ropes into stories that become nightmares.

No one wants to hear my screams so I scream inside. No one wants to talk to me about what happened so I can prove my insane guilt or some need to convince them that it wasn’t their fault? I didn’t realize I was walking. The waves have calmed. The moon is high. They will be here for millions of years after I die. I don’t realize I’m walking into the ocean alone. You’re a ghost. I dive into the warm water, trying to convince myself that one day, one day I will stop looking for you, Taylor. I’ll stop glancing at the ashes that remind me. I can’t chase what I can’t see. I have no faith in anything except the love I hold for the people here who need me. Do you really need me? Or, maybe you need the ghost I've become.

Choose

I knew I wasn’t ready. I kept asking over and over and it was exhausting, I’m sure for everyone. I had to figure it out on my own. I can be trusted to be alone at night now. I chose Life. I want to Live to enjoy my son, my fiancé, my parents, my everyone….

I feel like I need to rewind because I’ve been a bit introverted while this shift is happening. I said that I wanted to miss my daughter without wanting to die. Without the guilt. I was killing my Self. Advise to me was a little bit of patience and a lot of people telling me that when it doesn’t serve me, it doesn’t do anything for me, I would let it go. Just knowing it’s possible to let go without letting go of my love for my daughter. I just lived with the guilt, shame, put myself on trial and the sentence was grim. I don’t necessarily have an answer for anyone going through that kind of pain over anything, much less a parent’s guilt about her or his child’s death. But, my desire to suicide stopped. I believe I didn’t want to die at all, I just wanted the pain to stop. Suicide is barely an option when faced with the honor of walking another beautiful soul to Heaven. No magic, no amount of talk would change my mind. I had to change my mind for my son, my fiancé , parents, sister…

I chose not to allow the word death to bother me. I chose to think that was one day and I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Reliving that day or the reasons or the questions  doesn’t serve me. And, I am choosing that mess to lose its’ power over me just like words. I can’t give in.

I chose to see my son at all costs and I think I wanted to spend time with him in his element, comfort zone, no one pulling for him to visit them on his short trip to our state. Our time together was relaxing. We enjoyed our conversations. We hung out and talked. I saw it that week. I knew the guilt was not serving me so I chose to let it go. No questions or discussion. Just go. I wanted some time to think, too. Things were changing in me. Vague. I can’t name the Things. But, I being with my son for that week allowed me to see a future. I have no idea what the future holds. He gave me new Life. I want to Live. I want to enjoy my son. I want to enjoy Life.

I really don’t know where to start on this difficult journey. It's embarrassing that my brain doesn't function well, yet. I don't like talking about myself, still. I am good at a few things but I'll not admit it and I believe I must practice letting go and letting go. I don't care to talk about me or my accomplishments yet. If you use the word yet, it means that change is possible. I changed my language, my tune, changed my mind, changed my heart.

You should listen to the way I talk about my children. I knew how to be a constant mother for 22 years and I strengthened my Self over the years to show them Life and Love and being genuine and kind. I talk about Taylor differently. And my sister. I brush over the part about them being gone from the Earth and I talk about my sister’s cooking, my son’s snarky and smart sense of humor. I talk about Taylor.

She was 4’11” and told people she was 5’, I love that. She wore frilly summer dresses and flip flops with a thick long mane of dark or purple hair. She adorned her body with 9 tattoos, once punched a tall man in the face for attempting to sell drugs to a friend and I could bet she was wearing pearls at the time. That’s Taylor. She loved glitter but not diamonds. She loved dogs and people. 

I chose that. I chose to change and to type those words with a smile and not a tear shed today. Another day, I’m sure. But, I think it’s pretty simple. I have to Live a rich and full life…as much as possible after losing part of me. Right now, I’m living for others. In order to find out who I am now after the wreckage, I have to simply be aware of the That standing in my way and move it over…like Carla and Taylor would. Thank you, Tom.