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I'm pretty careful about what I listen to these days because I'm a great jumble of unchecked emotions and just about anything can (and will ) set off waterworks. And when I say "anything" I mean that in the most literal sense. Like yesterday I cried watching a dad tow his kids behind his bike down the street. And then I laughed because that is 100% insane. Anyway, Pandora Radio sometimes thinks it's a fun time to casually throw a tune into my queue that will completely destroy me. This is my attempt at paying it forward. Enjoy the cathartic cry! Each Coming Night by Iron & Wine   Will you say when I'm gone away: "My lover came to me and we'd lay In rooms unfamiliar but until now" Will you say to them when I'm gone away: "I loved your son for his sturdy arms We both learned to cradle then live without" Will you say when I'm gone away: "Your father's body was judgement day We both dove and rose to the riverside"...

"Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go.    Acceptance is a small, quiet room."   - Cheryl Strayed, Author of  Wild At this point, most of you have probably seen the latest update on Paul circulating through your Facebook news feeds. For everyone else, here's the scoop: In my last post, I mentioned that we were spending Easter with Paul's family in Wisconsin. But as our two-week visit approached its end, it became more and more evident that Paul wouldn't be making our return flight back to Buffalo. So the three of us are staying in Paul�s parents' home in Oshkosh, Wisconsin where he has entered Hospice care. We had always considered making Paul�s childhood home in Oshkosh his final resting place on this Earth. After witnessing his almost immediate "release" when the decision was final, I ca...

A few weeks ago, Paul wiped out on our front walkway. We had just gotten home after spending 8+ hours in the hospital. I was holding Ingrid who was asleep in my arms, and I didn�t react fast enough to grab him before he fell. Which is weird because every time I replay this scene in my head, Paul is falling in excruciating slow motion. He didn�t even slip on ice or uneven pavement or one of the three small steps that lead up to our house. He is just that weak . Weak to the point where he can hardly walk without assistance anymore. He just fell backwards, like a thin broomstick unable to hold itself upright without a prop. When I heard his head thwack the sidewalk, I winced and (gently) tossed a now-awake Ingrid onto the lawn to rush to his side. Thankfully, there was a gentleman walking past our house at that exact moment. He secured his dog to a nearby lamppost and helped me hoist Paul to his feet. Angels among us. By now, the scrapes on his scalp have healed, but my nerves have not ye...