I know as well as Elisabeth Kubler Ross taught it, that acceptance is the first step in grieving a loss. I mean, gah. If there's not REALLY a loss, then there's nothing to grieve, right? As a student of that particular realm of thought I have made my way through a lot of them..losses, that is. There was childhood, regrettably. Sometimes beloved and often times not-yet-met family members and pets. I moved several times, with each packing expedition aimed at holding fiercely onto what really matters to my heart amidst the piles and piles of stuff that fifty two years and a few days of living bring to a girl's domain. Baggage.

The first time I was really forced to face that fact, I hated the woman who drilled the truth into me like an arrow in the dang head. The way we met was quite by accident, with she pinch hitting for her very pregnant partner who saw right off that I was a long term job and she would be busy changing diapers. My 160 mile trips to cry my eyes out were the center of my life for a year and Bev knew that. The old girl whipped me like a bad dog makin' me spill my guts about everthing I ever remembered or even THOUGHT about thinking. I paid money for the spanking, because I wanted to understand who I was in the context of where me and the rest of the family had been. I still continue to find out things that make me go "ah-hah!" Our very first session consisted of me drawing on a piece of paper crude pictures of things that make me happy. There was a musical note, Christmas tree, very poorly drawn water! Flowers, of course. Years later when BG and friends were all wonked out being 15, I gave them some art supplies and told them to do the very same thing. It wasn't a Hallmark moment by any means, but at least I knew what was up ;) Natty light my ass.

Working in healthcare is a daily series of losses...patients and their families who come to you for help and healing and are often times met with over-worked-under-led individuals who actually studied for the privilege to be there. Patients get diagnosed, born, treated and eventually die surrounded by people who were raised up knowing them. That's the beauty of rural hospitals. Everywhere you turn, you see somebody's mama'n'them. Within one hour the other day a young lady lost her valiant fight against spina bifida and a middle aged man died of a heart attack. Mr. Bob, the suave half of Willis Electrical never failed to make me laugh when they came to work on my ancient and ailing blood refrigerator. He crashed his vehicle into a house last week, presumably from a heart attack, and was buried yesterday after a week on life support. During a co-worker's baby shower, one of our girls saw her first dead child in the ER and had to excuse herself from the festivities to bawl her eyes out. It's hard stuff, keeping your perspective when you try to meet somebody where they're at, but retain a professional distance in order to give proper care, all the while playin' by the rules and regs handed down by politicians who don't know a bandage from a stethoscope. Puleeeez.

Peaceful is kinda' how I would describe the place I'm at right now. Tired, yes..no uh, weary. This dove flu or whatever it is has managed to kick my Poopie butt. But I am most definitely hopeful that persistence and faith will lead to whatever Big Ernie has planned for me, equipped with the tools. Thanks to my good friends Deb and Tob, I now have a skillsaw in the collection :)

Now...y'all go on to bed or do some laundry or something. Kiss the dog. I've got a date with Dr. House. Dirty Mike stood me up so it's the idiot or nothing tonight.

Keep the faith. ^j^