I stumbled upon a CD the other night. It contained a scattering of digital images from the time of our wedding. I remember not wanting our day to be heavily documented, and so the only pictures that exist are those taken by my father, my father-in-law, and my mother-in-law's boyfriend.

Our wedding was, quite simply, about us. It wasn't about who was there, or what was worn. It wasn't about the party favors or the flowers. It wasn't about the feast or the music. It was just us. It was unpretentious....and yet, profound.

The aforementioned night, I found myself staring at the pictures that I have long loathed. Life was different for the people in those pictures. I hadn't yet had a taste of mortality.

I can still hear the bitter wind rattling against my window the night it happened. It was as rotten a winter as ever, showcasing a chalky tableau of the barren season. My winter break from school was nearing its end, and I was not looking forward to my return. It was a Friday night, and I, ensconced in my room, sought conversation with my dearest friend.

He was a kindhearted boy, and one to whom I divulged all of my secrets. An indefinable something dovetailed our lives, or something we cowered to define. We were, to the other, a sounding board, a shoulder, a ready joke, and a pat on the back. We felt "friendship" to be too little a word for what we were, and named each other "sibling".



We canvassed the ups and downs of our lives, ever wanting the very best for one another. Perhaps the relationship should have been redefined, perhaps we should have seen that there was nothing sibling-like in our feelings...perhaps we did. Our time together was so precious, our conversations so jeweled...change was the skipping stone that could disturb the placid waters. We left things as they were, never straying, never admitting to more...until that night.

My day had been joyless, devoid of both warmth and sunlight. January...all ashes, no fire. My friend was likewise woebegone. He was far away, in a warmer land, but his joy lie equally chilled. Evening arrived and we shut out the world to find our redemption.



"Robert Frost...'The Road Not Taken', do you know it?" he asked. Of course, I had, it being one of my favorite poems. "We have been talking for three-and-a-half years now," he continued, "and you're the only one that I want to talk to when I am down. The only one. Why aren't we more to each other?"

Very flustered with the subject matter, I took my time responding. "Well, we call each other family," I said at last. "Family is steadfast. Family doesn't melt away or forget...family is forever. That's quite a lot, isn't it?"

"So...you're saying that maybe we never wanted to take a risk. Maybe we were afraid to lose each other?"

"Maybe." I remember my heart thudding, a jackhammer in my chest. The room was spinning, and I was certain to throw up at any minute. Why was he doing this? Why was he messing with such a good thing? WHY?

"I was just thinking of that poem, is all..." he stalled, paused, then continued. "We sort of took the easy way out, the well worn way. Maybe..." he stopped abruptly, gathered his courage. "Maybe we should go back, try the other path?"



My life changed that night, January 18, 2002. My longtime friend and confidant decided it was high time that we showed a little emotional backbone. Eighteen months to the day, we wed in a garden ceremony. The birds chirped our wedding march, the flower beds perfumed the air, the sun charmed every surface to glitter, and that second, less traveled path, had led to something pretty spectacular.

Happy Anniversary, Miles :-)

Yesterday, I saw a white envelope labeled, "Laura" sitting upon the kitchen counter. It was scrawled in [aunt] Debbie's writing, and I smuggled it downstairs to read in private. Debbie has a way of bringing the bottled up emotions to the surface...I suppose it's healthy, but still not a process needing audience.

I broke the seal, and an angel pin fell into my palm. The golden cherub glittered and reflected light upon my skin as I extricated the card. It read,

"I know your world feels broken apart under the stress of what has happened. And sometimes your heart might feel shattered. I'm sorry it hurts so much and that you're having to go through this difficult time. But I also know that broken things can be transformed into beautiful mosaics. I believe that one day all the pieces of your world, all the tenderness of your heart will be restored. "

I am fortunate to have Debbie—she is a ready shoulder and a supporting arm. I often find it difficult to express my innermost emotions. I scarcely recognize them myself. It's survival, I suppose. I get up and ride the horse right away, before I have the chance to remember the fall...but it is important to think about that fall now and then.

I am taking the summer off, leastwise July, to spend with Mom. I finally made the decision to do so tonight. I've been poking around the job market amidst Miles saying, "Don't worry with that. Be with your mother," and Mom urging, "Take the summer off." I have struggled with the decision, but have decided to heed their advice.

We had a disappointing day today. There was a clinical trial available to Mom, one that she was eager to try. Unfortunately, it looks like insurance isn't going to cover the expense. We haven't received the official verdict, but preliminary investigation suggests so. It was a sucker punch. It is the risk you run when you hope. We need to take a deep breath, regroup, and hope anew.

Life hurts, I've discovered. That sounds naive, of course, but dramas in my life were limited until recent years. While the ache consumes me, I am struck by power of love. It is love that gives us hurt, love that gives us joy. As a young student, I skimmed a book passage that read, "Hatred is too close to love...the worst you can feel for another person is nothing at all." I am proud of my ache, I am proud that I let myself be hurt again and again. I am proud to love.