The Only Exception

By all accounts, she is a risk-taker. Otherwise known as a thrill-seeker, an adrenaline junkie, a hot shot and/or a show-off. She is always up for a dare and is occasionally a bit reckless.

She has jumped out of airplanes, raced stock cars, climbed mountains, rode rapids, plunged into the deep end more than once and puts her innermost thoughts out here in cyberspace for all to see, without giving it a second thought.

She is a little warrior.
She is fearless.
She is fierce.

Ehh, so that's not entirely true. While she is indeed all of the things (and more) in most aspects of her life, matters of the heart aren't so carefree and open minded.

Her life love story is no different than anyone else. She has loved and she has lost, Her heart has been broken and she's broken a few. She has experienced happiest of highs and the gut wrenching lows.

The good memories far outweigh the bad, but why is it always that little bit of pain and uncertainty, lying dormant most of the time, that prevents her from moving forward?

Why does she allow her past to dictate her future? When is it worth the risk? When will she stop living like a fucking Paramore song was written with her thoughts in mind? When will she figure it all out and stop second guessing it all?

Unlike all of those other adventurous things, love is something, that even at her age, she hasn't quite figured out how to do properly. It's one of the few things that she finds herself apprehensive about. Like a dumb, doe-eyed deer, she just stands there in the headlights unable to move.

Why can't she find the words to tell you what she really thinks and feels? Where is that brave little girl? The girl with the personality the size of Mt Everest, the one who is always smiling and laughing. She is confident and true, she is amazing! But in a matter of moments, when her heart beats just so, that girl is reduced to an awkward wallflower, stumbling around trying to get it right. Surrounded by some unseen barricade that she can't figure out how to get over. So comfortable at keeping a certain distance between her and her tell-tale heart.

Who is that girl?

How does that little darling dispense advice, good advice to anyone who will listen, but can't be bothered with listening to her own thoughts?

What she needs a better approach. Instead of living with the anxiety that it will all crash and burn, how about concentrating on actually taking flight first. Worry about the loose ends later, carry them with, but don't let them tie you down.

Someone needs to tell that bitch to chill. Seriously, bitch be cool. Oh, and stop talking about yourself in third person and figure shit out.

A Life Less Extraordinary

There are no absolutes in this life of ours, with the exception, of course, that one day we will die. That statement isn't meant to be sad or all melancholy and shit , it's just the cold, hard facts.

However, this life is a bit of a prankster. There you are functioning out in the world, doing your thang and everything is fine, perfectly status quo, happy as a clam...then bam, just like that the rug is pulled out from under you and everything changes on a dime.

What. The. Fuck. Life?! Why you got to be such a cruel bitch at times?

I sometimes actually fantasize about living a life less extraordinary. Don't get me wrong, I'm not living this incredible, lush, glamorous lifestyle, not by a long shot! What I mean is, I wonder what life would be like if I didn't think so much and analyze every fucking little detail of every fucking little thing so fucking much, you know, actually let my brain have a day off now and again. Or what if I had a way less stressful job, a job where people's lives weren't on the line.

How would it be if I slept like the normal people of the world, during the night instead of trying to keep my body upright from sundown to sunrise with copious amounts of caffeine. And would I freaking die if I didn't have to be the life of the party every single time?! What if my bark weren't actually worse than my bite and I had the courage to recognize and accept that about myself? What if I stopped using humor as a coping mechanism and for once faced my problems like a serious adult should. What if I had a heart that was incapable of being beaten up and bruised?

I'd be like a one man cast of Wizard of Oz characters, but hey, I sure would look cute in those ruby slippers!

Faults, I have 'em, that's a fact. There are many that I have come to terms with over the years, but what I can't seem to shed is this godammed armor that I've been wearing for years. You can't see it because it's that awesome Wonder Woman kind, but my true friends know it's there, they tell me when it clashes with my outfits and accessories. Those bastards will call me out in a minute, because they know what is underneath all of that heavy metal and fucking loud-assed, over the top personality of mine. I ain't fooling them, not for a minute! They know that ordinary girl exists, and guess what, they still love her for exactly who she is, the one that they have seen completely defenseless and weak and vulnerable and even pathetic at times, but they've never left my side, not for a second.

Turns out that perhaps I have not made enough peace with my past and am allowing it to fuck up my present. I've got to reign that shit in for reals, I mean someone that I met exactly four weeks ago recently told me that he too could see right through my "so called" tough girl facade. If my friends can see it and someone that I just met figured it out right away, why the fuck can't I?

For the record, this isn't meant to read as some self-loathing bullshit, it is just me admitting that I have a problem.

"Hi, my name is Kara and I like dressing up in suits of armor because I'm afraid of being susceptible to being wounded or hurt."

First step is admitting it, right? So I'm off to AA (Armor Anonymous) with the hopes of coming to terms with my addiction.

1. I admit that I am powerless over my addition. - Seriously, wearing this metal breastplate has become unmanageable.
2. I believe in a power greater than myself, can restore my sanity. - Well hello Sir Lancelot, where you been hiding all these years, I really could have used your armor wearing advice long ago!
3. I will make a decision to turn my will and life over to the care of God in the way that I understand Him. - For me, that means chocolate.
4. Make a searching and moral inventory of myself. - Like finally unpacking those boxes marked "hot mess" that are still buried in the back of my closet.
5. Admit to myself and other human beings the exact nature of my wrongs. - This is a tough one because, come on, am I truly ever wrong? Ok, ok...maybe so wrong, I'm right!
6. I'm entirely ready for God to remove all of my defects of character. - If I believed for a second that I could pray my armor away, I'd start praying the second I finish this blog post!
7. Humbly ask Him to remove my shortcomings. - Second verse, same as the first.
8. Make a list of the persons that I have harmed and become willing to make amends with all of them. - This could take a while, but okay.
9. Make direct amends to such people as much as possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. - I took an oath years ago in my profession to "Do No Harm," so I'm not about to start senseless injuries to those I care about.
10. Continue to take personal inventory, and when I am wrong, promptly admit it. - Gotcha, this I can do!
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as I understand Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out. - No joke, I'm signing up for some yoga classes right up the street from me this week. I could use a good, healthy dose of zen!
12. Have a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps and practice these principles in all my affairs. -Yep, I'll be fine once I get it, I'll be good.

"It's never too late to be happy. But it's all up to you and no one else!"

Step Right Up You're the Next Contestant in This Sweet Charade

This is a repost from my sister blog So, You're Telling Me There's a Chance? A blog that picks apart the online dating world as seen through my eyes. It kind of fit into the theme of that blog, but at the same time, much too poignant and personal to not be shared here.


Writing, for as long as I can remember, has always been something very cathartic for me, it calms me, lets me put things into perspective, pick apart things and move ahead. That being said, why the hell haven't I done it in over a year?

This blog in particular (So, Your Telling Me There's a Chance) is touchy, it reached an oogy point for me last year where I thought that perhaps I was sending out nothing but bad karma into the world and in return, nothing good would come my way.

I mean, I'd like to think that I'm a good person, who deserves good things, but you get what you give, right? If I am writing a blog with for the sole reason of "making fun" of the online dating world, do I really deserve to be happy for not giving it a fair shot? Will I die a creepy old spinster cat lady?

Who freaking knows, but today I'm going to write, damn the consequences, because I need some purgative, humorous bullshit to get me through. You see, I got the shaft today from someone that I was beginning to like very much. He was kinda, sorta just like me with facial hair and cute checkered boy shirts.

I knew all of the rules up front. He wasn't ready for a commitment, the ball was left in my court and I chose to play through. I'm a big girl, I knew what I was getting into. I accepted knowing that if I could deal with the "What's the worst thing that could happen" scenario, that I'd go all in.

You see, I take my advice from movie characters and just like Danny Ocean said, "You're either in or your out, right now."

Bam, I'm in!

I'm not sure that it was truly a break up per se, since we were just "dating" after all, but it was indeed a let down. Perhaps actually one of the saddest, yet inimitable that I have encountered in my life's work of dating. He didn't do anything wrong, He didn't hurt me intentionally. He was gentle and kind, took the time to give it some closure without leading me on further. I guess this is growing up, but it never gets any easier to take.

He said I "was the coolest girl he'd ever met." Followed of course by a big "but..."

There wasn't the "spark" that he needed to take it to the next level, the was "something missing" in his feelings towards me. A classic case of "it's not you, it's me, blah, blah, blah..."

It still felt like taking a bullet, even though I saw it coming five days ago. I felt him pulling back, kind of putting me in my place through his responses. I saw that our hours of texting and emailing were dwindling. Suddenly he was "too exhausted from a long day" and couldn't chat until 1:00 am like we did for nights on end or "rushing to get to a meeting" in the morning when once again, we would chat after I got off my night shift. Yeah, I saw this shit coming, the fucking writing on the wall, perhaps even before he did. I think it's called "a women's intuition." That shit is for real, like a god dammed sixth sense. We woman are like soothsayers when it comes to that kind of clairvoyance.

I was even making a mixed CD in the middle of the night, long before the dreaded "break up" took place and now to go back and listen to it after the fact is downright creepy. I subconsciously chose songs that foreshadowed the events of what was to come during the disassembling of what we had tried to build over the last four weeks. It's weird, it is like I chose the music in advance that would be playing in the background during our final curtain call.

 Seriously, what the fuck though? How can I be the "coolest girl" that someone has ever met, but still not cool enough, or sexy enough, or smart enough, or just whatever. My thoughts on what we had going on versus his own feelings towards "us" got all kinds of mad lost in translation and I was the one left with the broken heart.

Sigh. What can you do? I can only be me myself and if the other person isn't down with that or just not attracted to me on some physical, emotional level, then what is the point of trying to force it to work?

Granted, I still feel burned that he only gave me a such a small amount of time to make such a judgement on where this was or wasn't headed, there is so much more beyond the surface, that quite frankly is his loss for not getting to know. I suspect that he met someone else in the dating world that better suited his needs. Maybe I can't really blame him. I mean, who can stand being around a loud mouth, always on the go, sarcastic prick like me? That's quite a handful to put up with, even for the strongest of men.

I'm not going to bad mouth him at all though, I have much respect for him and he is one of the coolest people that I have ever met. I am hoping that we can build a friendship out of the foundation that began to get us here in the first place. He is one of the easiest people to talk and laugh with.

Who knows, maybe I put too much out there too soon, I might never know. Maybe he recognized all of my quirky little flaws and decided they weren't worth it to him to deal with.
The truth is I don't really know, I am just going to have to accept it for what it is and move on. Everyone deserves their own happiness and if I am the one who is not making him happy, then he have every right to go find someone who can.

He is a genuinely great guy and yeah, I admit it, I thought this was going to be all super delicious and stuff.  After all I am a girl, we hope and dream, and plan, it's what we do! It was astonishing to me how we had SO much in common and could talk/text/email for hours about anything and everything. I hope for the best, but had been bracing myself for the very moment he asked if we could talk this morning.

We were unable to talk face to face, because we live about 90 minutes from one another, but we did talk "face time to face time," oh technology, I guess that's the way of getting it done in this day and age, beats getting a text I suppose. My eyes welled up with tears before I could even pick up the phone. I really hate the girlie girl squishy center of my hard candy exterior.

I wish him nothing but the best and do hope that we can eventually reach a level where we can be BFFs! Even though at the moment I've got noting left in side of my chest, I'm going to be alright eventually.  He is truly one of the good ones. That is what makes it almost worse. If he had been a true prick, today would have been a brighter day for sure. Yeah, I'd be angry at the bad behavior, but at least I'd have a reason to hate him and want him out of my life, but there was no concrete information given, so I'm still a little in the weeds I guess. A little sad, a tad bit annoyed, a smidgen of fury, and a whole lot of disappointment.

I honestly thought that this was gonna be great, our personalities seemed to mesh so incredibly well and complement each other's, we literally could openly talk about anything thrown out on the table. Hell, I'm just waxing poetic now about the "what ifs," because I'm a girl, and again it's what we do, it's in the blood.

Maybe I rushed to emotion too soon. Maybe my sarcasm was too much. Maybe I laid too low and didn't say what I needed to say, when I needed to say it. Maybe it's my aversion, versus his love of all seafood was the worst turnoff ever.  I dunno.

So much for the afterglow...

Now prepare yourselves, instant karma's gonna get me, because the next installment of this blog entry is going to be just as ridiculously out of control as it was last year around this time. I've got some real doozies just sitting in online dating site inboxes to share!

Let the next chapter begin, I'm back in the saddle!

Like a perfect little sunflower, you were meant to be enjoyed while it lasted.

I See Dead People

Sometimes I talk to dead people. That's crazy, right? Before you judge me, let me explain. While I'm not an exceptionally religious person, as in I have not darkened the doors of a church in years, I do believe in God and heaven. I also choose to believe that when people die their souls live on and guide us from above.

Spirituality was something that I never really understood until David came along. It was only after he was gone that I began to view death in a different light. If you have read any of my previous posts involving feathers then you know that David was a dear friend of mine who passed away in October of 2005. His death consumed me, in fact it still does to this day but for more diverse reasons.

Throughout his funeral I was inconsolable. During the service, a small, white feather landed on the sleeve of my friend Trish who was seated next to me. Without thinking she plucked it off and handed it to me. She whispered for me to hold onto it and focus, somehow knowing that the distraction would help get me through. It worked. I walked out of the funeral home with it still firmly gripped in my hand.

For reasons unknown to me then, I felt compelled to keep that feather. I put it in my wallet to protect it and started my new life without David in it.

The next day I was the opening manager at the Pottery Barn where David and I had worked. It was quiet as I went through my morning routine of preparing the store for business. My associates had yet to arrive, so it was just me and my thoughts. I paused in the Design Studio where I had last seen his smile to say "Hello." And right there, on the verge of falling to pieces, I saw it...another feather. David had found a way to say hello back to me in a way that I could understand.

That was the day that I learned to accept the unexpected. Even though I found it impossible to comprehend, I opened my mind and heart to the fact that certain things defied explanation. All it took was a leap of faith on my part and I'd know that even in death, David would be with me always.

In the nearly six years since his passing, he still finds a way to communicate with me. I have found feathers of all shapes and sizes in the most surprising places. I always pause after picking them up and look into the sky and say "Hello" right back to my friend. The feathers serve as a reminder that with hope, anything is possible, even in the most impossible of circumstances. Where there is a will, there is a way.

In my line of work, I see people die right before my eyes. It is the harsh reality of working in the Emergency Department and unfortunately, it comes with the job. No matter how I try to man up and accept it, death still haunts me. Ironically, not only did I work in an environment where David was very much alive, I now work in the same place where he died. I was put there for a reason and embrace it for what it's worth. I help people in sickness and pray for those departed.

When someone dies in the ER, my emotions automatically go back to the Thursday afternoon in late October, 2005 when I first heard the news that David was gone. It is a natural reaction to put myself into the shoes of the family and friends who will mourn their own losses. Being in a room with a lifeless body is surreal, it's just not something that you get used to. We're not supposed to unless perhaps your profession is that of a funeral director or pathologist.

I always pause to say "Goodbye," remind them that they we're loved and the love they gave love in return was so appreciated. Their life touched the lives of others and they will be dearly missed, but it's not over. It's never over unless you make that choice. I hope that their loved ones find their own form of feathers in which to comfort and communicate.

In life it's all about the heart, we follow it and live by the emotions it generates. The soul is immortal, it survives death and lives on in spirit and in my world through feathers. That's crazy, right? Maybe...but to me it makes perfect sense.

Feathered

You know that I saw you today, I heard you say hello in our own celestial form of communication and today, like every day, I was grateful.

You put a smile on my face, a lump in my throat and filled my heart with love with one single feather.

Even in death, you still manage to give me the strength to straighten up and fly right when my own quills are a little worse for wear.

I still miss you all the time.

All That Shimmers

It is a terribly crushing feeling when something you believed in lets you down. I mean it happens, I am not naive. My own 14-karat gold plating has been rubbed off a time or two, unveiling nothing but cold hard metal underneath. It's the part of life that no one likes to talk about and tries like hell to avoid, but no matter what, it will always happen.

I've been through quite a few different emotions as of late. I was giddy and excited and hopeful and open to something new and beautiful...and although not a real word, I guess you could say I was feeling a little "smittenish"and for once in a long while, it felt like a good place to be.

I found myself smiling more and being silly for no reason; people took notice of my happiness. Oh my happy; it was indeed a good place to be. And then, without warning that a storm was brewing, the lights went out, proving once again that all that shimmers in this world is sure to fade.

When a serious step needed to be taken, a different path was chosen; leaving me standing at the fork alone with my tears and disillusion. It could be a classic case of "poor me," but not for this girl. Remember behind those weepy eyes, I'm tough...right?!

I'm made of cold hard metal beneath my skin, just like you.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, "Every wall is a door." For every obstacle that we encounter in this life, there is always a way over it. There is nothing that can prevent us from getting through it and moving on, knowing that at the point of impact, we are the ones that hold the key to it's door.

My pursuit has not been dashed, it just begins again.

I will never lose sight of who I am and what I want. I'm true to myself, but recognize those who come into my life for a reason and change it for the better. Even the hardest of metals have their melting point.

Hello Emotions, Meet My Sleeve

I am a hot mess when it comes to my emotional well-being! This isn't something that just happened over night, it has been a constant thorn in my side for as long as I can remember. For someone with such a confident facade you would think that I would be able to keep it all in check, but in stressful situations I turn into a sucky baby, complete with tears. And when I say tears, I'm not talking that misty-eyed, dewy look that you see in the movies, I'm talking full on eyes red and swollen waterworks or as Oprah would call it, "the ugly cry."

The ugly cry ain't pretty folks! It is often accompanied by lots of snot and hyperventilation, which really helps to seal the hot mess deal. The more I try to control it, the harder I usually end up sobbing. It is a foolish reaction on my part and frustrating because there is nothing that I can do to stop it. So I cry and I cry and cry some more. Sometimes I cry so hard that I can't even form a simple word. When it does finally come out it sounds as if I've been afflicted with some horrible form of Tourettes.

Not only is it uncomfortable for me, but for anyone on the receiving end of that shit thinks they've stabbed me to the core with their otherwise harmless words. It really isn't you, it's me. You aren't hurting me any more than you would if I were able to man up a little. I just look and act as if I were, so please carry on, I am fine dammit!

When it comes to crying, I am pretty consistent. I make the exact same face today as I did as a toddler. Same big pouty lips and one of the most tragically sad expressions ever. I'd feel sorry for me if I had to look at myself. Crumbling on the outside, shaken but stoic on the inside.

When I was little my Mom would often play the "Free to Be, You and Me" album for me, there was a song on it called "It's Alright to Cry and to this day every time that I cry I can hear Rosey Grier's voice singing, "It's alright to cry, crying gets the sad out of you. It's alright to cry, it might make you feel better." It really does! A good cry, in my opinion, is therapeutic. It may not take all the sad away but it sure does help.

Crying is such a normal reaction for me, it is hard to imagine someone not crying. Holding all that pent-up pain and emotional stress inside can't be healthy! It manifests itself into destructive behaviors and aggression. It is unimaginable to me how someone could bottle that all up inside. I also can't imagine a life without a stable shoulder to rest your head on and a sympathetic ear to listen. Someone who can ultimately reel you back into reality.

My father is a perfect sounding board for these kind of events. He loves to tell me in his slow, southern drawl "Sugar, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." My response is always, "Well then I should have the strength of 10 men by now!" I really hated that expression for a long time because although I wasn't dead, I sure as hell didn't feel any stronger! Not after the first, fifth or thirtieth time he said it to me. Why? Because I didn't actually accept the context in which he meant it. After years of reflection, I know that he means my heart, mind and spirit.

Sure hearts break, but they eventually mend. Minds get lost, but are found in good time and spirits crushed, but never completely stripped away. I will rebuild. My foundation will be stronger, my perception wiser and my affection returned to it's rightful owner.

I'm just not there quite yet, but it will happen. In the meantime, it's alright to cry.

The Secrets That You Keep

As a Healthcare worker, there is a certain code that I and every one of my colleagues must follow. HIPAA laws require that we keep patient information private and secure.

It would be foolish to say that we don't talk about some of what we encounter on a daily basis, especially the weird stuff, but by not disclosing the names or other personal information of the patients somehow makes it feel alright.

Talking it out helps to diffuse difficult situations, make sense of the tragic cases and at times just plain makes for good comedy.

No matter how we dissect it with our laymen friends and family, they will never truly know the sum of all the parts. There are some visions and emotions that can't be seen or felt unless you were there.

Standing in the trauma bay over a body who you've preformed countless cycles of CPR on when the time of death has been called by the physician, holding your tongue around the mother and father who have brought their child in, knowing all along that it was them that caused the physical harm, talking with a patient just moments before they "crash," watching the pain in a loved ones eyes as they uphold the patient's "Do Not Resuscitate" wishes, watching helplessly as blood pours from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head of an adolescent.

Every day brings a new experience and every day I am witness to privileged information. Images and feelings that will stay with me forever.

These are the secrets that we keep.

It is easy for me to understand how many in the profession become jaded and detached from the emotional aspect of the job. In a way I am almost envious.

I lack that ability.

There are mornings that I get into my car after a 12 hour night shift and cry all the way home. There are times that I can't sleep because of the emotional beat down I have taken. There are times when a traumatic event randomly pops into my mind, usually at the most inconvenient of times.

It is painful and messy and dysfunctional, but in the end I wouldn't want it any other way. We feel the bad times in order to truly appreciate the good ones, at least that is how things work in my mind.

Some say that people get into healthcare because they have an inherent need to fix others because we lack something inside to fix ourselves.

It is like giving out great advice without actually taking it.

Lord knows I ain't perfect. I could easily define myself as a real fixer-upper, but knowing that I can contribute to the healing process of someone else is a true gift.

I knew what I was getting myself in to when I signed up, it can be brutal. I can't tell you how many times people have said to me, "It takes a special person to do what you do" or  "There is no way I could do your job."

It reminds me that I am one of those "special" people who can.

So I will continue to keep those secrets, revealing only tiny bits and pieces of them in an effort to maintain my own piece of mind. I will continue to hope for the best while accepting the worst, knowing that reward is out there in the smile of those I have helped along the way.

Feathery Goodness

I received a package for my birthday from my mother in the mail the other day.

When I opened it I found a variety of gift cards, a bright pink envelope that held the perfect "Mother to Daughter" birthday greeting and a plain white envelope with my mom's handwriting on it that read, "I found this right outside the Hallmark store as I was leaving from buying your card."

I instantly knew exactly what was inside.

Instead of opening it, I held it up to the sun so that I could see the silhouette of it's contents.

There it was... a feather.

I burst into bittersweet tears right there on the sidewalk.

David remembered my birthday and as I wrote about on September 3rd, "Perching The Soul," he had found a way to send me some love on my special day.

As I have previously stated, I find feathers in the oddest places at points in my life that I need a bit of inspiration, but other than that first feather that Trish gave to me that sad day of David's funeral, no one else had ever "found" one for me.

I love that my mother was used as a vessel and that she remembered and cared enough to stop and pick it up for me.

The feather thing is something quirky that I thought I only understood, but David added a new dynamic to it all by hitching a ride with my mother's birthday greeting that originated some 200 miles away.

It has been almost five years since his death, but our relationship continues to thrive through alternate means of communication.

Through David's feathery messages,  I am reminded of good and helped through the bad.

At the end of the day, I am filled with hope.

Perching The Soul

I can vividly recall all of the events that transpired on October 20, 2005. I remember the phone call from my friend Trish and exactly where I was standing and what I was looking at when she told me "to sit down."

Up until that time, I never understood the complexity of that statement, I felt fully capable of accepting bad news regardless of my body position.

She then told me that David had died from an overdose.

My legs went numb and my knees buckled from underneath me. Yes, there is good reason to sit when someone tells you to do so.

How could this be true, I just saw him. We had weekly cheesecake together just four days earlier. There were no evident signs that he was planning on taking his life.

David and I worked together at the Pottery Barn. We started at the same time three years earlier and became fast friends. He was the most fantastically, flamboyant gay man that I had ever met. He made no apologies for who he was, he was perfect as is.

Prior to David's death, I had lost three other friends to suicide.

The first was a Paramedic classmate who started an IV of anti-freeze on himself. The second a Nurse Practitioner who slit his femoral artery and the third put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger in his mother's home.

Every one of those is almost unimaginable, unreal even. I went to all three of their funerals and mourned the loss of each of them, but it would be David's quiet passing that would affect me the most.

In life, David was a star. Beautiful in every way. He'd greet you every time with a hug and would be the first to cheer you up when you were down. He was brilliant and hilarious.

He was outlandish in life, death didn't become him.

I sat with Trish at his funeral and openly wept. It was uncontrollable. There more I tried to stifle my sobs, the worse it became.

Trish did all the things a good friend should to to try to comfort me but nothing worked until she noticed a tiny white feather on the sleeve of her black sweater. Without even thinking, she picked it off and handed it to me.

For whatever reason I held on to that feather for the rest of the service. It gave me some sense of focus and calmed me down.

I put it into my wallet as we filed out of the funeral home and didn't think of it again for the next few days.

When I returned to work, I was alone one morning in the store, opening up the cash registers and doing some quick straightening before my associates arrived.

I was in the Design Studio, the area where David had worked when I saw it...a feather.

A random feather sitting at his work station.

Now, I am not an overly religious person by any means and never really thought of myself as "spiritual," but this was more than coincidence. 

I realized at that moment that while David was gone in the physical sense, he would be with me always, we just had to find a new "language" in which to communicate. 

In the nearly five years since his passing, I have found countless feathers in the most unexpected and unusual places. I have collected each one and saved them in a glass-faced shadow box.

There are probably close to 200 in there at this time. 

Every time David "speaks" to me, I look high into the sky and say hello.

The feathers serve as a reminder to "hang in there" when the going gets tough, to celebrate the good times, cherish family and friends and accept the unexpected no matter how it presents itself. 


"Hope is the thing with feathers."