My Heaven

I walked into my mom’s little apartment and scanned the room. It looked exactly the same as it had 12 years ago. I looked over to the kitchen table. I stood, stunned, silent. My mom was sitting at the table talking with my son, who was eating something covered with ketchup. I walked over to my son who was laughing and talking now to me, about who knows what. Something ketchup related I think. I don’t really recall. I was so caught up in just looking at him. I kept staring at his little face.

“I remember! I remember! How do I remember him so clearly looking 4 years old?”

I knew I was in a dream. I knew my son was now 23 years old. Yet his face, his smile, it was exactly the same as when he was 4. I cleaned up his small hands as my mom walked to the kitchen. Her back was to me. I was scared to talk. I was scared if I spoke she would disappear. I waited to see if she would say anything. She didn’t. Still knowing I was in a dream. Still knowing my mom died 12 years ago I walked over to her. I just stood there. Her back still to me.

I thought, what am I doing here if she isn’t going to talk to me?

I turned, walked back, and sat in the kitchen chair.I looked at her still waiting for her words of wisdom.

She said nothing.

Finally, I screamed out, Mom I just miss you so much!

Without turning around I heard a voice. It wasn’t her. It was a man. He said, “She is in the room with you right now.”

I woke up to the sound of my own voice. “She is in the room with me right now?”

I looked around the dark room. I deeply wanted to go back to my dream. Be there for just another minute. Hear her voice. Just see her even if she didn’t talk. But in that moment a sense of peace came over me.

I started to wonder, was that her heaven? Her little grandson at 4 years old laughing covered in ketchup. Just hanging with grandma in her small apartment? Did I just walk into my moms heaven? Or maybe, just maybe, I just walked into mine.

I remember the first time I wasn’t sad after my mom passed. I remember thinking “Hey, I had a good day today.” Then some days strung together. A good week. I know I still miss her and I know some days are worse than others. As the seasons change and it becomes “holiday season” I know I can enjoy the holiday but I also know it’s different now. These are the times I miss her most. I know there are others out there like me, missing someone they love this holiday season. Or maybe it’s just a bad day. I want you to know, you’re not alone.

We might not see them. But they are in our hearts. They are in our thoughts and memories. They are with us.

Police Wives Talk Radio

Police Wives Talk Radio Hosts a "Recovering Dysfunctional"!

Join PWTR for  "Ride Along" with Diana Lynn - A "Recovering Dysfunctional": 

http://tobtr.com/s/5701555

This week I had the great joy of being on Police Wives Talk Radio. I know there are a lot of thoughts and prayers given to our police officers daily. Rightfully so. But next time you put an officer in your prayers. Please add a little pray for the families who wait for that loved one to come home each night.

I, myself haven't had much interaction with "the law". But I did have an encounter with an officer on my way to get married. Check out Pieces of Me: Life of a Recovering Dysfunctional for My Perfect Wedding.


Much much love and respect to officers and their families.

A guest writer ---Picasso smile

Below is a poem from my friend Kim. I find her words beautiful, almost magical. Every word so carefully chosen. Its as if she were in my head, taking my thoughts, and putting them to paper. I wanted to share 1 of my favorites pieces with you today.


I look into my mirror, a shattered picture as it falls,
and dig into the shards of glass to restore the image I recall.
A broken scrambled vision is all that I can see
but somewhere in the pieces must be a part of me.
As though I were a kaleidoscope, with each turn the pictures change
and though its my hand on the vessel, I cannot control what is arranged.
Where have I disappeared to? Can somebody tell me how
I could lose my own identity within vanity's favorite shroud?
I feel so lost and fearful that I may never find
the person who still lives within the corners of my mind.
Did she once reside within a youthful stare?
Or have my memories forsaken me and left me painfully aware
that I may never find the girl the my broken mirror stole
and perhaps I never liked her even when she still was whole.
Even then I searched for the image to be enhanced
and never gave what I had to offer its rightful passing glance.
I've tried so hard to remember and yet cannot recall
ever smiling at myself to recite "mirror- mirror on the wall".
Perhaps that’s why the mirror fell, like a broken heart unhealed
as if to say "you never did appreciate the person I revealed".
So as I put together each piece of broken glass
I see each shard representing future, present, and my past.
and I wonder as I come closer to my end of time
what proof of my existence will I have left behind-
The color of my children's eyes, the words I chose to style
or perhaps a broken mirror with a Picasso looking smile.
I pray there will be many treasures I will have to give,
the good, the bad, the everything that’s says
I was here, I lived.
-Kim-

Wellness Woman

If someone were to ask me: What magazine's do you read? Two weeks ago, I'd say "None."

I love reading books but I'm not really into magazines. I'm not sure why. Maybe the content doesn't capture my attention like a good book. But I have to say. That's all changed now. If someone said what magazine do you read?

I'd say Wellness Woman Magazine. http://bit.ly/WellnessWoman40andBeyondEMagazine.

This magazine is jam packed with wonderful, beautiful tips and insight we can all benefit from. It's formatted like a real magazine. You flip through the pages as if you are holding an actual magazine. It's a great layout and fun to read.

If you are looking for a little inspiration, check it out.

The Wellness Journey

I'm so looking forward to being on The Wellness Journey today. Listen live at: 

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/thewellnessjourneylive/2013/10/24/pieces-of-me-life-of-a-recovering-dysfunctional

Last Kiss (page 13 of Pieces of Me: Life of a Recovering Dysfunctional)

“Love is something eternal; the aspect may change, but not the essence.” — Vincent van Gogh

The big red numbers on the clock lit the room. Six thirteen a.m.; it was way too

early to call Angela. I rolled out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom, and turned on the
 
shower. As I stood waiting for the water to warm up, I wondered if I should write down

my dream. Would I remember it by the time I talked with her? Something told me I

would never forget it. As I drove to work, I replayed in my mind every detail. It was so

real. It had to be real.

But why would Charlie come to see me?

It had been six years since he passed away.

It was the first time anyone I truly cared about had passed. I was only 24 when he

died. He was just 26. His death shocked all our friends, but most of all it sent Angela

reeling. Charlie and Angie had been in love since they were 15. I don’t know if any of us

fully got over the loss of Charlie. I am not sure if Angie ever will.

When I got to work, I looked to see if my boss was in yet. I couldn’t wait to talk to

Angie. I couldn’t wait another minute. I sent her an email asking her to call me as soon

as she was free.

I let out a little laugh when my phone immediately rang.

“Angie?” I said.

“Yea what’s going on?”

“I had a dream last night.”

“Was it about Charlie?” she asked.

“Yes!” I said filled with excitement.

I knew it! It was too real. I knew it!

I asked her, “Did you dream about Charlie last night?”

 

...
 

Check out Pieces of Me: Life of a Recovering Dysfunctional for the ending to this story and many more.

 

http://www.amazon.com/Pieces-Me-Recovering-Dysfunctional-Volume/dp/0615663222/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1377976480&sr=8-1&keywords=pieces+of+me+diana+lynn

 

Thank you for your service!

Do you ever just flip through the channels and randomly stop on a show you never watch? For some reason it just catches your eye. That happened to my husband yesterday. He stopped on a show neither of us watches, although we have passed by it many times.

Bomb Patrol, Afghanistan

It was scene after scene of these men blowing up roadside bombs. Some were blowing bombs up with remote control devices and some had to walk right up to the bomb to prepare it to be blown.

We watched one man balancing on the side of the cliff putting a device over a bomb to blow it up. It was pitch black. We couldn’t really see what he was doing we could only hear his breathing. I was frozen watching him.

He safely prepared the bomb and returned to the other’s waiting for him.

As he smiled he said, “That got real.”  Then he said, “I hope my mom doesn’t see that one.”

This is someone’s job. This is someone’s job! There is a mother out there that has a son that blows up bombs, in a different country, for a living. I cannot even begin to imagine what his family must feel on a daily basis. How do you adjust to that? I freak-out when my son goes to Seattle on a Saturday night.

I know. We all know that there are people risking their lives. I know we lose men & women in battle--in war often. But as I sat watching these men building devices to blow up bombs it really hit me what they risk and sacrifice every day.

I found myself saying, “This is sad.” “This show is sad.” “I feel sad.” “I don’t want to watch this anymore.”

I think now what made me sad was me. I’m sad I didn’t give them the respect, the care enough to think of these guys daily. To pray for them daily while they are over there and for their safe return. Heck, I couldn’t even stop on a show about the men & women working so hard for us overseas.

Of course, I would be thankful and I would think it’s terrible we are over there.

But. I get it now. I see it differently.

I am so truly grateful for what the service men & women do for this country. I am so truly appreciative of the families waiting for their children to come home.

A very heartfelt thank you!