Category Archives: mental health

Apr 12 2025
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Bible, death, depression, Marriage, mental health, random, writing

Sunsets and Peace and Connection, Oh My.

a.k.a. #lentphotoaday April 11 “PEACE”

I’m working my way through this day. The above angel mark was thick today and it was mighty. Before I sat on my back stoop and watched the sun set on a beautiful night, I had a hard day. I was extra lonely. My husband is out of town and we are usually our own bosom buddies when one of us is not working. Some things happened today that really made me sad. Life transitions are being clunky, but I know living here in this medicinal bubble of a home is keeping me afloat.

John 14:27. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

Many of us have heard a variation of this a million times during the gospel. You didn’t hear it always on the weekly rotation, but it was usually in the go-to options of the starting line-up.

The Biblical concept of PEACE encompasses total wholeness, total health, total welfare; the total of God’s blessings. PEACE is sprinkled ALLLLL over the Bible. It’s a strong vibe. Obviously because when there is chaos we seek to find PEACE.

This next one is taking up extra rental space in my head right now:

John 16:22 So also you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.

I’m tired.

Someone I love called me today upset. They missed their parent they recently lost. Boy, do I get it. It got us to talking about the paths our lives are taking and how sad it was that while they are making some dreams come true that their parent always championed, they were so filled with grief that they were missing it. I asked them if they think their loved one is really missing it? They thought for a more than a minute.

Because, I explained, I don’t think they are missing it. I think they are right here with us. Walking next to us. Holding out their hand, helping guide us, rooting for us, being our champions in Heaven. I feel my father all the time. I know he is with me. That’s just what I believe though. Some might call me crazy for sure. Whatevs. I explained further that life is so hard. But what I do know, very easily and with a lot of calmness and peace; that they indeed walk among us. It’s awful they are not physically here, it’s the very worst and we can do nothing to change it. But at least they are spiritually present. And that does give me PEACE.

I took myself outside for the sunset and sat on my stoop. I watched Sam the muskrat float by on his back, enjoying the vastness of the the lake before the docks go in, before the motors start humming, and the summer sounds start amping up. I saw the baby ducks scootch by with their families, and the geese making their way back to the hood. I wrapped up in my cardigan, leaned back on the banister and watched God’s show. I felt my Dad with me, winking to me that sunset. Thanks Daddy. It gave such good PEACE.

Love you.

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Apr 10 2025
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Bible, death, family, mental health, News, writing

Understanding the Beatitudes: Finding Blessings in Everyday Life.

Also known as #lentphotoaday April 10 “BLESSED.”

I’m going to go a little bit of a different route on today’s word, and focus on the Beatitudes. The Beatitudes are a set of eight blessings recited by Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel (5:3-12) and four in Luke’s Gospel (6:20-23). I def had to Google that.

As a core part of the Sermon on the Mount, I grew up hearing these words. Beautus is Latin for “Happy” or “BLESSED.” Basically, these are the qualities based on those who belong in Heaven. Whoof. Tall order?

To be “poor in spirit” means to acknowledge ones deepest human need for God and to grow into that longing and that dependence on a daily basis. You kind of have to want it. And know you want it. You could be walking around out there, all “poor in spirit”, but are you poor if it’s not even on your radar? But it’s like God has your back anyway. He’s holding down the fort for if, and when, you want to spiritually grow. I happened recently have my “Aha” moment and now I am here for it.

Mourning. Oof. The Bible reminds us that death is not the end, and that mourning is temporary. This is where faith of knowing our loved ones are in a better place and that we will hopefully see them again comes in, and it’s quite the multi-layered concept. After basically two years of shock, I am settling into my mourning and grief of my father. It’s every day with me. It’s always me hoping that he has a beautiful spot in Heaven, he is watching over us and he is waiting to see us again. Sometimes, when I hear myself talk about these feelings, I feel like I have the spirituality of a 9 year old. And I am ok with that. Works for me.

In Bibleland, meek does not equal weak. No sir. It’s not about being passive, shy and timid. It’s about humility, gentleness and patience. I find it hard to stay obedient in a political climate that has us in a chokehold. If I stay quiet, if I don’t fight back, if I let them walk all over me, am I weak or meek? I think it’s more strength of control. I argue with the concept that we need to submit without resistance when facing our chaotic national crisis, but spiritually, I feel it easier just to relent.

OK, Google AI, I see you. “In the context of Matthew 5:6, ‘hunger and thirst for righteousness‘ signifies a deep, passionate desire for what is morally right and just, a yearning for a relationship with God and a life that reflects His character, which is a spiritual need that, when fulfilled, brings true satisfaction.” I mean, I feel like I am going back to SCHOOL here. So, I see this as a call to action. We get hungry so we eat and we get thirsty so we drink. Hunger and thirst for righteousness is longing spiritually for growth and connection to God. Feed it and you come closer to living a life that feels worthy.

Mercy seems to be like a BBF of grace. Mercy is often expressed through the pardon of sins, second chances, forgiveness. I LOVE the word grace and the whole concept of it. It’s really one of my favorites. God’s unearned favor and kindness is such a beautiful thing to me because so many of us are so darn hard on ourselves. Knowing that there is just a simple hug out there for you when you can’t hug yourself is everything. The Bible starts strong with mercy when God forgives Adam and Eve. Then he heads over and forgives the Egyptian slave delivery of Israelites. Let’s not forget the actual sacrifice of Jesus Christ for the sins of humanity.  It might be a hard sell to think that we are encouraged to be nice to our enemies, to forgive those who hurt us and to give to them without getting back. We can strive to give people what they need and not what they deserve. Let the big guy take care of that. That’s what he does with us.

My goodness, could we use a good peacemaker right now. I can’t help but to keep on referring to the big conflict, the big elephant in the room as our nation in crisis. It seems too lofty a request to try to find someone, a few, a gaggle of peacemakers to help pull us out of this shitstorm. When I am overwhelmed with the bigness of something like this, I have a panic attack, cry and then I break it down. How can I find peace in this moment to make me feel better? To make the ones I love feel more peaceful? Quite apparently these days, I’m going with God for 500, Alex. Where are our Ghandi’s, Mother Teresa’s, Martin Luther King’s? Our Desmond Tutu’s, Dali Lama’s, John Lennon’s? No seriously. Where are they. Someone point them out to me. I don’t think we fully really knew they trying to peace out the world until after the fact? I mean, we all knew that MLK was doing brave, great and powerful things. Mother Teresa, hello. Ghandhi, pfft obviously. I don’t know if we can pinpoint a champion right now. So I go to God. And Dr. Heather Cox Richardson for a daily health fact-based update of our democracy. You go girl.

And finally, we can address righteous persecution, also know as faith under pressure. One can lead a good life, have good morals, honor God and his ways, and you get beat up for it. Prophets Elijah and Jerimiah were God-shamed for sure. Elijah stuck to his guns and was rewarded by getting a sweet ride to Heaven in a fiery Chariot. Jeremiah, as known as “The Weeping Prophet”, tried to warn Israel of the consequences of broken covenants, but nooooo they wouldn’t listen. He was an empath, for sure. He was also super hard on himself. But he had courage and he stuck with his convictions, even when his own family bailed on him. He put in a lot of effort and he didn’t get to see those results, just a lifetime of bullying. But it was the impact of his lifetime deeds that God and generations after used to as an example of perseverance in ministry.

Love you.


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Apr 08 2025
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Auto Immune Disease, death, family, Getting old, health, mental health, random, rheumatoid arthritis, writing

Navigating Illness and Spiritual Growth

Or also know as: A Lenten Reflective Journey…With Hiccups.

Ahhh, Facebook….the best online hang in the world to connect, yet simultaneously annoying, politically stressful and chock full of HACKERS.

Last month, I saw a dear friend involved in a Facebook #rethinkchurch daily practice, inspired by The United Methodist Church. She was participating with another lovely friend who moved to the Big Stone Gap, and it’s been nice to be able to keep tabs on her and her wonderful life out there. I was intrigued by the idea of spiritual reflection, with a sprinkle of accountability. It’s always been a good look for me. In the last three years, I very painfully lost my dad and have been suffering from chronic health issues. My kids are getting older, life is moving so much faster. I feel very grateful for my soul mate husband, my loving children, family, friends, my home and my life. I am washed over with the overwhelming need to express my gratitude and thankfulness.

I had somewhat of a darker experience with religion when I was younger. Dark isn’t quite the right word. It’s not a positive word to pinpoint, but it was…problematic? So, as we sometimes do, I put it all in my pocket and I shoved it in the back of the closet. Well. Seems like I’m feeling the need to clean a little house. Exploring my relationship with religion and God has slowing inched over to me on the couch. I’m starting to lean in and I’m starting to listen.

At the beginning of March, I started the daily #lentphotoaday, prompted by a suggested word. I would post it on my FB page, tagging my reflective Lent tribe. I loved it. I was waking up every morning, inspired by nature outside my window, old photos, memories and pulling out our old family Bible. It all felt very cathartic and warm to explore.

And then we got Facebooked hacked.

And then I got really sick.

And then, instead of being able to reflect on my past, present and future relationship with God, and preparing for Easter in my own little way, I was just praying to God that I would get better and not die in the hospital. Not the journey I was intending.

I was in there seven days with a virus that turned pneumonic, and heavy IV steroids that bumped me to coma-high blood sugars. All of that craziness thrust me into a rancid, full-blown case of Diabetes. It sounds dramatic because it is. It sucks. I’m home now in insulin, bruised like a pin cushion, beat-up, weak and exhausted. My new medical path has changed and I will be now focusing on getting better. But I remain positive because LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL. I am babying myself so I can keep plugging along. Summer is coming…summer is coming.

In the end, if I can also be honest, I think this worked out. It’s getting me writing again. Also, It was not a comfortable platform for me to be sharing my reflections anyway. My FB circle is used to handling my funny meme’s, annoying mom brag posts and lots of music promotional material. I think it works out for me to head over to this crazy little Heatherland. Its feels so much more appropriate; a public blog, but ironically personal, since no one really reads it.

Therefore, here I am, jumping back into the Lent pool.

Next post: The word of today is BRING.

Love you.

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Feb 14 2022
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death, family, Getting old, health, holidays, Marriage, mental health, News, parenting, random, writing

Dementia Doesn’t Care About the Super Bowl

The first headline I read this morning was from Huff Post:

“Gen Xers and Millennial’s Got Into Weirdest Fight Over Super Bowl HalfTime Show”

My eyes are full of tears and I have to look away. I glance up at the hospital room TV. The halftime show star is starting, but it’s on mute. Mike and I are helplessly watching two hospital nurses shake you awake to see if you were ok. It takes about 10 minutes. You are so confused when you wake up. I have to leave to room to go cry in the hallway. Again.

We missed the half time show. But we also didn’t miss a thing. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, Dad. XO

Love,

Twinkle Toes

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Aug 07 2021
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Getting old, health, mental health, writing

Awe Is Not Always Happy

Round two: (better late than never.)

How is he talking to me and he looks like himself and his hands move like himself and I’ve sat in this chair across from him a million times while he sat in that chair across from me a million times? Now all his words in their order make no sense like cut up, strung up and mismatched pieces of fabric. I’m trying to smile on the outside and I’m praying he can’t tell that I’m screaming and crying on the inside.

I’m in awe, and it’s not in the fireworks way, or being at Disney way, or a nurse handing one of my babies in my arms for the first time sort of way. That’s all awe filled with joy.

Tonight he couldn’t tell me very importantly what he very importantly wanted to tell me. That’s awe filled with sad.

Falling asleep, broken heart. Scrunch tears and think of years ago, walking on a beach where he pulled me out of the water, laughed loud, called me “twinkle toes”, skipped a rock and bent down to hold my hand.

That’s happy awe.

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Aug 01 2021
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Auto Immune Disease, Chicago, Cubs, Getting old, health, Heatherevent, kids, mental health, random, writing

Now what.

Day 6.

I need to put one of my new iTags on my actual purpose, cause I’m having trouble finding it.

I’m not even a week in with my 365 blogapalooza commitment and I’m already dreading writing about my One Big Thing today. It’s depressing.

I’m flailing. I’m in a funk. I’m blue. I’m lying here trying to find my damn solace. I’m feeling it’s somewhere along the lines of pulling up my big girl pants, getting over my bad self, making a list of things I need to get done and just freaking doing them.

But from the minute I woke up this morning, I’m finding it really easy to be sad. Sad about being sick, sad about my dad, sad about number one going back to college, sad about the sinking ship that is my music career, sad about the Rizzo, sad about not having a job.

Maybe I should just give myself a day to BE. I’ve been doing such a bang-up job for the last seven months wearing myself thin, not taking care of myself and treating myself badly, that it’s become a hard habit to break.

Welp, there you go. This is why I love writing. I just spoon fed myself my answer and found my literal purpose for the day. I’m going to give myself a hug, lay on my hammock, go out to lunch with my parents, enjoy my family. I can continue to wallow tomorrow. Today’s mission: Sunday funday.

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Jul 29 2021
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Getting old, health, Heatherevent, kids, Marriage, mental health, parenting, random, Technology, writing

I Lose Everything. The End.

Day 3:

My husband gets me.

I try to think when my loseeverything-itis started to get really bad. I think it was after I began having babies. Maybe not, but I usually blame everything else on that. Even as a kid, I was always flighty. I was perpetually ditzy, often confused, very emotional, constantly disorganized. However, I was kind of adorable and that helped me get away with a lot. This very annoying problem I have has definitely gotten worse over the years. Also, I am also not so adorable anymore, so it’s harder to get away with it.

My incredible friends get the brunt of it. I am constantly leaving my shit everywhere. Boat days are the worst. Shelly has my flip flops, Hank has my towel, Evelyn has my sunglasses and we are all still looking for my phone. I think for awhile it was funny, but now it’s just annoying, sprinkled with a hint of sadness. This one time, I left my iPad on the top of my car. You heard me right. I was in between two back-to-back gigs and it was a very stressful day. I had to run home to get something (probably something I forgot) and I totally also forgot about the iPad. It fell off my hood and someone ran it over with their car.

My iPad is my life blood when it comes to my singing jobs. I was devastated, disappointed, ashamed. A week later, for Christmas, those same incredible friends all chipped in and bought me a new one, so I could keep on playing music. Yep. Incredible. My heart still overflows, because they love me so much, despite…me.

So it was cute my husband bought me the key ring. The truth is that I just recently lost my keys and it had all of our new car FOB’s on it. I think I threw them away by accident. I guess you can say this gift is more for him, than me. He can finally take a break from digging in the garbage.

It’s not the first time someone I love has bought me a lost and found tool. A dear friend of mine gave me a purse a couple of years ago and three Apple tiles. We hid the first one inside the very cute purse. We put one my wallet. Super helpful. Then we put one my keys. That was blissful and happy time in my life. I knew where my shit was. Eventually they lost their charge and chaos ensued. And here we are again.

I can kind of guess what you’re thinking. “Pull yourself together, Heather. Put everything away in your purse and put it in a safe and remember-able place everyday.” Now YOU’RE adorable, but nay, nay. Too easy.

Picture, if you will, a big tornado of chaos. That’s me. I am always in a hurry, always late for something, always in a perpetual frenzy of mayhem, bewilderment and perplexity. In short: it is very, very difficult to be me.

Recently, I bought a key hook to put right in the doorway when you walk in the house. Brilliant, the family said! Well thought out, the family said! You actually have to put your keys on it, the family said! They use it. It comes in really handy when you have four drivers and we play car Tetris every day. The only problem is just that I keep forgetting to put my keys on it. DAMMIT.

I feel like there is money to be made on my imperfections. I smell invention. I’ll see your tiles, Apple, and I will one up you with little chip stickers. Cheaper, more compact and you can stick them on anything. For instance, I really also lose my lip gloss about for times a day. It’s incredibly frustrating because I love a good moist lip. What I need is an affordable little itty bitty sticker on there, with a microchip, that I can program in my phone and when I can’t find it…push the button…beep beep beep….lip gloss found under my car seat. Lip crisis averted.

I could put one on the portable fan in my room because my freaking kids keep taking it. It’s really not that HARD to find it when it’s missing, because I just have to burst in yelling to one of their rooms. But If I had an annoying little alarm, I could really drive it home with them to stop taking my stuff. I could just incessantly beep it in their rooms until they can’t stand it anymore and they bring it back. I absolutely need one for my hair straightener. Number three is a double dog down thief. She’s definitely at her absolute worst when she steals my very posh shampoo and conditioner, brings it in her shower, leaves it there and I don’t discover it until I am naked, wet and super pissed off. Definitely need a little sticker for that. *Add waterproof to business plan.

Those are instances of criminal thievery by my children. But I also need help with things that I lose like…documents. Medication. Numerous articles of clothing. Clothing tags….I can sew them in like camp. Yes! *Add name tags to business plan.

While I am at it, “it” being creating new things to help me get through my day, I should also look into memory care. Things that help preserve the brain I still have left and try to stop it from rotting, or whatever it’s doing up there. Maybe I will start doing Sudoku with a clicky pencil. I can suddenly take up gardening and consume fish oil. In the end, I think I just need to slow my roll. Continue my quest to heal my sick body, gets some damn sleep and stop sweating the small stuff.

“People give the worst advice about lost things. Retrace your steps. Pray to Saint Anthony. Think about where you last saw it. But that doesn’t apply to the things that matter. Those are right in front of you, except they can’t be found by looking for them. Only by looking at everything else.”
― Kristen Lepionka, The Last Place You Look

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Jul 28 2021
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Getting old, kids, Marriage, mental health, parenting, random, writing

My Lovelies…So Sorry For the Moves.

Nomad Parents

Day 2.

Jesus weeps, I have a long way to go.

Inspired by a really cool friend, I have decided to commit to a 365 day blogapalooza. Read it, don’t read it…do your thing. Share with me if you want, no worries if you don’t. I’m up for the challenge. Writing is my therapy and I am always very interested in knowing if or not I am not alone in my chaos. As I sit and think about what the hell I want to write about for a year, I start with something that I have had so much guilt about as a parent. It’s THE thing. The one I wish I could take back. Deep breath…we were nomad parents. And there was damage done.

Our kids are all old souls. I’m still trying to figure that out, because growing up, I was super immature. Total idiot. Insanely social, I spend most of my time flirting with boys, dodging getting grounded and plotting underage drinking with my girls. All three of my children suffer from various degrees of “peer shy.” It’s like it was concentrated with the first one and trickled down. Number two is finally coming out of his shell. Number three is definitely the most social. It took me years to figure it out, but I think it’s because we moved 11 times in ten years. That’s…not an exaggeration. And that…comes with a ton of guilt.

Our Moving history in a nutshell:

  1. Hubby to Lincoln Square: Summer, 1999
  2. Heather to Lincoln Square: Fall, 1999
  3. Hubby, Heather and #1 to Lincoln Square North apartment: Summer 2000
  4. Hubby, Heather and #1 to New Buffalo, Michigan family home: Fall, 2000
  5. Hubby, Heather and #1 to the Mundelein teeny home. Winter 2001
  6. Hubby Heather, #1 and #2 to Chicago Lakeview, apartment one: Summer 2003
  7. Hubby, Heather, #1 and #2 to Chicago Lakeview, apartment two: Fall, 2003
  8. Hubby, Heather, #1 and #2 to Naperville: Don’t remember, 2004
  9. Hubby, Heather, #1, #2 and SURPRISE! #3 to Crystal Lake, home of the orange water: Summer, 2006
  10. Hubby, Heather, #1, #2 and #3 to dream house in Wauconda: Winter, 2007
  11. Hubby, Heather, #1, #2 and #3 to not-dream/current home in Wauconda: Fall, 2009

We were, the entire family, exhausted in every way. We needed to stop and plant.

The relocation motives were mostly job-related. Although one time we moved because the water was disgustingly orange and the kids were getting dyed in the bathtub. Grody to the max. After that, we rented my dream house, but had to move because we couldn’t afford to actually buy it. Probably a blessing in disguise, because there may have been a little problem with the fact that I was deathly allergic to the backyard horse farm. (Note to self: blog about how I almost died from an asthma attack at Medieval Times).

Then there were the city days. We were kicked out of an apartment because the man under us couldn’t stand toddlers running. We tried duct taping them to the couch, but eventually we were forced to make the move to the apartment across the hallway. Our savage running beasts were finally free to do horrible things like…just be children. There were quirky memories that we took away from every place, all adding to the Moran Clan tapestry of chaos.

Looking at the big picture, it was rough, but we loved them so much every step of the way, and I think they will be okay. I really really hope they will be ok.

My oldest son had the hardest time, not only because he was the one who moved around with us the most, but also because he already started out shy. Then every time he started to get close to a kid, we’ed freaking pack up and leave. By the time we really settled here…all the friends were kind of taken. Can I say that? Is that a thing? It seemed like it. We really tried to help him. Groups were established and it is sometimes really HARD to make new friends. Senior year of college, last year to play lacrosse, graduation in May. Next year he finishes up his 5-year Master’s in Criminal Justice. And he’s an RA. He may not be the cool life of the party, but we think he’s a very decent human. He’s kind, happy, has a service heart and he’s also quite charming. Some girl out there someday will be very lucky. We can’t wait to meet her.

My second son, our Irish fighter, is a whole other beautiful, layered story of survival. He is constantly beating adversity, questing to find inner peace and he possesses one of the sweetest hearts made by God. He’s a lovely novel; a book you don’t want to finish reading. I can’t wait to wax poetic about this gorgeous soul.

Our baby, our daughter, our empath: my darling, Dad and I promise you we won’t move. For the next three years… live your life. Make memories with your friends, learn how to drive a car, play your sports, nail your education, jam your guitar, sing like a bird and for Christ’s sake: be a kid. We are not going anywhere. Until you graduate. Then, we will see 🙂

As parents, we try to do our best and we count our blessings. We fail, we apologize, we learn, we hug them, we dust ourselves off and we keep on going. And sometimes, we pack boxes.

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May 28 2021
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Education, health, kids, mental health, parenting, random, writing

Backstory.

Yesterday I did what I’m sure looked like an obligatory Facebook brag post. Especially to people who probably don’t have school-age children, or …any children. But the ones who had to hands-on watch their children navigate their education through a pandemic every day for the last year, I bet they got it.

I didn’t post that for myself. I already know how neat my kids are; I get to live with them every day. When I posted that, I posted that for her. Whether it helps her read it today or it helps her when she reads in 20 years, she needs a reminder that her mom loved her and what she overcame. She will see what I wrote, remember the lovely comments shared from people who are dear to us and see a picture of what she looked like at that moment.

Just because she did well and got straight A’s, doesn’t mean that she didn’t work. her. ass. off.

It’s not a scenario where things come easy to her, look at how perfect she is, blah, blah, blech. The real truth is that I watched her study and worry and plan and make goals and work really hard to finish them. That’s all on her.

And she did all of this basically sitting on a mattress, on her bedroom floor, surrounded by Cheetos’s, our loyal dog and a teenager amount of dirty laundry.

Please make no mistake, as a mother trying to help my children learn through a pandemic, I’m an idiot and can’t teach them anything, but I can online shop. I transformed the loft and I set up quite the beautiful school area. It had wonderful lighting and it was comfortable, with productive desks and chairs. I tried to give both her and her brother, who was enrolled in some CLC college courses, an environment where they could concentrate when they needed it, and then walk away when they were done.

I’m pretty sure they used it for about a week and a half. And I didn’t push them because this wasn’t about me doing all that work and me getting upset because they didn’t use it. (Truth: It gave me something else to do during the pandemic besides putting booze in my coffee and overeating. ) Nay, nay: It was about them being comfortable when everything around them made no sense.

Her freshman year in high school should’ve been filled with nervous giggles, experimenting with outfits every morning, walking to classes with new friends, sneaking out to get ice cream on her lunch break, walking in the halls and blushing when she passed somebody she had a crush on, laughing with her friends in the locker room about how much swimming class sucks with their period, going to a pep rally…going to a football game….going to Homecoming, going anywhere…with anyone…

Our walls are thin in our cookie cutter home. Her bedroom is next to mine. I know the sound of fear, frustration, angst, anxiety and sadness. Her teachers voices came out of her laptop sounding legit Charlie Brown. I heard late-night heated and passionate conversations, but couldn’t make out the words. Those emotion-filled moments made my tears run all the way down to my pillow.

But, there where lovely noises. She taught herself some pretty bitchin’ guitar playing. Her lovely voice, soft and lilting, wafted into the hallway. The strumming was comforting, the sounds of her trying to figure out the Bohemian Rhapsody solo, endless Fleetwood Mac. She had the lonely time to do that. l will cherish those sanguine sounds that seeped through my bedroom wall.

Another sound that didn’t make me feel sad to accidentally overhear: the laughter with her friends. They found a way to make the “pandemic sleepover” work; messy but still with laughter and love.

What one wouldn’t also post on social media is that she battled two significant and private medical issues that most don’t know about, and one very significant dental issue that meant literally 30 doctor and specialized dentist appointments in a year. In one year. In a pandemic.

Could she cry to her friends at the table in the lunch room, where she could get hugs and whispers of support? No. But she could talk to their faces on her small phone screen and at least feel some love, however she could get it. Funny…it’s the one time as a mother I have been grateful for my children’s social media.

Life has gotten slowly back to “normal”. She eventually went back to school, picked out cute outfits, walked the halls, snuck off to The Jewel with friends on her lunch break, met her teachers face-to-face for the first time, played an actual high school lacrosse game, even laughed on a bus with her teammates…normal things started happening again. I think the kid is finally able to realize that she is going to be okay.

My life purpose is to love and protect my family; keep them alive for a life that is worth living. I have two other great kids who are creating their own life journey tapestries, but I celebrate this moment for the little one who won an epic battle this year in her bedroom. Shine on, little diamond.

Moran #3

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