The Life I Didn't See Coming

Hello, World. It’s Been a While.

I poured my heart into this blog for many years. I think I started it around 2005 or 2006 - nearly twenty years ago. It became a quiet but vital witness to my life as I raised my children, navigated parenthood, and tried to make sense of the world through words. And then, like so many things, it faded into the background.

I left a quick update in 2018 when my grandson was born, but mostly, I walked away. Life had changed, and I didn’t know how to bring those changes here.

Today I stumbled back -- I'm not even sure how. I just found myself on the Blogspot homepage, staring at a list of my old posts. I clicked on a few and was suddenly neck-deep in a past life. It was overwhelming. I hadn’t realized that in the chaos of those years, I was actually living my version of nirvana - a beautiful, purpose-filled life. Rereading it cracked something open. It hurt. 

Life is so different now.

I don't know how much I feel safe sharing anymore. The world is louder, harsher. And I’m softer, more protective of what matters.

In the past few years, I’ve faced things I never imagined. I survived a heart attack and a stroke. I have a 100% blockage of the LAD (the 'widowmaker') and only a collateral vein keeps things going. It’s not sustainable forever, but for now, it holds.

But the real devastation wasn’t physical. A private trauma, one I cannot detail for safety and privacy, shattered our lives. We were advised by law enforcement to go into hiding for our safety. And we did. We moved to a hidden location, changed our phone numbers, deleted social media, stopped all public engagement. I closed the beloved business I’d run for 32 years. I became a full-time caregiver. We shrank our lives down to the bare essentials. It was survival.

Healing has been very slow and very painful, but it has happened and is still happening. A family member still meets weekly with a trauma therapist, but we are finding a path forward. We have found gentleness in unexpected places -- through the kindness of strangers who have walked a similar path, the loyalty of true friends, and the quiet miracle of simplicity.

We've let go of nearly everything: no car, no Wi-Fi except pay as you go, no tv subscriptions. No traveling, no events, no distractions. Just stillness. Walks. Gratitude. Presence. Love.

I’m not the same person who wrote all those posts. I don’t think I ever will be again. But I am someone who still longs for truth and connection. Someone who is re-learning how to live in peace. Someone who, despite everything, truly believes in goodness.

I’m considering writing here again, though I’m still unsure how. I have to find the line between sharing honestly and protecting the sanctity of my private life. I don’t even know if the people who once read this would recognize me now -- or if what I have to say will speak to anyone at all.

Still, it amazes me that this blog is being read. This month alone, over 5,000 visits according to the stat counter. Most to the adoption-related posts, which makes me wonder if people still find something here that helps. Maybe it’s AI scraping content. Or maybe it’s something else, someone else. If it’s you, if you're reading this now: thank you.

I turned 60 this year. I didn’t celebrate, but I did feel something shift inside me. A kind of inner call to live out the rest of my days in far deeper alignment with what truly matters. I want to forgive what can be forgiven. Release what needs to go. Heal what can be healed. And love others with every ounce of my being.

That part of me hasn’t changed: the part that wants to make the world more gentle, more humane. I want to spend whatever time I have left being kind, being honest, and being present.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll write some of it down again.