April Showers

The laughter.  That's what I remember most. Never in my life had I laughed like I did with Briana.  About everything.  We once spent hours recording ourselves on cassette tape talking about different topics in my bedroom. It was the funniest conversation.  For years, we looked for that cassette tape to listen to it. Never did find it.  Probably a good thing.  It was the first podcast if you ask me.  That's what everyone could do with Briana.  Talk. She listened. She responded.  She walked in the door of Cornerstone Church when she was 12. I immediately spoke to her and we were instant friends.  We spent hours talking about her parents getting re- married.  What a beautiful thing.  Celine Dion. We sang her songs and reached for the high notes.  We sat in her Dad's living room and watched the OJ trial.  The movie "Alive" was the first time I heard surround sound, also at her dad's house. We had an intense conversation a...

Yesterday marked four years since a significant moment split our lives into before and after. For the past few years, I’ve handled that hour the same way. When the clock crept toward the exact minute it happened, I would step into the shower. I’d let the water run hot and loud — loud enough to drown out the memories that insist on resurfacing. It became a ritual. Armor made of steam. Some grief doesn’t leave. It just waits for its time slot. But last night was different. My daughter came over with her new wife. We sat around the table. We talked. We laughed. We shared a couple of shots. It was warm and easy and ordinary in the best possible way. At one point she leaned forward, placed her hand on my knee, and said softly, “You made it past the time, Mom.” I looked at the clock. Forty minutes past what I needed to survive. And I hadn’t even noticed. What strikes me most isn’t just that I “made it past the time.” It’s that I didn’t survive it alone this year. For years, I’ve stepped into...