They Always Know

It has been a difficult and exhausting week in many ways. I feel far away from my students, and everything feels disjointed.

This is why a message from a former student I taught as a high schooler was so needed, such a surprise, and well, I’ve noticed that often these messages arrive when I need them most. How do they know?

This reminds me to keep doing things that I believe matter to young people, no matter what. 

Let it Matter

 The word that sticks with me from yesterday is

INDEFINITELY.

I heard it from Dr. Shah (the oncologist). He said even after these rounds of chemo, Jim will be on chemo/immunotherapy…

INDEFINITELY.

The thing is—I expected to hear that kind of thing last week. But he said at that time this chemo would be followed by “2 years of immunotherapy.”

Pardon me if I’m confused here, because I truly am. 

I tried to hold it in, but finally broke open to Jim about it last night and cried. He is confused as well.

The bottom line, of course, is what matters — and that is accepting. A huge part of this reality is what acceptance really means.

A lot of times we say we are accepting, but in reality we aren’t really.

We resist.

**

I watched the final 45 minutes of American Symphony, and in it Suleika hears from her doctor that after the bone marrow transplant she will be on chemo…

INDEFINITELY.

They cry. I cry with them.

We all know what that really means.

I’m finding this part of the journey hard to accept. And I tend to tell myself it doesn’t matter, or I’m just looking at things wrong.

But it does matter, and I’m not wrong to feel what I feel.

This is when I come back to call on the angels surrounding us and tap into my deeper soul knowledge, and not let outer influences change what I know to be true.

Tap into that and stay there.

**

Today I decided to listen to Johnnyswim’s album Georgica Pond and I knew there was a song waiting there for me.  I finally found this one that had the words, and it was a necessary reminder that what I’m feeling DOES matter.

If it matters, let it matter

If your heart’s breaking, let it ache

Catch those pieces as they scatter

Know your hurt is not in vain

Don’t hide yourself from the heart

Hurt today, here tomorrow

If it’s fragile and it shatters

Let it matter, let it matter

Oh, it matters

Swirling

Today I’m contemplating Jon Batiste’s words about brutal reality and unwavering faith co-existing.

Jim started his chemo. We’re entering a whole new routine. 

It’s easier to have faith when reality doesn’t intrude! 

Never mind I’m still trying to figure out what this means for my work life.

I’m in this weird spot. I honestly cannot even think about what I’m thinking.

Doing the next right thing—in this case, getting his lunch together to take to the chemo pod.

Sitting with it all again, as reality and faith swirl around and around.

Sitting With It

Today in my readings, I came across the word “improvisation” and it stood out to me. But I couldn’t think about what I wanted to say about it.

It was a busy morning, with Jim having surgery to get the mediport put in. Once everything settled down, I got us some lunch and went back to watching American Symphony on Netflix, which I started yesterday.

The movie is about Jon Batiste and his partner Suleika. In the film, he has just been nominated for a ton of Grammys at the same time she was told her leukemia had come back. She had a bone marrow transplant ten years earlier, and so coming out of remission came as a shock.

While watching the part where they got married before she went in for a second bone marrow transplant, the word “improvisation” came up. After the wedding Suleika said:

Jon has the greatest capacity for change and improvisation and growth of anyone I ever met. This is a moment that calls us to embody what our relationship is. It’s not, you know, all champagne and beautiful things. But it’s the hard things.

The word “improvisation” signaled me to write these words down. I was right there with her! 

Later, when Jon seems to be talking about the symphony he is writing, but could be he’s talking about the health challenges they are facing, (it is ambiguous), he says:

You have to confront the brutal facts of the reality that you might not pull it off. But at the same time have unwavering faith. Complete unwavering faith. And you have to do both at the same time.

I decided then the important thing was to record these messages here, and then sit with them. Listen to his We Are album some more. Take time for letting our journey be what it is. 

Just let it all soak in.

Only Mystery

 Today I ran across the quote by Federico Garcia-Lorca:

“Only mystery allows us to live, only mystery.”

I decided to use it for an acrostic poem. (I do this to find out what I’m really thinking.)

On this Sunday, since you are

Not rushing anywhere,

Listening deeply to the messages because

You know you are living a

Mystery you didn’t bargain for

Yet, what good would it do to have known?

Some days will always be better than others

Trust in the Universal Tone, your soul response.

Energize yourself to positive actions.

Remember in each and every moment

You will never be left without a way. 

Then I went looking for a mystery song, and recalled a favorite album from 1996 by Mickey Hart called Mystery Box.  I went on a search for a song with lyrics that fit and I found this chorus:

Depend on the wind

The distant drums

We’ll know the next step

When it comes

This week as chemotherapy begins, I need to remember…just take the next right step. 

Prayer Trail

 This morning I decided it was time to make a trip to Six Mile Cypress Slough. I honestly cannot recall the last time I was there. I had an idea to take a small journal with me and stop along the walk and write short prayers. But once I got there, I decided I didn’t want to carry the notebook, so I decided to use voice memo on my phone. Each stop I recorded something and took a photo. Very often it was the photo I wanted to take that motivated the prayer. Other times, it was the location.

I didn’t get there as early as I usually do, and the place was already busy with many bird-watchers and 0photographers. Still, I managed to have some quiet moments to reflect and record.

Enjoy my little prayer trail, each word as I recorded it.

Morning at the slough.

I just took a picture of the sun reflecting on the water,

The trees are reflecting

It’s right at the entryway

Absolutely beautiful.

My prayer here is that I may mirror love in the world.

I’m at the lake now…tall grasses all around here, very tall.

I can’t even say I remember the grasses being so tall here.

The dry season hasn’t been all that dry, so I think that’s why.

There’s a cormorant, but I don’t see a lot else.

The breeze is coming at me…now it’s a wind.

I just feel like everything is wide open.

For a while it felt like things were closing in on me, but they’re not.

I’m as wide open as this lake, a breeze blowing across me. 

That’s prayer wind.

Walking on the boardwalk

I’m just realizing

I really needed this.

Period.

Everything feels so green.

Well, it is green…

Anyway, absolutely gorgeous morning,

Cool, humid, and wonderful.

Criss-cross

The way this tree looked when I came around the bend

Criss-crossing and wrapping around things and bumping into things

It’s exactly how I’ve been feeling lately.

Very representative!

Maybe I don’t always feel wide open and green!

Looking up.

Looking for God.

Reaching for God.

What is the slough without the sounds?

I liked the call this bird was making and how off in the distance, 

another bird was answering.

That is a certain kind of prayer.

Alone.

I arrived at the Pop Ash Pond, and I get be here by myself,

Without a bunch of bird-watchers and photographers.

Feels nice to breathe and be alone here.

Breathing in contemplation with nature is the best kind of prayer.

My Zikr

 (Found poem from Rumi’s “Music is my Zikr”— Zikr being a Persian word meaning spiritual remembrance.)

whistle. flute.

harp. drum.

chord. wail.

vast and tiny melodies.

sleep. wake.

music is my zikr.

remembrance. recollection.

a subtle wildflower scent.

that’s all I want.

Sticky Notes

This is how I plan my day. 

A list on a sticky note.

It’s hard to remember life before these little marvels.

When I walk into my classroom, I’m clear-headed about my direction.

This is how I create my own personal job satisfaction.

The Core

 Inspired by “The Well Spoken Heart” by Nikita Gill.

Listening to my heart is what

I need to remember to do.

It is my guide. It won’t lead me

wrong.

We will step through these treatments

together, and keep our love for each other

in the foreground.

Without fail.

It always comes back to the core

where courage resides.

The Women

I've been hearing of novelist Kristin Hannah for years, but it wasn't until this book I decided to make her a priority. My friend Laurie sent it to me after a short text discussion about being on long list at the local library to get the book in hand. It is already number one on the New York Times Bestseller list, and I am so glad I got to read it so shortly after its release.

The story follows a young woman in mid-1960s California who voluntary signs up to be an Army nurse and is sent to Vietnam. It is trial by fire for this woman, as she is there during the escalation of the war, and the events such as the Tet Offensive. Much of the book takes place after her return from Vietnam, and what she encounters, and how life takes many drastic turns.

I appreciated that Hannah's research into this time gives it the accurate feeling I remember about that time. I lived in a world where the war was regularly shown on television, and as a middle-schooler during the time of the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy, I was well-aware of the feelings about the war. The generation gap was a real thing, but as an admirer of Kennedy, I believed in his stance against the war. Years later I would learn MLK was speaking out against it as well, which was creating new enemies for him.

 

My dad's cousins were drafted, and came back changed men. PTSD is real, and they had many struggle which affected them the rest of their lives.

The war loomed in my high school years as well, as the draft threatened my brother and the young men I knew. All though out The Women, Hannah gets these details right. The way she describes the general feelings of the nation, especially young people, rings true to me. This goes right up to the Peace Accord of 1973 -- the year I graduated from high school. I remember we all knew that the agreement had been made and there was quite a party on New Years Eve 1972 when we felt free of the yoke of Vietnam.

 

The sad part is that the Vietnamese kept fighting, and the war didn't officially end for them until The Fall of Saigon on April 30, 1975. Sadly, that was right after my little brother died, and I wasn't even aware of what happened on that day until three years later in a movie theater when I was watching a film called Coming Home, the first of many films about the war and the aftermath.

 

*

The Women ends in 1982 when the memorial in Washington D.C. was dedicated for the 58,220 American lives lost, called The Wall.

 

I first visited The Wall in Washington D.C. by myself in September 1990 when I was in town for a conference. But it would be 1993 when it would take on even greater meaning for me.

In 1992 I met my friend Iris, and in January of 1993 her son took his life. We became fast friends after that. Iris is seven years older than I am, and had served in the Air Force during the time of the Vietnam War, although she never went there. She is a veteran of those times, so when we visited Washington D.C. in November 1993 for a conference, the monuments took on a more significant meaning than just my coming-of-age memories.

 

We drove to D.C. on November 11, 1993 (Veterans Day), and that day was significant because the Women's Memorial had been dedicated that day, giving recognition to the ones that were so often forgotten. (A common refrain in the novel is the many times the main character heard There were no women in Vietnam. In fact, there were over 10,000, eight who lost their lives.)

We had not been able to get tickets for the opening event at the conference, so that gave us the morning to visit the monuments. Given that it was Veterans Day Weekend, the mall were very busy, and we felt like something so large and significant. The amount of decorations was mind-boggling.

It was the Women's Memorial that took our breath away. The emotion on the faces is something to behold. I remember how much we wanted to just stay there and talk to people, and just BE. It was a gorgeous morning, and the timing was perfect.

 

 

On the back of the photograph below I had written that the man's name is Leroy and he was part of the Walk of the Warriors. He was having vets sign his flag, and Iris was happy to do so. (As an aside, this is the gift of good old photographs...I would not even remember what this was about if it wasn't written on the back of the photo.)

I looked up Walk of the Warriors and learned it was ignited by the Navajo Veterans Administration to honor their vets, in particular their women, and was timed for the dedication of the monument. Read more here.

I highly recommend everyone read The Women to understand more deeply what happened during that time, and why I continue to pray for peace as the real resolution to the problems of the world. And if nothing else, while reading it you will certainly be entertained by the celebrated storyteller that is Kristin Hannah.

In Gratitude

 To be fully human

 is to face the darkness, 

which is inevitable, 

with a flashlight 

dispelling it quickly.

And if you don’t have a flashlight, 

strike a match. 

It works the same.

Darkness gives way to light. 

It’s the nature of things.

Why fight it?

Turn your face toward the light.

Being fully human means 

standing where you are 

in gratitude.

Light in the Dark

 From Rumi’s poem “Everyone Outdoors Talking”:

Grief lives between the cat paws.

You can say eek-eek and gehk-gohk 

but there is no escape.

Grief has a grip on this house

Resting on the furniture and walls

It’s a constant struggle to gather

Energy to move and do

Finding light in the dark is the only way through 

Cancun, Mexico

Inspired by "Pisac, Peru" by David Whyte

October 1987. I was 32, Jim was 45

 I remember the mornings I'd walk the surf,

while you drank coffee on the deck and watched

the sun rise over the Caribbean, then we'd saunter

over to the breakfast buffet that would hold us

until dinnertime.

I remember our resort, the restaurants and large

gray lizards on the lawn, the coolness of our room,

no news affecting our being, so much so the U.S. economy

crashed while we were gone and we had no idea.

I remember the now-called "Riviera Maya" as miles

of jungle, where the residents would flag the road to 

their homes with plastic grocery bags.

I remember discovering a local beach, Chemuyil, a place 

with a tiki bar where a woman had a  coatimundi on a leash,

and huts where food was served, meals

of fresh caught fish, rice, beans, steamed jicama, 

homemade tortillas and salsa. Our many afternoons at 

Chemuyil included watching a boy band from England

recording their music video among the palm trees,

snorkeling the reefs, drinking Mexican beer, and baptizing 

myself in the water the year I had a cancer diagnosis.

 

I remember yesterday after you got your chest X-ray

and you were home and back in bed, I said

This isn't getting on a plane and flying to Mexico,

but this is our life now, and as long as we're together,

I'm fine.

 

And I meant it like I've never meant anything else,

deep in my heart and soul.

 

This ain't no beach vacation.

 

But it is my one life

and I will live it.

 

 

We are just waves in the ocean. Nothing is permanent.

From the Ashes

 Woke this morning to the news that my stepson

Was “going to the Lord”

And I had to tell Jim

And held him and cried

And thought FUCK CANCER

And then I talked to my other stepson

Who was on his way to the hospital

And he reported back to us

That Wayne is stable

And there is a sigh of relief

However temporary 

And I drank a record 4 cups of coffee

And documented the sunrise

And read Nikita Gill poetry

Until I found the perfect one for this morning

How we are constantly broken and restored

And boy, I’m feeling that today.

A Little Longer

 The man I love,

hold him here longer.

Every day more precious.

Uncertainty slaps me

in the face

Over and over.

Then I’m calm

and it all feels possible,

even probable.

Am I kidding myself?

Time will tell.

Spiral

 A lone white pelican

visited our lake yesterday

catching the attention of 

snowbirds gathered around

the water, watching it dip

for fish, its orange beak

glinting in the sun

and I considered this a 

good sign as I’ve

always thought of these

birds as angels because

of the way they spread

their wings and spiral

around and around.

The 90s Version of Me

 It happened quite unexpectedly.

Today when I went on my favorite song guessing game, Song Pop, they had a daily mission to identify the Lenny Kravitz song “Again.” I pulled up the “Lenny Kravitz: Best of” list and found the song pretty early on. But what I noticed was that I was enjoying playing the list and, best of all, it was easy to identify his songs because they don’t all sound alike.

It is now going on 10 a.m., and I am still listening to Lenny and playing his list on Song Pop. I feel like a long delayed 1990s version of me has arisen. I wrote on January 22nd about how we have a million versions of ourselves waiting to be discovered and now, wow, I’m coming face to face with one of those.

The other reason is that tonight I am going to see the musical Jagged Little Pill based on the music of Alanis Morissette. I have one song from her that meant a lot to me in 2016 when I was home from work suffering with shingles, and I hit shuffle on the music machine and got “Thank U.”  I cried all the way through it. I may again tonight…who knows?

My Gen X friends made me aware of the power of Alanis many years ago. I realized then that Alanis was their Joni Mitchell or Carole King. We all need that as teens, and the female artists do that for us. It’s one of the best parts about music.

So, why didn’t I get into Lenny and Alanis back in the day? Well, probably a ton of reasons, not the least that their music wasn’t exactly aimed to my demographic.  Yet, I always appreciated their songs, knowing many of them well enough to sing along to. Still, during the 90s I had a ton of things going on and leaned toward softer music and 90s country.

Today, though, it’s Lenny all the way. As I finish up this post, I’m listening to this song and it has been the one that has spoken loudest to me today. Enjoy a very young Lenny reminding us it ain’t over ‘til it’s over. Even, apparently, the 1990s!

Wide River to Cross

 Yesterday the song “Wide River to Cross” came into my consciousness when I heard Mavis Staples singing it. The song was written by Buddy and Julie Miller, and has been recorded by many people. 

The lyrics are here:  https://genius.com/Buddy-miller-wide-river-to-cross-lyrics

This Monday it is hard to raise my spirits up. And I don’t even know why. I had many wonderful experiences this weekend, including lunch with a friend, crystal bowl meditation, and a surprise gift from a friend. 

But Jim is still tired all the time and we still don’t know what’s coming. 

I promise myself to stay in the moment as much as possible, and sometimes that means admitting when things are exhausting me, despite my best efforts.

This song speaks to that. I’m sharing the version from one of my favorite bands. It’s all I’ve got for today.

I Turned the Page

 The greatest magic you have is the

courage to go digging for,

when your world falls apart,

the light you still hold,

when everything has grown dark

(Nikita Gill, pg. 24, no title)

I read a poem called “Endings” 

which is a fine poem but in no way 

did I want to write about endings 

given what has happened in my life 

these last couple weeks, 

so I turned the page and found six lines that said

it all about the courage to find the light in the dark 

and I’d say most of the time I’m doing that, 

and I know my years of spiritual practice

 has served me well, while at the same time

I know I can get caught in the trap again, but

each time I will find my way out faster.

This is Not My Final Destination

 (Inspired by Nick Flynn’s poem “ If This is Your Final Destination.)

This is not my final destination.

I’m called to a time of miracles and introspection, 

my ordinary “no news is good news” life 

turned upside down.

Words cause fear & hugs & pitying looks.

A student hands me a gift bag full of smelly lotions and 

body wash, Girl Scout cookies.

Some of my students even seem to 

appreciate me more —

 asking my favorites in music, 

looking happy to see me.

But this is not my final destination.

It will change again.

Human beings can get used to anything.

Today, I’ll have lunch with a friend, 

pick up chapter 2 on a novel, 

visit a new Publix store.

I will contemplate how life 

changes and moves on into

 new routines. 

Honestly, I’m better for it.

Always so much to learn.

Still so far to go.

Smile

 I just read “Tony Bennett Sings ‘Smile’ for You” by David Kirby 

in which he strangely combines commentary on the song and the songwriter

 Charlie Chaplin, as well as a story from the concentration camps and a meeting 

of Holocaust survivors years later. David does that kind of thing and makes it work.

 Reading his poetry always makes me see how the seemingly 

discordant parts of my life and existence actually weave together into a whole. 

And that is worthwhile to remember and makes me smile.

I can keep going

When I find a way to smile

And look to the Light

A Simple Gesture

 Yesterday my dear teacher friend stopped over during 7th period and told me she would take my kids to the lunchroom and picked them up, so I can have a few extra minutes.

This was a real lesson in the power of a simple gesture . Our lunch periods are only 25 minutes to start, so every minute counts. 

Many people tell me to reach out if I need something. I didn’t even know I needed this! Thank you, Debbie, for recognizing that doing this little thing could give me just a few more minutes to breathe and be, a respite all teachers need during the day. 

Don’t Honey Badger Me

 A couple of weeks ago a work colleague sent me this article. We deal with a lot of the same 7th grade students…

Generation Alpha—Honey Badgers

Basically, a honey badger is one that will go after anyone or anything at anytime for any reason. We have a generation who will call out any injustice they see, real or imagined. 

Here is one example of how this manifests. This exchange took place Monday with a boy I’ll call J. Keep in mind, their phones are to be silenced and zipped in their backpacks.

J: Miss, can I charge my phone?

Me: No.

J: What if I put it on your desk?

Me: No.

J: Do you charge your phone? I see a charger there.

Me: Stop trying to honey badger me. Your phone is not allowed to be out. End of conversation.

Just for fun, check out this hilarious video about the honey badger. And say a prayer for all of us that have to try to deal with these vicious creatures! 

Moments

 

Today I read this final stanza in Nikita Gill’s poem “Lonely”:

The loneliest thing

you can ever do

is take every instance

where you should grow

and waste it by only thinking

how could this happen to you?

Moments from my return to work yesterday.

My principal telling me, “Jim first. This place is secondary.”

Hugs hug hugs.

Realizing during 11th period that if things get tough

I won’t have energy for the classroom.

And that will be okay.

Everything is like a slow dawn

breaking.

Why I Married This Man

 

Early today I took Jim to LabCorp to get a blood test. We went right when they opened since he didn’t have an appointment. For those not familiar, they have an electronic check-in you have to use.

There was a woman there with a cane, well into her 80s, who was waiting in line and complaining loudly on how she won’t use the machine, it just messes her up. A lot of what she was saying was coming out gibberish, and most people were just ignoring her. Yet, she couldn’t quit telling everyone in the waiting room about her hate for the machine. 

Jim was not on his oxygen, and could have just ignored her like everyone else did. But instead, he gently suggested he would help her. She agreed. I now can see that is what she wanted all along. He worked with her patiently and gently to help her check in. I sat marveling at this man I love so much, someone who despite his own health issues could take time to help a total stranger who was in distress.

Don’t Shake the Snow Globe

 Spontaneous poem…

I was up at 4:25 today desperate to get grading done

Two more assignments in two classes—too many students!

I listened to comforting music and I cried from worry

And I cried from comfort it gave me

And I thought about what to write here today 

I read this morning that “emotional constriction does not serve”

And boy, I’m finding that is true

I get caught up in Jim’s health

Is he breathing okay? Will he ever not be exhausted?

Does he need me to be here every minute?

And the worst one: How long does he have?

All kinds of worrisome nonsense not serving anyone

Least of all me

They feel like good questions in the moment

But it is simply shaking up the snow globe of fear

And truly does not help a thing

And as I contemplate all of this

Jim walks out with a laundry basket and puts in a load

I vow again to just appreciate what is

Let the snow globe settle

Be at some kind of peace

No Pep Talk Needed Today

 I went to a concert last night. After the week I had, the timing was perfect.

I had never been a Tanya Tucker fan. The whole world was aware when she came on the scene at 14-years-old in 1972, but I was not interested. Over the years I came to know many of her songs, and last night as she sang some of them, I realized how much I actually like them! I particularly enjoyed “It’s a Little Too Late” and “Strong Enough to Bend” (which made me cry.)

But that isn’t why I wanted to see her. Last year, I learned that she put out a second album with Brandi Carlile and Shooter Jennings as producers. I thought I’d give Sweet Western Sound a listen, not realizing how deeply I would fall in love with it. It’s not lost on me that perhaps it is meant for people in my age group (Tanya is 3 years younger than I am). After all, she wrote a song called “Dear Linda” about Linda Ronstadt’s influence on her. I’d say that’s a woman who knows me! 

Most of the audience was my age and younger. A woman next to me who brought her daughters said she was 60. It was clear that not the entire audience knew the newer songs. But Tanya is a pro, and she introduced the audience to several of the songs I love, and I’m sure she earned herself a lot more sales as a result.

But the reason I’m writing is not a concert review, but rather how uplifted I am by the experience.  I woke this morning alive and talking, none of the scary shit running through my brain. Admittedly, I’ve had to give myself a pep talk every day to stay in line with what I know to be true. It is already well documented in the blog, and will continue to be so. 

But today I feel free from that. Once again, music has provided a much-needed healing balm. And right now, that is highly welcome in my life. 

Mild Freak-Outs

Jim came home yesterday. We now have an oxygen machine running 24/7. There are appointments to make and decisions to be made. Sometimes I get overwhelmed and have a mild freak-out. But then I remember what Regina Brett says: Don’t quit before the miracle happens.

I believe. 

I’m taking care of myself. I’m thinking about checking out a new salon for a pedicure. I have a ticket to see Tanya Tucker tonight, and I have a massage tomorrow. And, oh yeah, a shitload of grading! 🤪

Miracles at Hand

 It’s now a week Jim has been in the hospital. I’m maintaining pretty well, although I really would prefer he was home. What I want to do this morning is focus on the miracles around me.

The miracle of medicine and healing that many have dedicated their lives to expand with compassionate hearts and minds. I’ve met so many who are full of cheer and understanding, and I am grateful.

The miracle of information. We see reports shortly after tests and this information helps us see the picture more clearly.

The miracle of my friends who reach out. I’m too crazed right now to make a phone call, but this who have called me I found to be lifesavers. Thank you.

The miracle of those who are stepping in to be with my students while I can’t be there. I know the sacrifice, and I’ll never be able to repay them.

The miracle of a musical theater production to take me away from my current challenges. Hadestown provided a moving experience as well as a message I am using daily: Never doubt.

The miracle of experience with difficulties. In June 1993, when Jim was facing a rough back surgery and the future looked shaky, I called to the Holy Spirit for help. I heard and wrote down these words, which I carry in my heart and call on when I need them:

Do not be afraid

Everything will be alright

Do not spend one more minute of worry

Did you ever think you’d be left without a way?

You’ll know what to do and when to do it

Do not be afraid

Everything will be alright

I recorded this in my journal today and then spontaneously wrote:

I will continue to listen for guidance from the One who knows what I need most. I vow to continue to look for everyday miracles because in my best days, I know that is the entire purpose of our being here. 

I won’t throw away my miracle.