That I stayed true to myself. It would have been easier just to play along a remain silent and complaisant. Instead I stood up for what I believed in and lost aquaintences and promotions along the way. I’m also surprised how hard it is to say no to families unrealsonable demands. I’m not sure where my sense of self comes from but it has not failed me.

When I celebrated my last birthday, I had to confess that on a very deep, and personal level, I realized how unhappy I am. I never dreamed that I would be alone and without financial security; not at this stage of my life. I feel sad. Really sad. Yet, somehow I manage to trod along, hoping I’ll yet enjoy my, ‘fifteen minuets of fame’.

Mazie, it’s good to see you…haven’t had a glimpse of those lovable penguins in awhile. I’m so sorry the rug’s been pulled out from under you, but, take heart, it seems to happen to most of us at one time or another in some way or other. Writing is so cathartic…here, especially where you’re much appreciated.

Ah Maize - that makes me sad. I have sooo felt that. Only it was for the FIRST half of my life. Big giant girlie hugs to you.

Maizie hang in there girl , the best is yet to come.

What surprised me the most in my life? That I found a man when I was 36 who absolutely gave me unconditional love. I had thought men were not capable of that. I was wrong and I was oh! so lucky!

I am amazed that the revered ‘road less travelled’ is so full of potholes!’ I certainly hope the view is worth it when I get to the end! I am also surprised at the resilience of the human spirit. At least it knows the path I am on, and with its bird’s eye view, it can see a little further down the road than me. So here I am trusting trusting trusting.

My own filters. The way I constantly accept today.

Probably being able to do spiritual photography with a digital camera, without fancy equipment. Doesn’t do much to fuel the inventors of heat sensitvie equipment and such. But when my intention is in the right place and the alignment meets, I am thankful. I took this photo on my 47th birthday. http://myspiritualwindows.info/GiftsofGodsandGoddesses.html

That I am a lot stronger than I give myself credit for.

That I met and married a many who loves me unconditionally and makes me laugh every single day. After an abusive first marriage with a man who made me cry every single day and who took my children from me, finding my second husband 32 years ago was the biggest surprise of my life.

When a Perfect Life Shatters Copyright © 2008 Nicole McGehee I was ready to die ten years ago, not because my life was miserable, but because it was so close to perfect that I couldn’t imagine it better. Though I was just forty, all my dreams had come true. That strange thought about death struck me during an instance of utter bliss, the kind that surges through you only rarely, and makes you feel all is right in the universe. It’s the kind of bliss that you know can’t possibly last. On that day, I was riding a chair lift at my favorite Colorado ski resort. The April sky was the kind of cloudless, royal blue that only occurs at high altitude. The sunshine sparkled on the snow. Beside me, my husband of fourteen years was basking in the warmth, his ski jacket unbuttoned, his handsome face turned to the sun. I was filled with a rush of love for him and all we had accomplished together. Our successful business, beautiful homes in Virginia and Colorado, our loving marriage. To top it off, a three years prior, I had done what to many seems almost impossible: signed a lucrative two-novel deal with one of the world’s foremost publishers. We were blessed with good health and good fortune, and I thought, “I don’t wish for anything else. I could die now.” I didn’t want to die, you understand – not at all — but I felt I had achieved nirvana. That all changed the next week when my husband was killed in a car accident. He was the focus of my life – we had no children — and my life was now shattered. My world, once so full of color and flavor, now seemed gray. I sold our house in Virginia and moved to our vacation home in a Colorado ski town. After awhile, I picked up a couple of part-time jobs that were fun and provided some income, but I was too depleted to write for a living. I couldn’t find the motivation, I had nothing to say. I drifted along for five years until, in 2002, I met and married a wonderful man with two young daughters. Then tragedy struck again. We had just returned from a day of skiing and were sitting down to dinner when I was so overwhelmed with fatigue that my words slurred and I couldn’t hold up my head. My husband had to carry me to bed. I developed a limp because I was unable to lift my left foot when I took a step. In August of 2003, I heard the verdict. I had multiple sclerosis. I was told it was probably a fairly mild case since it had occurred relatively late in life, the lesions on my brain were few, and my symptom was mostly the limp. But in the five years since, I’ve lost my ability to do many of the things I was passionate about. I can no longer ski, hike, or run. Hot weather slows an MS victim’s nerve impulses, so basking in the sun is risky, beaches are risky, tropical islands are risky. Even a ride in a convertible can drain my energy. Traveling is arduous, walking up the stairs is a huge, slow effort. When I walk, I now use trekking poles and an assistive device on my affected leg. I hardly walk at all. I fall a lot. Vanity has pretty much gone out the window, too. I used to love high-fashion shoes, but now wear the same clunky pair for a year because it’s easier. I used to be meticulous in my appearance, but now I’m often too worn out to bother with hair styles and makeup. Cooking was and is a passion, but I can’t stand for long periods at the kitchen counter. I am trying to remain ambulatory. I go to physical therapy, exercise at home, inject myself three times a week with MS medication. I am lucky that I can still drive and that I don’t have many of the burdensome symptoms that plague other MS sufferers. But those of us with the disease are told it is progressive, and that we can expect diminished capacity. It’s not a sunny outlook. Hope, for the most part, comes from obscure medical experiments that may or may not evolve into cures. And even if they do, they are years away, and may come too late to reverse the damage to my spinal cord. Sometimes, though, hope comes from unexpected sources. A few months ago, I read a book authored by two women who have almost eradicated their MS symptoms by following a draconian diet: no gluten, yeast, refined sugar, or legumes (including ubiquitous soy), no eggs or dairy, very low saturated fat. I decided to try it, and have maintained it for three months. I lost ten pounds that I didn’t need to lose and I’m always hungry. But I’ve seen improvement in a couple of symptoms, most notably in the function of my left hand. Unfortunately, my walk is no better, but some of the diet’s adherents took months or years to regain their walking. The diet has given me hope. And it’s given me back my dreams. Now, when I read a travel article, I imagine walking on a beach or through a romantic city, hand-in-hand with my new husband. I imagine running up the stairs or on a treadmill. In my sleeping dreams, I still have MS, but I am able to walk normally, just like the authors of the diet book. If the regimen affects me as it did the authors, I will one day be able to walk unassisted again. I dream of that day, yearn for it – I can taste it and feel it. I have never wanted anything so much in my life. It is strange that the very disease that robbed me of my future has made me dream again, wish again. If that dream is fulfilled, I won’t react as I did ten years ago. I won’t think, “All my wishes have come true and I could die now, content in that knowledge.” If I am able to walk again, if I fulfill that dream, I want to live; I want to revel in every moment. I won’t need anything grand or ambitious to accomplish, I won’t feel the need to change the world or make an impression. I’ll just savor life, everyday life — evening walks, an armful of groceries, a dash through the airport — every precious step.