Hot Flashes of Brilliance

When I wake up tomorrow, it will be the fifth July 12 sunrise Christopher didn’t live to see.

(To be fair, if he were here, he probably would have slept through all of them. But still.)

And I’ll figure out how to live without him again. Just like I have for the 1,461 days before.

Tomorrow, I’m going to do something Christopher would never do.

I’m going to Disneyland.

He didn’t love it. But he loved that I did.

He’d walk the dog so I could go straight from work. He’d send me money for wine and Dole Whip. He’d give me goofy assignments: take a picture with a character, send one from Haunted Mansion, have a margarita and prove you finished it.

Sometimes I still check my phone, just in case.

Old habits die hard.

I’m grateful for that.

On this day four years ago, I went to work. One of my bosses said something that bothered me, and C gave me a pep talk.

He reminded me that people sometimes mistake kindness for weakness. That I could be kind and still be smart. I could stand up for myself. I could speak my mind.

I did. For the first time, maybe ever.

The boss apologized.

“Nice,” C wrote back.

It’s taken four years, but I do that all the time now. And it has led me to some really good things.

A fun, kind team.

A challenging role.

A life where I’m still growing.

I’m grateful for what I’ve learned, how it’s moved me forward slowly, and how it helps me really help others.

I’m grateful I went to bed 1,460 nights ago feeling so loved.

And I’m grateful I get to go to bed tonight feeling that way again.

My circle is small. But it is mighty.

Then the call came: my car was ready, earlier than expected. Hooray!

Everyone at the garage was so kind. They walked me through what was fixed, added an oil change, even offered bubbly water.

As the tech walked me to my car, we spotted a penny on the ground, heads up. Some say it’s a sign of good luck. Others believe it’s a message from a loved one or guardian angel, a quiet assurance that you’re not alone.

I happen to believe both.

We argued over who should keep the penny. He insisted it was mine; I insisted it should be his. In the end, I picked it up, the boys in the garage cheered, and I handed it over. Good luck, like kindness and love, is meant to be shared.

Later, I lit the fall candles and curled up with the pets while someone in the complex played the piano. After a couple of hard days, it was the gentlest ending.

I’m grateful the hamster car is home.


I’m grateful for the kind team and for sharing the penny.


I’m grateful for help when I needed it, and for notes from friends.


I’m grateful Spencer made it safely to his new home in NYC and for the photos he sends.


I’m grateful for time to cook (it was pasta and roasted tomatoes, but still…).


I’m grateful for cooler weather, for Gidget and Bugg snuggles, for neighbors’ dogs, and for Pow taking over the sofa.

Pennies, pets, pasta, and piano music—proof that comfort is everywhere if I pause to notice.

So grateful for signs, for kindness, and for the reminder that I’m not moving through any of this alone. 🩵

As I drove past couples riding bikes and walking their dogs, groups of friends laughing on patios and at the pool, I’ve been questioning why I only get these times of happiness in small doses.

And then I read a post by Nelba Marquez-Greene about her home flooding and losing all of their family treasures. I think of Nelba and her family and of Ana Grace often.

I see what she and her family endure and how she faces it with honesty and bravery and gratitude for the things that hold true, but not easy - love and family and the promise of new beginnings (even if those beginnings have to happen over and over again).

Mr. Rogers said to look for the helpers. I would remind you to also look for the grievers, carrying the unimaginable and setting it aside, stepping over it, crashing through it so they can survive, no - endure, and show others the way.

It’s a hard thing this enduring. It is. I like to say I know something better is coming, but even if it does, I don’t know how long it will last.

Still, I hold out hope.

Hope. Not just for me, but for the people I love and for those I don’t really know, like Nelba.