In April of 2006 my entire world was flipped upside down after my husband was hit by an IED in Ramadi, Iraq. We were thrown into something no 20 year old should ever have to experience.
The next four years were spent in hospitals and hotel rooms. We were fighting to get his life back, and fighting to make a marriage work through pill addiction, overdose, miscarriage, family feuds,infections, amputation, ptsd, and tbi. There were amazing times that made everything worth it, and there were times I truly felt like I was in hell.
In April of 2010 my world stopped. My husband died due to accidental overdose of his pain meds while recieving inpatient therapy for PTSD.
I miss him. And I have guilt. And I hurt. And I'm doing my best to work through it. This blog is my sanity. It's my safe place. And sometimes it's the only place I feel comfortable showing my true, raw emotion.
The further along I get, the more I've realized that this blog isn't just that, but it's also about my journey from girl to woman. I started this in my early twenties, but if I read back I can truly see how much I've grown through all of this.
This is my journey to finding my place in the world and finding happiness.
That being said, don't judge me for the earlier posts.
I was kind of a hot mess.
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with the men in them,
What stranger miracles are there? - Miracles, Walt Whitman