pink mums | shorts and longs | julie rybarczyk

Wow, what a week.

On Monday, I was overwhelmed by the personal stories of worlds crashing in on so many fellow Americans—along with the wind and waves and fire and Sandy. Americans who had been walking through their everyday ordinary, plain-jane lives, never suspecting the great losses that were just around the corner.

Because we never do.

Also on Monday, a longtime family friend suddenly lost her kind and caring husband to a heart attack. And, because she suffers from Alzheimer’s and cannot live alone, she also lost her dogs, her home of 30 years, and her entire life as she knew it that very same day. Never to see any of them again.

On Tuesday, I learned that a bubbly, big-hearted teenage girl—a childhood friend of R-girl’s (one of my favorites)—the daughter of a good friend, had been missing for over two weeks.

Also on Tuesday, my precious young niece lost the love of her life to cancer—on the very day of her six-month wedding anniversary. And now she is left to raise their baby girl all alone while she is still practically a baby girl herself.



It’s too much.

I stomp my feet and tantrum—really? really!???? why?>>!?!><@<!>>!?!?!?!

Why. why. why. why.

I don’t get an answer.

So I hug the people I love.

I pray.

I try to remember what it was that I have needed most in my own heart-wrenching, knee-buckling moments so that maybe I can offer at least something of value to these vulnerable and aching souls.

I notice that my own knees are not buckling right now, which must mean that eventually, given enough time and care, aching souls do mend.

But tell me. Why is it that, like the imperfect mums on my front step, at any given moment, someone in our midst is breaking into bloom while someone else is wilting away?

And how do we walk this out together?