I am like the daffodils that are blooming in my back yard (yes they bloom 2x a year in LA. I thankfully bloom more often.)
I crumble, letting the dirt and cold beat down on my brightness, making me floppy and weak, causing me to brown and shrivel. I go within too tired to care anymore. It is there I find the sustenance, the nutrients, all that I need to continue, to grow, to nourish me back into myself, brighter than before.
This is his gift to me. My transformation over and over and over again, until the pattern is so ingrained that I am not afraid of the floppy weakness but welcome it.
I managed to get us all on two different flights.
I have developed a healthy fear of flying. Perhaps it is because I have experience with the randomness of death.
We all arrived in Maine.
Our luggage did too.
That is all that matters.