Life - Love - Loss 

I braced for the day when Dad's health would take a final turn, as I jumped each time my phone rang. I was scared to lose my father, and I dreaded the day I'd have to share the same space with my stepfamily.

This almost felt worse than someone dying, knowing that this person still existed and was living their life without you.

I didn't want to deal with a break-up and Dad dying at the same time. It was too much loss, and I still had hope that we could fix our relationship.

I'd never heard these stories before, and I held onto every word as I pictured him as a little boy full of hopes and dreams, before life had taken its toll.

I held the test results and scanned the words, looking for something recognizable among all the medical terminology. Then my eyes darted to the word, carcinoma.

He'd struggled to find a balance between church and family, and his desire to be needed and feel important took over his life, as our phone constantly rang off the hook.

I decided that love would have to come to me, as I was done chasing it, and after a year of being my own, it suddenly entered, sweeping me off my feet.

I had been shaped by fear. Growing up in a doomsday religion hadn't helped.

This was the problem with me and online dating, we had a terrible relationship, as it brought out all my insecurities, leaving me riddled with anxiety for days.

He'd told me how he'd fixed himself with therapy, Jesus and weight loss surgery, having been an emotional abuser himself at one time.

I never really thought about a career growing up, because I was told the end of the world was coming.

I hadn't witnessed many fairy tales, which included my owns parents' relationship.

I was showing up a decade late to the party, trying to figure out things in my 30s, that are normally worked out in one's 20's.

The longer I was away from the church, the more resolute I was in my decision, determined to build a fulfilling life on the outside.

You relish in their presence when its safe, you learn to stay away when its not, and you learn to try to make them happy at all costs, in hopes it takes longer for the darkness to return next time.

My sister hated dresses, fought with the boys, and chose toy cars over dolls. She wore her hair short and chose clothing that exuded little femininity.

It wasn't until I'd officially settled in, that the realization hit. I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself, with the church having provided a regimented schedule that left little time for anything else.

According to the religion, marriage was forever. According to my dad, it was until his daughter said she'd rather die.

It was in that moment that I looked around our beautiful heritage house, and realized that no matter how pretty we made it, it would never feel like home.

In the months that followed, surviving was the only thing I knew how to do.

People around you move on, but you’re left carrying a wound that heals, then breaks open unexpectedly throughout your life.

I'd grieved for a few days, the kind that soaked my pillow and made me gasp for air, but then one day I felt nothing at all

As much as our relationship had been tumultuous at times, I knew she was extraordinary. Her bipolar disorder drove her creatively and intellectually, which was the part that drew everyone to her like a fragrant flower.

I grew up in a religion where you weren't allowed to leave, and you weren't allowed to do anything wrong.

When they prayed, they felt love and a deep connection. When I prayed, I felt nothing.

I'd stayed eight years too long, fully aware of the mistake I'd made by year two.

I wondered if it was the tightness of my bodice preventing me from breathing, or the fact that I was a child with a one in front of my age.