Five years ago was a Saturday.
It was a stressful morning with lots of angst going on over whatever causes angst on Saturday mornings in our home.
Five years ago I was 39, and my children ranged in age from 17 to 2.
We had a full house with all of our children still living at home, though one was in Bolivia visiting five years ago.
Five years ago I was in the thick of naming and processing much broken in my life.
Sort of like the broken that called me to return this year, I was in a place of inner turmoil.
Five years ago I woke from a nap to devastating news.
I hate killing and death. I don’t want to live in a hate~filled world, I wrote in my journal.
Five years later and much has changed.
But one thing has not. I won’t forget.