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A Change of Heart, A.K.A. - My Funny Valentine

Love is what makes two people sit in the middle of a bench when there is plenty of room at both ends.

http://youtu.be/Z-9Rg9iJty4 [My Funny Valentine/Sarah Vaughan]

Valentine’s Day. The mere mention of those words conjure up images of red, pink and lace – boxes of chocolate, flowers [preferably roses], cupids, candles, love songs, mushy cards, romance, firelight, jewelry [here’s a two*fer: chocolate diamonds] passion, and I’ll let you finish the remainder of the train of thought.
I never thought, romantic that I am, that I would ever have a change of heart regarding Valentine’s Day. Don’t get me wrong. I love all of the above-mentioned things as much as the next person, and if there are a dozen roses waiting for me in the morning, I will feel a thrill go through me much the way I have all the previous Valentine’s Days when I’ve gotten flowers. I’ll gush. I’ll squeal to myself, and I will, undoubtably, call a few of my friends and sigh, "you won’t believe the beautiful flowers that he left for me this morning...."
However, years change one’s times, and, sometimes, one’s attitude changes as well about old standards and how things should be. There’s nothing wrong with that. My expectation of what constitutes romantic gestures in this moment isn’t what it was 25 years ago. Changing economic times have also made it necessary to put a little practicality where romantic gestures are concerned. Here’s the thing: if you’re creative, it can be more memorable. If you’ve got a good sense of humor, it can be just as good as it always was. Case in point: yesterday, my husband and I were at Barnes and Noble. Have you checked the prices of cards lately? Well, I have. (*!@#%^$ [in other words, put your favorite expletive where the symbols are.]
I said to Tom, "Gives more savings credence to those card-making kits that HSN sells on its craft days!"
He rolled his eyes. "We don’t need any more stuff!" he lamented.
I shrugged my shoulders. "I’m just sayin’!" and continued to look for what I had gone there for in the first place.
He went to get his crossword puzzle book.
I roamed the aisles. Bookstores are like candy stores to me. You know the slogan for that famous town in Pennsylvania, "the BEST place on earth?" Well, that’s how I feel about book stores.
I waited for Tom to come back, and when he did, I called him over. I handed him a card.
He looked at me. "THIS is the card I would give to you on Tuesday, if I was buying a card."
He smiled, and read it.
Then, he looked around for a minute and handed me a card. "For you," he said.
I read it and smiled. "Aw," I replied. "You love me?"
"I love you."
"I love you back," I told him, then we kissed.
I remember thinking, as I put the cards back how that exchange would never have flown five, 10, 15 or 20 years ago. Yet, in this moment, at this place in our lives, I’m good. I got the thought. I saw the pretty card. He picked it out. We saved $3.95 each, and I didn’t have the painful pang I feel when I have to throw something pretty, like a card, into the recycle bin. Score one for the home team!
He handed me the puzzle book he wanted.
As I headed to the register, he asked. "Seriously? We’re good? No card exchange this year?"
"We’re good," I told him. "Go buy yourself a cup of coffee and bagel."
Practical AND thoughtful! Score one for me!
Tom thinks we loose a lot of money when we go to the book store. That little exercise proved to him otherwise.
Later that night, as we were making hotdogs, he said in the middle of preparations, "how about a little hug?"
I’m NEVER one to turn away a hug. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tight.
"I’m going to miss you tomorrow," he said. "I always hate when the weekend is over."
Pitter pat went the beat of my heart.
"I know, Honey!" I said, patting his back. "I’ll miss you too."
"Let’s spend the whole day in bed on Saturday!" he said, excited by the thought.
Now, before you let your thoughts take that turn, let me just say, there’s a television set in the bedroom along with a King size bed. It’s waaaaay more comfortable stretching out in there with two puppies hopping all over us than sitting like tightly packed sardines on the tiny love-seat or all piling into the recliners.
Like you, however, I couldn’t resist.
Not missing a beat, I said. "You animal!"
He looked at me as his train hopped his track over to where my thought had gone. He chuckled. "How bout we spend half the day in bed?" he amended.
I high-fived him. "Sounds good to me!" Practical YET semi-romantic.
I pulled a Joanism. [A ‘Joanism’ is a Joan River’s joke that can apply to one’s every day life] To the front of my mind came the thought: "What the hell, I know in advance, I’ll shave my legs!"
First plan of preparedness: Always go into a situation ready for anything to happen! ;-)
Fifteen years ago, if he’d said that to me, I’d have come back with a little romantic humor: "Do you want me to bring in a picnic basket?"
Now, I offer a serious statement to a moment like this. Something like, "Don’t forget to bring the puppies a chew bone..."
Change of heart.....not always a bad thing. Snuggle-cuddling is a VERY good activity on a late Saturday morning into the early afternoon...
Later that night, we heard some comedienne make a wise-crack about guys taking their wives to Red Lobster for Valentine’s Day....like that wasn’t something special or significant.
My shoulders slumped. "Dammit!" I said. "Don’t tell me we can’t go to Red Lobster for Valentine’s Day!?"
He laughed. I think he thought the question was rhetorical.
When he didn’t answer, I felt the need to offer another suggestion. It was the Golden Corral commercial that had just come on, and it appealed to me. Let me paint the image for you of what I saw: a chocolate fountain of warm, flowing liquid gold.
"Hey, Tom..."
"No," he replied.
"Why not?"
"It’s way down in Richmond," he said. "And, I don’t want to go there for Valentine’s Day."
My lips turned downward in a frown. "That would have been an easy please for you," I told him. "Just push a chair up to that fountain and give me a fondu pick.....I’d have been good to go and you would have known how much I liked that experience!"
"Sorry to disappoint you," he replied.
"Well," I pushed. "What about Red Lobster?"
His brow furrowed. "Why do you want to go to Red Lobster so bad?"
Hello!  Cheddar biscuits....
Instead, I replied. "We have that $50 gift card. I just figured we could have a nice meal and not have to shell out any cash for it." Practical AND a Freebie.
He considered it. I knew that statement was music to his ears – gift card-nice dinner-free. Once upon a time, using a gift card for my Valentine’s Day dinner would have appealed to me as much as exchanging Valentine’s Day cards inside the store two days before the event~NOT!
"We can go to Red Lobster," he finally said.
"Good," I replied, pleased that we had nailed that detail down.
We finished our hotdogs. He came to get my plate and take it to the kitchen. [He’s thoughtful that way].
He had unloaded the dishwasher earlier, and I had a sink full of breakfast, lunch and supper dishes to now fill it up with.
We’ve got those 42" inch kitchen cabinets that look great, but I have a hard time, five foot thing that I am with a bad back to boot, reaching even the bottom shelf to put away the dishes. So, dishwasher unloading it one of Tom’s chores.
He called from the kitchen. "Sweetie, I’ll load the dishwasher for you!"
[With all the cold air of late, my bad back has been hurting a lot more than usual.]
I had followed him into the kitchen to re-fill my tea glass.
"Oh, you sweet man!" I said, as if he’d just given me the Hope Diamond. I followed the comment up by giving him face kisses.
For those of you who are dating or newly married and don’t know this. After you’ve been married for 10, 15, 17 years and so on, these kind of offerings are on par – an equal playing field with unexpected flowers, candy and whatnot. It’s a love gesture. Over time, our preferences change. Our husbands cleaning things, laundering things, picking up things, suggesting going out to dinner in the middle of the week....for us, those things are every bit as romantic and magical as all the things that one typically thinks of as romantic.
He still leaves me a love note by the coffee pot in the morning; and wakes me for a kiss goodbye before he leaves for work. I asked him once why he woke me up instead of just giving me a kiss before he went on his way. He said it was because he wanted to talk to me before he left home to start his day, even if it was just to get a sleepy "Good Morning-love you". [Yeah, I’m lucky....] He also still brings me a candy bar home from the store without my asking for it. It’s all in perspective of what becomes important for us in whatever stage of the journey we’re in. A Twix bar 17 years in gets the same kudos as a small box of Godiva did years ago. Fancy names don’t always mean best. Not to me anyway.
Don’t get me wrong. I have fancy, eclectic taste. It’s just not where food or candy is concerned. My husband appreciates that about me!
Besides, I get tons of wet, slobbery kisses and total body shimmy-shakes whenever I enter the room. That’s one of the benefits of having two puppies. Still, I know how it feels to be adored. My husband’s still got his game. Whenever he does little things, like scrubbing the bottom of the shower stall because I can’t bend down and do that anymore or unloads the dishwasher, or loads the dishwasher for me, or brings me an unexpected Starbucks, or changes the sheets on the bed, or leaves a Twix bar on the kitchen island or any one of a hundred other things he does for me, it re-affirms that passion and love that I know he feels for me. They’re change of heart ways of telling someone you love them, but they’re just as important and they mean just as much now as all the other things from the past.
He calls me every day at lunch to say hello and see how I’m doing.
And, when I hear the garage door open every night, I feel my heart smile and say a silent "Thank you, God, for bringing him home safe and sound to me."
The puppies and I go to the stairwell door inside of the kitchen that leads down to the garage. We open it and turn on the light as we wait for him to appear. The puppies bark and dance around in excited anticipation of seeing him walk through the bottom door. I have that excited anticipation too as I tell them that their Daddy will be coming up any minute. When the door opens and he emerges from the outside world, he looks up at me, our eyes meet and lock for a brief second before he says happily, "Hi, puppies!" which make them bark and dance and go crazy.
As he climbs the stairs, we patiently wait for him to reach us, each loaded with our hugs and kisses. He reaches for me first. I think the puppies know that’s the natural order of this greeting and will never change. We have a smooch and a hug before he turns his full attention to Chuey and Elmer which sends them running around him in giddy, wild abandon because the King of the house is finally back home.
I watch him step into the kitchen and put his briefcase and lunch bag on the island so that he can reach down and rub the boys - giving a caress to the scruff of their necks and down their back coats.
Then, he rises and lets out a happy sigh, looking at me. "It’s good to be home."
I smile, turning off the light in the stairwell and closing the door. "It’s good to have you home, Honey!
It never gets old. That’s our every day valentine.
"What’s for supper?" he asks one particular night.
"You tell me," I say.
"How about breakfast?"
I smile. I knew he was going to say that. "Breakfast is good...."
He nods, making himself a small snack to tide him over.
Then, we walk into the living room together to watch the news. The puppies follow close on our heels.
"You sure breakfast is okay?" he asks, taking his seat and turning on his computer.
"I’m sure," I tell him.
Chuey and Elmer look and me. "You want some bacon and eggs for supper?" I say in the funny voice we use when we talk to our fur babies.
They run around the living room, jumping on each other and growling playfully.
Tom and I watch them and laugh because they are such a delight.
In that moment, my eyes take in my blessings with grateful appreciation. I look at the three guys in my life and can’t help but think: "Yeah. Life is good...."
Then, I hear Sarah Vaughan in my mind sing what my heart realizes in that moment each day is Valentine’s Day....

 http://youtu.be/Fnn9JlqqTE4 [To Make You Feel My Love/Adele]

 Post Script: I wrote this entry last night [the 13^th] to post this morning; I woke up this morning to find a dozen BEE*U*TEE*FUL red roses on the kitchen island and I got the bagel from Panera. He took the coffee. Now, THAT’s a good Valentine’s Day card. I’m just taping the finishing Dove’s chocolate candies on Tom’s Amazon gift card. I’ve got special dog cookies for the puppies and Red Lobster is tonight. Woo*Hoo! It’s a beautiful day in our neighborhood. Happy Valentine’s Day All from our house to yours!
　
　
　
　

Exhale

　
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home...
~from Intimations of Immortality, William Wordsworth

                                                  Tammy on the right with her sister Kayley.

Have you ever noticed that tragedy seems to come in threes? I don’t know why that is? It’s a mystery, but it never seems to fail: when you hear tragic news and then a second bit of sad news comes, there always seems to follow in the wake of it all, a third. Such was the directional course of today.
I should probably go to bed. It’s what I told my mother a couple of hours ago that I wanted to do: put this day to bed. When bad days come, the first inclination is to want for them to end quickly before any more damage can be done. Damage had the upper hand, at least in my opinion, today. Yet, somehow, my brain has gone into shock overload, and I know that sleep will evade me, if I try for it right now. Writing always seems to help me relax my overburdened mind. And, so, tonight....I reflect, and I write. I make no promises of how coherent these thoughts will be, but I need to get them out so that the grief of this day doesn’t swallow me up. Tears have consumed me a dozen times since the early afternoon, and I need relief...release...If only I could give that to the families of those whom I write about tonight...
The day started out positive enough: Saturday. It’s the best day of the week for most people, because it’s the first day of the weekend. It was also reported here the last few days that central Virginia would see our first bit of snow for the year today. Tom and I were excited about that - me, because it’s the first snow of the season, and I love to watch it fall. For Tom, he’s been itching to try out a new snow blower we recently bought for him. We put the snow anticipation on the back burner and went about this day as we normally do: errands, lunch out, grocery store.
We got home in the early afternoon, and sure enough, the sky began to rain snow. It was a glorious sight for the brief time it fell. I pressed my nose against the window pane of our French Door and smiled as it fell, while Tom whoop*whooped, because he would get to try out his blower tomorrow. We’re kids that way - finding a childlike wonder and an anticipated childlike joy from something simple like the falling of snow. It was a great moment. However, just as suddenly as that giddy feeling came, it rapidly dissipated.
News came that a friend of mine’s young daughter had died in her sleep.  I didn't know the particulars, just that bit of information. When you hear something that seems improbable, there is a stillness that comes as your mind begins to decipher the meaning of each word to see if, somehow, someone made a mistake in the re-telling of a fact. When you realize that the statement stands as an unbelievable truth, you blink. Then, you blink again and again. Blinking allows that fact to touch-down in the part of your brain where your understanding lives. Shock can’t settle in until that touch-down occurs.
Shock, when it comes, truly is like running full-speed into a brick wall. That’s what it felt like when I got that news today. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. The awful disbelief of realizing that a beautiful, young woman had her life interrupted and would not be here to live it out took a horrifying and upsetting hold of me. My thoughts immediately turned to her mother, my friend, Peggy. I know what it is to lose a baby, in my case, two. I don’t know what it is to share 27 years of life and its experiences with your child, then have that child abruptly taken from you. There is no word for it - the abrupt taking away of a beloved someone. Cruel comes to mind and, while close, is still a gross understatement of the true reality of that experience.
The reaction that shock leaves your brain to handle and deal with is one, simple word: no. NO! I don’t want to hear this! NO! I don’t want this to be true! NO! I can’t bear this for my friend! NO! It’s not right! NO! It makes no sense! NO! It’s too awful to contemplate! NO! NO! NO! The unfortunate thing about screaming NO so loudly and with such force is that it’s regrettably irrelevant to the equation. You cannot make something so, simply because you loudly verbalize a negative response to it. All that is left for you to do is to wail against the truth of the matter.
That’s just what I did. I had the ugly cry – the one where not only your face but your entire body contorts with the pain and knowledge of something awful, as it simultaneously tries to digest it.
Peggy is an incredible mother and her girls mean the world to her. I couldn’t imagine this for her. I didn’t want to. The only thing I could do in that moment was weep for her, her husband and their remaining girls. I went to her Face Book page to express my immediate condolences. There, I saw Peggy’s photo albums and looked through them as I tried to regain my composure and collect my thoughts. One photograph was of Tammy with her sister Kayley. I looked at Tammy’s beautiful face - the chocolate eyes she had that are just like her mother’s. I saw echos of her mother’s face as a younger woman staring back at me through Tammy’s countenance, and the sorrow took hold of me yet again with a trail of new tears.
Peggy is a special friend. Even though we live in separate states now, time and distance has not changed that fact. I remember the first time I was in her home - it was 10 years ago this month. It was a good day – a Saturday not unlike today except for the tragic part. A group of friends met for lunch then went over to Peggy’s for coffee, dessert and more fun-filled conversation and laughs. The blue backdrop of that February winter’s day began to change to gray as the day grew late, indicating that night was soon approaching. It’s amazing how quickly friends can lose track of time when laughing and having a great time. When the children began to come home as the dinner hour approached, that’s when we all realized it was time to head home to our own families, after sharing a great afternoon making wonderful memories. Memories are the gift that remains of experiences shared with loved ones. I have great memories of that day.
Months later, Peggy offered a friendly comfort to me at a time in my life when I really needed it. I will never forget that. Nine months after that gathering at her house, a dear childhood friend of mine, died at the age of 38 from cancer. It was a devastating loss. Several of my friends, Peggy included, had been praying for Sheri. A few weeks after Sheri’s death, Peggy called to check on me. She could hear the "down" in my voice and suggested that we meet at The Cracker Barrel for lunch on Saturday. I did. I was so glad I went. We talked and laughed and laughed and talked. We had apple dumplings for lunch. It’s great when you have a friend who has a mind-set like that: Let’s have apple dumplings for lunch! My response to her thought: I’m in! We spent a couple of hours doing nothing but talking and laughing. Then, we roamed around the country store, where I found an ornament that was meant for Sheri’s father. It was so appropriate to something that Sheri and I had shared as kids about our fathers. We called them "marshmallow men". The ornament was a SMORE’s. I laughed when I saw it. It was a marshmallow man standing on a chocolate step on top of a plastic graham cracker base. I think he was wearing a smaller, square hat that looked like a mini graham cracker. I knew it had purposely been put in my path to send to Sheri’s father for Christmas, because I believe in signs like that. I told Peggy the story about it, and I remember her gently patting my back then giving my shoulder a little squeeze. I wish I could gently pat her back right now and do the same for her shoulder. There was a comfort in the gesture, and I know right now she probably could use all the comfort she can get. The best I can do is pray, and that’s what I’ve done on and off all afternoon: pray for her and her family.
No more had I gotten myself under control and managed to stifle those tears, that I saw a flash of news on Twitter that Whitney Houston had died. My brain, which was already numb, stared at that name and wondered, for the briefest second, if there was another Whitney Houston that wasn’t the Whitney Houston that my brain had pulled forward in my mind’s eye? It was a true, "huh" moment. I don’t know if my mouth had been agape since getting the news that Peggy’s daughter, Tammy, had passed or if it had momentarily closed in the re-gathering of my bearings, because that news was horrible enough without this added "Oh my God!" sentiment barreling through on top of it. All I know is that my mouth had dropped down again and was wide open in more harrowed disbelief. I don’t remember if my brain thought the word "no" or I actually said it? I just know that the room spun for a moment, and I felt dizzy.
My fingers began to fly over the keyboard as I typed her name into the search engine. Up came a news report that was three minutes old. Quickly, I opened it and read another devastating story of loss and reports of a death that had come too soon. My hands formed an immediate prayer sign as my lips came to rest against them, and I closed my eyes as more tears came.
Whitney has been a staple in my life since I was in my early 20's. Her songs–her music has been a mainstay among my easy listening preferences. The news took the worst feelings of the day to a whole other dimension.
I’ll never forget in 1987,  [December 2] my mother and I going to see Whitney in concert in Jacksonville, Florida. We had great seats - row 8. It was amazing to listen to her. It was good fortune to be that close to such a gift - that voice–that spirit. At the time, she was in the very beginnings of her career. She sang for a couple of hours, and it was magic – pure magic. It was grace in motion, hearing her voice climb and reach for notes that you didn’t think were humanly possible to hit. Yet, she did it with seeming ease. Not only did she hit them, but she held them–caressed them for long seconds before she offered them back to us. It was pure gold, and I remember thinking that there are certain things that make a person know that there is a God, because that voice could have only come from some higher place where glorious things are created then gifted. Her voice was stunningly beautiful. It was a chill producer. When she hit those high notes and held them in perfect pitch for those endless seconds, it was 24 kt., pure gold. And, if you can believe it, that wasn’t the best part of the experience. The best part was when she let her band take a 20 minute break, and she remained on stage and sang gospel songs a cappella. Think of the best thing that you can possibly imagine, then magnify it to the nth degree. THAT was Whitney Houston singing gospel songs a cappella. My mother and I looked at one another knowing we were in the presence of something truly beyond worldly. It felt like we were at a concert where an angel had been plucked from heaven and placed before us to perform. That’s what that voice is: angelic and heavenly.
I called my mother back to see if she had heard the news about Whitney? She was as stunned as I was. She replied that disbelieving "no"! We talked a little about the concert we’d been fortunate to witness. We spoke of her greatness. Then, I couldn’t talk anymore because the day’s sorrow that had all but taken me to my knees, had caught up to me again, and I felt more ugly cries approaching.
My husband and I watched the new coverage as this tragedy unfolded. I remembered the last time I saw Whitney. It was the interview she did with Oprah. I remember the song that came out of that time: I Look to You. It’s a song that has brought me great comfort the last few years as I’ve battled and struggled with my disability. There is hope in that song, and renewed strength. I took comfort in it–her singing of it. I remember the first time I watched her sing it, I prayed that Whitney was realizing those hopeful declarations that were contained in those lyrics, and I prayed that she was on her way back, bringing that golden voice–that gifted voice back to those of us who yearned to still hear it. Some have said that her voice was no longer the instrument that it had once been. Maybe so, but when I heard it, I still heard the power and the beauty of it. Singers in the current music industry should be so lucky on their BEST day to sound like Whitney Houston did on her worst. She, quite simply, had one of the best voices this world has ever heard. That statement, like her voice will withstand the test of time.
The news reporting tonight has been delicate in discussing Whitney’s troubles of the last 15 years. It’s been appreciated. No one wants to hear negative thoughts or comments when people are grappling with the suddenness and shock that this tragedy has created. Whitney Houston had problems– more than her share of them. We all have troubles; we all carry our own, private demons. The only difference is that Whitney had to live hers out, while the public watched, sometimes joked and often times criticized. I won’t remember Whitney Houston for the demons she struggled to overcome. I’ll remember her for that incredible, God-given instrument that she played like a Stradivarius. It was a sweet, glorious sound, and it shall be missed.
It was a good thought to end the night on, or so I thought. But, no more had that thought come to me, when the phone rang again. It was mother telling me that the daughter of one of her friends had died unexpectedly today too. What are the odds that a mother and daughter would both have a friend who would unexpectedly lose their daughter to an early, untimely death? Again, my mouth fell in that wide-open position of gaping disbelief. Three women gone too soon. Three daughters taken before their time. My knuckles turned white as I griped the phone.
I’d not seen Gay for probably 30 years, but I remember her well. She was between my sister and me in age. My sister is 51 and I’m 48. I asked my mother to express my sympathies to Gay’s mother, Charlene. Beyond that, I couldn’t think of anything more to say? My brain was shutting down. I could feel the "blank" taking hold. I told my mother that I couldn’t talk anymore because I was so close on the cusp of tears yet again. It was too much! I could feel my voice take on a shakiness as the tone fell out of it. When I hung up the phone, I looked upward with arms lifted in surrender and cried "uncle". No game. No fooling. I had reached the end of my rope on this day, and I knew I was about to be standing on my knees before the day was completely done. It would be no easy feat for me either.
I’ve been in physical therapy three times a week since the end of December, as the result of a bad fall I took on Christmas night. Still, as I held my hands up in surrender, I cried, "I give! I surrender! No more! I will get down on my knees right now God, but please, God! Please, God! Please, no more...."
It comes in threes – tragedy. I don’t know why that is? I just know that it does. This night, when I say my prayers, my thoughts and sentiments will be with Peggy and Tammy; Cissy and Whitney; and Charlene and Gay. And, my thoughts will be with Whitney’s daughter and Gay’s children as well. The circle of life sometimes doesn’t circle in the expected way that we anticipate, when we think of the natural order of things. Parents aren’t suppose to bury their children! Young children aren’t suppose to lose their mothers before they have the opportunity to fully understand and appreciate just who the incredible woman was who gave you life. Any way you look at it, and remember it, February 11, 2012 will always be a sad, unexpected day for the world yet it has more personal sorrow for me because of Tammy and Gay’s passing as well. As I sit here, trying to conclude my thoughts for tonight, this lyric popped into my mind:
Sometimes you laugh, sometimes you cry.
Life never tells us the whens or whys
When you’ve got friends to wish you well
you’ll find the point when you will exhale...
Today is surreal, and I am at a loss. Perhaps, in a few days, when the reality of this all settles, I can revisit these thoughts and maybe make better sense of them–maybe not. I don’t know? Tonight, these are the contents of my heart, sad as they are.....Still, I find myself holding on to my breath, afraid to let go of it. It’s odd. I’ve spent the last few minutes just staring ahead of me at nothing, listening to the wind in a low-pitch howl outside my door. The screen is whipping against the door as I think about the news of today and three women who are in blazing mode – trailing clouds of glory as they head back to their eternal home and realizing that we will probably never fully understand the why of how life’s end came for each of them. New normals are like that sometimes: they make no sense. Even when you’re given the pieces of the puzzle to fill in the blank places of the picture, it still makes no sense, and there is nothing that anyone can do about that. It is an exhale moment, and I just did.
Three women’s stars are setting elsewhere tonight. Those who knew and loved them, will never forget them. Beyond that, I don’t know what else to say, because my mind is in that tired and numb place that minds tend to go to when shock and sorrow have unexpectedly given a sucker punch not once but three times in one night.
I have no thoughts right now except these that are all jumbled up in my mind, and I’m typing them as they occur: Bittersweet....Memories are all that is left...Sometimes we cry, as we try to find that point where we can exhale...Learning to love yourself, it is the greatest love of all...If somebody loves you, won’t they always love you?...Winter storms have come and darkened my sun after all that I’ve been through...who on earth can I turn too. I look to you...after all my strength is gone, in you I can be strong. I look to you...I get so emotional, Baby, every time I think of you...Yes. Jesus loves me....Yet, to their family and friends, and in one case, to her millions of fans....we’ll always love them....always...
Godspeed Tammy, Whitney and Gay~Godspeed...and Rest In Peace.
Below, I’ve listed 7 of Whitney’s songs. It is the number of completion. Yet, nothing is ever really finished...

http://youtu.be/H2GbvEML1yE [Where Do Broken Hearts Go/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/ydPXZlwvgNY [The Greatest Love of All/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/7d_ToCL9nSY [Exhale/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/5Pze_mdbOK8 [I Look To You/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/0YjSHbA6HQQ [I Get So Emotional/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/cd-CFI4EhBU [I’ll Always Love You/Whitney Houston]
http://youtu.be/ZNqAHrNNLqA [Jesus Loves Me/Whitney Houston]
　

This picture of Whitney brings me peace; it's the light behind her.  We will all step into the light when our time on earth is done.   I hope it's as beautiful as it appears to be.  In my heart, I know it is...