I do not like this feeling, but it’s happening to me. Clearly there is much going on that makes me feel this way along with several other crazy emotions.
This morning though, I got a text saying an old friend of mine committed suicide last Monday. We worked together for a couple years, she was my roommate for a while, and she was around for some pretty important happenings in my life- namely, my car accident in San Diego when I was without family and 7 months pregnant and beginning labor on the freeways of San Diego. She came down there like an irate mother and wouldn’t let the doctors take another minute before giving me an answer about my baby. She also helped me practice my conversation before calling my husband, who was then stationed several hours away in Washington, to tell him that little baby may come out before he makes it home (and three months early). She was a good hand holder, always did the dishes, and will always be part of a really important story in my life.