March 23, 2011

A day that should be full of joy and love escapes me as frustration, disappointment and anger overwhelm and fill my body to a point of uncontrollable shaking and remorse. What has caused this day to become such a tragedy, repeating itself nearly every year over the last fifteen to twenty years? And why have I cautiously kept hope of a better day each year? I will not continue my hope for a better day every March 23, but will try and remember when it was such a special day. Further expectations elude me. My heart has been wounded too many times. I am closing the book on this very private situation.