The sky was pale pink over the lake this morning. I padded upstairs quietly into the cool air of the cottage, greeted by the smell of coffee and beautiful Lena in silhouette in her room. The best kinds of pjs are the ones that double as yoga wear. You can roll out of bed, ready to do something good for your body. Nancy, who is my personal embodiment of how I’d like to age (striking, fit, bohemian), ushered us to the coffee she’d brewed. We three curled up on the couch and quietly commented on our quality sleep while sipping…

This story begins nearly two decades ago. Against the backdrop of two close family members succumbing to cancer, my fledgling marriage to a wonderful man succumbed to a number of things. Inexperience, lack of a practical plan, selfishness, impulsive behaviour, fear, pride, stubbornness, poor financial management, lust, and immaturity for starters. When I think back on that time, I can’t remember details. Life back then feels like a dream that slips further away with each moment of waking. I’ve come to equate this feeling with detachment. With trauma. Fast forward to today. If you read my last post, you’ll know…