Fight, fight, fight to the death....
Life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
Shit happens, then you die.
Life goes on.
Ahhh, F%#k it.
The only sure thing in life is change.
Don't be a victim.
Can you change it? nope. Can you do anything about it at this very moment? nope. Is your piss poor reaction to the situation helping? nope. Then f&%k it. Don't worry about it.
One foot in front of the other.
One day at a time.
Tomorrow is a new day.
Don't be so hard on yourself.
Things will look different in the morning light.
But for the grace of God go I.
I tell myself these things daily. I may say them out loud, to myself, or to someone else. Maybe not all of them, but at least one...at least once a day. This has been going on for years....my internal dialogue is strong, is loud, is relentless. It comes from a place of love.
There once was a little Catholic Italian lady. She stood about 4'11, but her stature never matched the size of her personality, the depth of her understanding, nor the reaches of her influence. She was an orphan. She was a wife. She was a mother, and a mother who had lost a child. She was a grandmother, a great-grandmother, and she taught me all I needed to know about when to scream, when to whisper, when to cry, when to laugh, when to let it go, and when to take it and run.
I wonder what she would say. I wonder what she would do. I wonder if she would laugh, oh how I miss her laugh. I miss her. That seems like the understatement of a lifetime. Its inadequate, hollow. I miss her like you would miss part of your being, I think it may be how people who lose their mothers feel. Lost. But I carry her with me. To love me is to love her. Oh how I wish she were here. I'm proud to carry her name. I hope I do it justice one day. I hope my grandchildren think half as well of me. I'd consider that a great accomplishment.