Two things on earth I'm afraid of- the devil, himself, and falling in love.
Buddy, if you don't have voices in your head, I feel sorry for you. It must get awfully lonesome. Grandma's voice reminds me to get a coat. Jamaica's reminds me to enjoy myself. Maxine makes sure that Hank Penny or Sam Cooke keep singing.
Of course, Sam Cooke and Hank Penny are long gone. Then again, so are Lottie and Maxine and Jamaica. I hear them. Loud. Clear. Often.
Recently I read that grieving is just a form of love. The object is "gone." Makes sense to me. If all lessons are about loss and all you need is love, my story almost makes sense.
Love hard and love shamelessly.
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