There are so many things that I simply don't understand:

Exactly who invented the word Lollygag?

Why do I seem to think that I can hear myself think?

Why don't I dream in color any more?

Why do I continue to say, "At the end of the day..."?

Why won't my husband actively look for a job?

I soaked in the coolness of the bath water and willed my fever to disappear. When I'm overheated, I tend to talk outloud to my mom, my sister and my Siamese cat. My one-way conversation with all three had me sounding very wise and knowledgeable - that, I remember...although I'm at a loss to repeat exactly what was discussed.

One of the concepts that finally seeped into my brain was: You can't throw away your life when other people die.

I know several people who have lost more family members that I have - and yet they move forward, continue to thrive and deal with their grief strictly on an internal level.

I didn't do that. I ditched most everything that I had in my life to hide away and rebuild.

For the first few years, I didn't care. My goal was to get lost and sort things out. But now...something is growing inside of me that wants me to Return. I see photos of my California friends having lunch together, and I get very sad. I don't have any friends like that here...the ones that take years to cultivate and become family.

I long to have my old job and be back in the Groove. But the thing that really made that meaningful was my old boss and my direct reports. Most everyone is gone.

I don't want to move back to California, but I do miss the beach. Trader Joe's. Half Moon Bay. Sausalito. Monterey. St. Helena. Burlingame Ave. The Farmer's Market in San Francisco. Driving across the Bay Bridge. My old neighbors. And our multi-racial, highly friendly church.

I'm not sad, and I don't want to go back to the life that I used to have - I am just hopeful that I can put my life back together in some similar ways. I've made some tiny inroads but suffered a couple of huge disappointments. Sometimes I wonder if I have isolated myself to the point of Has-Been-ness.

All of this was running through my mind as I sat in the bath tub and fought the high fever. And it dawned on me that I've come a long way - which is good, since I cut most everything and everyone out of my life so I could deal with my trauma.

If I had to do it over again, I wouldn't have been so extreme.

I've had to give up on my yearning to adopt another baby. I'm 46 years old, working full time now, and I want to send my son to private school. My husband is not working and wants to start a new career. He's in his early 50s. It just feels as though that train has left the station.

Sometimes I sit back and observe the amount of doting/complete loving attention that our son receives daily. A friend recently noted, "Your son is the most well-loved child that I have ever seen. Every time I drive by and see you all in the front yard, I feel as though I could take a snapshot of you in a perfect family moment."

Our son has never been taken for granted and having him has given us renewed hope in life and our purpose on this earth. His arrival in our lives came at a critical moment when mortality was shrouding our entire existence.

I honestly don't know if it's possible to love a child too much. And I have a deep sadness knowing that Son will never have a brother. Despite the love and attention that we give to him, he'll never have a sibling to confide in, discover with, shout at, be jealous of. All that good, healthy, normal stuff that happens in larger families.

I wish I was 10 years younger.

I received my first paycheck after 4 years. It was...liberating. I feel as though I'm returning to my old, old self. Not the sad and tired old self but the invigorated and happy old self. And it's even better now because I have my son, I'm in Colorado and my husband is happy.

Today, the sky is vibrant blue and little brown birds are building nests all around our backyard.

We are all at peace.

After four long years, this is my last week of being unemployed.

I wanted to get lost in suburbia. I lost my ambition and desire to be out in the world. I mourned my sister and mom while taking care of dad through heart attack(s), strokes, rehab and Coumadin. Then I mourned my father while I took care of my new baby's oxygen, rehab and chronic lung disease. We dealt with so many illnesses, his folder at the doctor's office became thicker than a phone book. Then suddenly, my son was ready for pre-school, and I found myself home alone three days a week. Catching up on old business, reconnecting with old friends and starting to care about being healthy and looking good again.

I reached a Tipping Point where it became imperative that I go back to work. My brain was ready to be jump-started and my ambition slowly reignited inside my belly.

I have learned so much over these four years. My demeanor has shifted radically, I am caught-up on sleep (Thank You Ambien!), my son is healthy and doing great, and I no longer suffer over what my husband is doing or not doing (career-wise).

I absolutely adore my family, our home life, the house and our home town. I feel balanced and recharged and ready to take on new challenges. I have finally, finally been able to identify some new life's goals. Two years ago, I came up empty in trying to create a list. I felt lost and senseless at the time, but things are so much different now.

If anyone would have ever told me that I would be back in a place of happiness and contentment, I would have burst out laughing facetiously.

But here I am. Surprisingly, in one piece and impatient to start Moving Forward.

Damn, it's been a hard and intense journey. It feels nice to see sunshine again.

I know that I should be ecstatic that I have a new job, and I'm working on it. At the very least, I'm grateful.

I am about to walk right into a sink hole.

I've been warned about it.
I see it.
And I'm going in. Knowingly.

For the money. For the benefits. For my family.