Yesterday my dad died.

He also died the day before. Even the one before that. 

He first died on his 74th birthday, on March 24, 2003. But since that day, every day I say goodbye to a little more of him.

Every so often in the middle of mundane, monotonous tasks in my everyday life, I come across leftovers. Some say leftovers are even better the next day.  My opinion? Not so much. Really, never. 

I guess you can't escape abuse completely unscathed. Don't we wish we all could?

"Dana, your surgery is over now. Everything went very well."

I opened my eyes and struggled to process this information. The searing pain emanating from my abdomen needed no substantiation. It was was unmistakable. 

Free me from this pain. 

I've often wondered where hope comes from. Is it inherent in our being? How do we hold onto it? When it's lost, where has it gone? 

I wish there was a Red Cross for hope. When you have extra hope, you could donate some. When you have lost all hope, you can become a recipient. Just imagine the possibilities in both donating and receiving! All types are welcome; after all hope is hope, right?

I remember it like it was only yesterday. In actuality, it was three years ago, but the lesson learned will last throughout my lifetime. In sharing it with you, I remain hopeful it's sweet message will live on in the hearts of many.

On a cold, wintry, late December day, our youngest daughter asked if I would go with her to the mall. My initial instinct was to remind her that it was 23 degrees outside, and being 4 days before Christmas, there would be no parking and the mall would be packed with panicked people frantically looking for that perfect present. Within seconds I reminded myself that there will never be a better time to make memories and fortunately, I rethought my decision.