In Which The Story Changes

I found the words one day as I walked.

Coastal path Devon Coastline, England (c) Sherri Matthews 2015

Coastal path Devon Coastline, England
(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

These words:  ‘Stranger In A White Dress.’  The title of my memoir.

Which Way? (c) Sherri Matthews

Which Way?
(c) Sherri Matthews

But as I climbed high above the sea,  I found something more:

Soar Cove, Devon Coastline (c) Sherri Matthews 2015

Soar Cove, Devon Coastline
(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

I found strength.

The top (c) Sherri Matthews 2015

The top
(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

And I realised that whether I look up or down, I never stop asking ‘why’.

Steep Drop (c) Sherri Matthews 2015

Steep Drop
(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

Does this change anything?  The tide ebbs, the sun sets and the moon wanes anyway.
I know I’ve changed, but some things stay the same.

Aqua Marine - Clean (c) Sherri Matthews 2015

Aqua Marine – Clean
(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

I hear a girl, giggling then yelling: ‘No, let me do it on my own!’ as she pulls away from her  father.  He tries to show her that the water is safe, if she will only take his hand
and walk with him into the gently lapping sea.

Gentle September Tide, Soar Cove, Devon (c) Sherri Matthews 2015

Gentle September Tide, Soar Cove, Devon
(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

But she doesn’t trust him, not for this.  She will get her feet wet only when she’s ready
and not before.    She will do it her way and though he tries to convince her, she resists.

Afternoon View overlooking Soar Cove (c) Sherri Matthews 2015

Afternoon View overlooking Soar Cove
(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

She observes, unnoticed, from the shadows lurking at home how her father paces, checks his watch and reaches into his jacket pocket for a cigarette and taps it three times on his silver cigarette case – tap; tap; tap – then lights it.

“I’m going to the pub now, be back soon!” he calls out, as a curl of grey smoke drifts up into his squinting eyes.  She wants to chase after him and say please don’t go, stay home with us, but she knows that she can do nothing to change his mind.

He shuts the front door behind him and as she turns around to glimpse her mother’s tight, pinched face, the girl knows that later, as she lies awake in bed watching her pale, yellow curtains flap gently in the breeze, she will hear her mother cry.

 The sun always sets, but our horizons burn with change

Soar Cove Sunset (c) Sheri Matthews 2015

Soar Cove Sunset
(c) Sheri Matthews 2015

I watched and I waited in that cool hour between day and night ~

(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

In the place where I found my story.

(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

And I remember how I climbed to the top that day, and I didn’t quit.

We made it, right to the very top. Hubby and I. (c) Sherri Matthews 2015

We made it, right to the very top. Hubby and I.
(c) Sherri Matthews 2015

Although I felt like it more than once.

***************

The post I planned for yesterday didn’t happen.  This post wrote itself this morning in the aftermath of receiving a letter from my dad telling me he is back in prison. I’m reeling a bit I admit: hurt; disappointed; angry.  But I’ll get over it, I always do.  I thought though that this time he would make it, I really did.  Such is life with an alcoholic father.  I began my blog almost three years ago sharing about my dad, and I continue to do so not for sympathy, but because it’s part of the story.  Part of life.  It’s raining today at the summerhouse, thank you, dear friends, for sharing the view with me rain or shine.   Maybe tomorrow the view will be a little brighter.

“Ninety-nine percent of those who fail are not actually defeated, they simply quit.’
~
Paul J Meyer.

About Sherri Matthews

Sherri has been writing full time since 2011. Currently working on her memoir, 'Stranger in a White Dress', she has been published in a variety of national magazines, websites and three anthologies. Sherri raised her three, now adult children, in California for twenty years and today, lives in England’s West Country with her hubby, Aspie youngest, two cats, a grumpy bunny and a family of Chinese Button Quails. She keeps out of mischief blogging, gardening, walking by the sea and snapping endless photographs. Her garden robin muse vists regularly.
This entry was posted in My Dad's Alcoholic Prison, Travel, Weekly Photo Challenge and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

90 Responses to In Which The Story Changes

  1. I’m praying for you, Sherri. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh, wow, Sherri! What a powerful post. I’m sorry to hear about your father. I’m sure there are many emotions surging about now but this post is really beautiful. It displays your strength and tenacity. I pray peace to you. Your photos of the cove are gorgeous and quite serene.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Sherri says:

      Thank you so much Lilka, for your lovely words and your prayers. I’m really moved by your comment and I’m glad for the message it spoke to you, which is my heart…bless you and peace to you too.

      Liked by 2 people

  3. Oh dear Sherri……….this awful news must have been like receiving a kick in the stomach. I’m so sorry my dear friend. Beautiful photos of the cove and well done to you and hubby for getting to the top. Over the years you’ve learned to be strong, and you will rise above this situation too. xx *hugs*

    Liked by 2 people

    • Sherri says:

      Thank you so much dear Sylvia, it was just like that, I admit. He was doing fairly well, it’s been one year, although I did have my suspicions…I’m glad you enjoyed the photos, those were taken in September when hubby and I took a little weekend getaway to a wonderful place nestled down the end of a tiny, narrow lane high above the Devonshire coastline, called Soar Mill. Soar Cove belongs to it, although an area of 2,000 acres belongs to the National Trust. It’s so beautiful there, I thought of it as it brought me a lot of calm and peace…hugging back…xx

      Liked by 2 people

  4. I am sorry to hear about your dad. Sherri, but, as you say, you are strong and beloved for your positivity and can-do attitude. I know you will weather this storm and triumph, as you always do. But, it’s OK to feel down too.

    Fondly,
    Elizabeth

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Mumblypeg says:

    I know how tough the news is for you, but you have an inner strength from the good Lord. He will carry you through this difficult time. In my prayers and sent with all my love xxxxx

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Heyjude says:

    Perhaps Sherri, prison is where he feels safe and, despite all his efforts, hard to stay away from. I can’t begin to imagine how you feel. But I do know you are a very strong woman and you have a very warm and loving family to support you. I also know that your memoir will be good and honest like you. Am I allowed to say that I love this post? One of your best I think with such lovely dreamy photos and coastal views. And despite the weather let’s head into the summerhouse and crack open a bottle of bubbly – and drink to the success of your book!

    Liked by 5 people

    • Sherri says:

      You are right about prison and my Dad Jude. I suppose the only surprise is that he stayed out for as long as he did, almost a year, a record. I’m touched by your kind, wise words and I thank you greatly for them and I love your idea of heading into the summerhouse with a bottle of bubbly. Let’s do it! The rain can pour and the wind howl, but we’ll stay warm and dry, say ‘cheers’ and look to the future. I can be responsible for my actions only…so I need to get back to those revisions 🙂 xx

      Liked by 1 person

  7. I agree with everything Heyjude wrote Sherri……… I admire your courage in wanting him to be freed from his demons – perhaps hoping that that too might finally free you? I hope you know you are not responsible for your father. I admire your care of him so much – I don’t know if I ever told you, I walked away from my abusive family when I was in my early thirties – I just knew I couldn’t be there any more, couldn’t look at them any more or listen to the ugliness any more. It took many more years to deal to the various issues placed in my psyche from all three ‘parents’. We never really completely heal or let go though I suppose. I’ve learned to live with my freedom issues and trust issues and all the others and have found my ‘family’ outside of blood connections. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to write your memoir without falling back into what was – there’s strength! xoxo

    Liked by 3 people

    • Sherri says:

      Thank you so much Pauline. I came to a place of acceptance of his actions a long time ago, waking up to the fact that I could not ‘fix’ him years ago. That was when I realised that my dad’s demons were his and his alone and that absolutely nothing I could ever do would help him. Only then did I come to terms with what being being an alcoholic really meant. The first time I had a conversation with him when he was sober (since my early teens) was when I first visited him in prison in my 20s. To be honest, I didn’t expect to see him again once I moved to California, my only prayer being at the time that he wouldn’t die alone in some back alley. Being able to see him for short visits here and there when he’s been in half way houses during the past 12 years I’ve been living back in the UK has been an unexpected blessing, for those I’m very grateful. But I hoped that this time, since he’s 83 and in poor health, that he would finally come to peace within himself and be content with the care home where he was placed. But he didn’t like the rules. And so it goes. Thank you so much for sharing your story with me Pauline, I didn’t know although you’ve hinted at family troubles from your past. I am so glad that you found your way through from your early family’s abuse to make a brand new life for yourself. That takes an awful lot of courage and strength too my friend, an awful lot, and I so proud of you and the life you now live… xoxo

      Liked by 1 person

  8. You should let posts “write themselves” any time they want, Sherri. This is superb! The things we learn or that come to us on walks must come from very special, unexpected places. This one certainly did. Brava! And the pictures are stunning.
    p.s. My mother said my first complete sentence was, “Me do it me-self.” I never let my brother forget this; his first complete sentence was, “Do it for me.” 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Walking is indeed a powerful tool when it comes to finding those words, and so often in the most surprising and unexpected places, I agree! Thank you so much Marylin, as always, for your lovely message, and I did laugh at your PS. I am not surprised at this, not at all 🙂

      Like

  9. Oh, Sherri. My heart is heavy for you, and your dad. sigh
    Maybe someday…….
    Congrats for making it to the top, you and Hubby! You can make it thru anything! You are such a strong woman.
    Melinda

    Liked by 2 people

  10. TanGental says:

    It is a tragedy and a triumph to both hope, despair and then hope again, like your climbing metaphor when aiming for the top, cresting a ridge thinking you’ll see the summit only another ridge. In life I guess we never know what the summit will be or when it will be reached. I think two things emerge strong and clear from this post, leaving aside how compelling it is. First up the resilience you exemplify in how you’ve bounced back. Second how bloody marvellous a read your memoir will be given hie fantastically well you write.

    Liked by 4 people

  11. Imelda says:

    The story that accompanied the pictures is very encouraging; the memoir excerpt is poignant; and I feel sad with you about how the present turned out. I am so sorry about the news from your father. The story is not yet done – triumph must be in there somewhere.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Sherri says:

      The story continues indeed Imelda and I am deeply honoured and humbled to share it here and for the hope that you and everyone here gives me with your comforting and encouraging words. Thank you so much…

      Like

  12. You wrote this in such a moving way. I was so drawn in, I read it twice. We each choose our own path. I’ve found it not a good thing to try to interrupt someones lessons in life and I think Heyjude has a good handle on it. Prison doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s just a physical or mental place. He may be in both. All you can do is send loving thoughts. So will I. Your memoir is going to a long read for me as I think it will be profoundly moving.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Sherri says:

      What you say about not ‘interrupting someone’s lessons in life’ is powerful and wise Marlene, as with Jude. My disappointment and hurt was because I allowed myself to actually think that my dad might, just once in his life, accept the help offered to him and settle down. I let my guard down because for a minute there, I thought that maybe even though I can’t change my dad’s path, I could have had a bit longer to walk along side him. But he didn’t let me in because he knew what he had to do. Thank you so much for your loving thoughts Marlene and goodness, I am humbled that you say that about my memoir, truly I am…I need to get my climbing boots back on 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  13. dgkaye says:

    Sherri, this post was so touching it gave me goosebumps. Your words and delivery are so eloquent even with the sorrow it emits. Keep up the bravery my friend, and certainly the pen will take care of the continuation of your memoir. Sending you hugs! xoxo<3

    Liked by 2 people

  14. prior2001 says:

    powerful post mon amie. I have a few emotions swirling – the way you really looped us in with the photos was seamless – and then the part about the strength, the story, and then your dad – and cool quote – really layered and well done (brillamment ecrits) – and glad to stop by this rainy day – I brought an umbrella to share ❤

    Liked by 3 people

  15. I am sorry to hear the news about your dad Sherri, his path is bit like the coastal one you travelled in September.. it travels very close to the dangerous edge at times. Your strength is still important to him. Perhaps when he reads your memoir he will finally understand. lots of love S

    Liked by 3 people

    • Sherri says:

      You are right about that Sally, his path has taken him to the precipice too many times. It’s a miracle he’s still alive to be honest. It’s so intersting what you say about him reading my memoir. When he gave me his blessing to write about him, it was the best gift he could have given me because it helped me pause and remember what is good and strong about my early family life, and helped me come to terms with those things I can’t change. Thank you so much Sally, lots of love to you too… xx

      Liked by 1 person

  16. restlessjo says:

    Whatever the cause, Sherri, I would have to say that this is one of the loveliest posts of yours I have ever read. And you did! You made it to the top, despite the setbacks. And aren’t the views up there on the high ground unsurpassable? I love the title of your book. I hate to say that your Dad is a lost cause, but he has ‘chosen’ his path, for whatever the reasons. We all have our demons, hon. I’m sure there is something in what our wise Jude says about the safety of prison. Sending hugs, darlin’. Precious little more I can do.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Sherri says:

      Those views are stunning Jo, I had to revisit them, it helped 🙂 I’m glad that you like the title, after almost three years of writing the first draft, I knew I would find it when the time was right, but not that long! Jude is wise indeed; prison is his real home. I’m not surprised at this latest development. This time though, I had a bit more hope…hope that perhaps he could become a little more intergated with family life, slowly. But I believe he feels it is too late. And perhaps it is and I need to accept that. Ahh…there it is. Thank you so much dear Jo, you do more than you know…sending those precious hugs for one as I hug back 🙂 xx

      Like

  17. Pingback: Thoughts on Change | In the Zone

  18. Norah says:

    I can see why this post needed to write itself. It needed to release you from the fear of being imprisoned by your father’s transgressions and let you soar to the heights that you reached through your own efforts and not one jot of pull-me-up from those who should have helped. The post is stunning in the poetry of your words, the beauty of your photos, and the depth of emotions that you explore. I’m so sorry that you feel so devastated about your father’s relapse, but you are the daughter and bear no responsibility for his actions. There is something tangible in this post, a warmth, a love, an understanding and acceptance that has come from trudging up that mountain with a backpack of strength through every painful encounter and slippery setback. I just know your memoir is going to be an amazing read. I am looking forward to it. Take care my friend. Hugs. You are an inspiration. 🙂 ❤

    Liked by 3 people

    • Sherri says:

      Dear Norah, your amazing insight never fails to astound me. I am actually quite speechless, or should I say, wordless, in trying to find a response to the depth of your beautifully written and heartfelt comment. And that doesn’t happen too often, as you know! That I can share here, in my blog, in a public domain, my hurt and deep disappointment without fearing that I sound like a victim, is deeply humbling. When push comes to shove – and hopefully not at the top of that mountain! – I love my dad and I know he loves me, but there is a price to pay for that love. Writing settles the score and I hope, brings redemption to the story. Thank you so much my friend for everything you express here. I am feeling those wonderful hugs 🙂 ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      • Norah says:

        Ah Sherri. I’m pleased my feeble message made some connection with you. I sometimes worry that I am interpreting my own responses rather than yours. Writing plays such an important role in our lives, it is difficult to imagine how we would cope sometimes without it. I do wish you well, (but neither to the depth of one nor the push from the top of a mountain). Take care my friend. More hugs.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Sherri says:

        Never, ever feeble Norah, oh my goodness, absolutely not, you must never say that again!! 😮 No way, your thoughts and messages connect with me in a deep and meaningful way. That’s why I have to read them twice, or more! To take it all in…and I mean that in the best possible way 🙂 Thank you again so much for your kindness…keep those hugs coming. SMAG reins in all things my friend 🙂

        Like

  19. jennypellett says:

    Ah, Sherri, I’m so sorry that you have these family problems rearing their heads again but how comforting that you, although strong in your own right, now have a lovely partner to give you more strength when you need it. This post didn’t really write itself you know. It takes courage to share what you do – may you find a little more strength from all of us who share your words. And like many other commenters here – your pictures are lovely and fir the words perfectly.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      How right you are Jenny, I don’t know what I would do without hubby, I really don’t. And I am deeply humbled by the support and strength sent my way from you and everyone here, I really am. Thank you so much my friend xx

      Like

  20. jennypellett says:

    That should have been ‘fit’ the words…

    Liked by 1 person

  21. jeanne229 says:

    Sifting though the accumulated emails of a week or more since culling, and came back to read your post. How glad I am I didn’t let it slip by me! I was both moved and transported by your words. The story you shared accompanied by those gorgeous photographs struck right to the heart. I am in awe of writers who so courageously share the difficulties in their lives and relationships, as you have done here. I want to thank you for your honesty and courage. I don’t know what it would feel like to go through such things with a father, but I have had to deal with similar ugly realities up close myself. Tomorrow morning I go to my son’s sentencing. He just turned 22. He has been in and out of jail for the last year on drug charges. This last time involved more than breaking probation or having paraphernalia on him, and he may be looking at prison. Trying to understand his choices has run me through the wringer at times. But I figure that, as you say in your poetic asides here, reality presents us with both continuity and change. And as Nietzsche pointed out, it’s the things that don’t kill us that make us strong. Bravo Sherri! How I look forward to hearing more about your memoir and the significance of the white dress…. love that title!!!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Ahh dear Jeanne, I know how much you have on your plate, so I am deeply humbled that you took the time to pop over to the summerhouse and read this post. It helped me work out my hurt and deep feelings of disappointment. You see, in my dad’s eyes, he has never let me down. He just does what he needs to do. Yet, when he’s back in prison, he wants to maintain regular contact with me because he likes to pretend everything is hunky dory and he wants to hear me laugh. The problem is, I don’t feel like laughing when he treats what has happened in such a blase manner and of course, life is far from hunky dory. But there it is. And I say this to you because my heart goes out so very much for your son and all you are going through with him at this time ❤ Oh Jeanne, I wish I could fly over and give you a huge hug right now. I do understand, but when these things involve our own children, the pain and anguish is magnified, I believe. It's bad enough with a parent, but our children? There are things I can't disclose here to protect the identity of my loved one, something else altogether, but is life changing and what you describe about being put through the wringer is exactly how I feel. This thing with my dad was the last straw, and here we are, so desperate to write and keep moving and climbing and keeping focused…yet, having to fight on deep levels that drain our energy and mental processes like acid melting metal. But I have to keep writing, this is the one thing I have that gives me total autonomy and freedom, and I suspect you might just feel the same. I send prayers for you and your son and yes, as we press on with our writing, I do so look forward to sharing more of the process with you, if I can keep wading through the mire of revision 😮 Thank you so much for sharing your heart with me Jeanne. I don't take that lightly and you are very much in my thoughts and prayers. And to end, I am also, of course, delighted you like the title 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  22. What a beautifully poetic post. The way you weaved your experience, your day and photographs, with your story is gorgeous. Sorry to hear the news about your father, but you’re right. Life happens. Shit happens. And sometimes it rains. I’m happy to share the view with you no matter what the weather. ❤ Put on a pot of tea and I'll bring wine.

    P.S. LOVING the title.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Oh Sarah, you have the perfect words: ‘Shit happens’. Boy, does it ever. But that’s life and here we are…and knowing you are still here, sharing the view with me in all weathers? Well, that just makes my heart sing to read such sweet, lovely words 🙂 ❤ Thank you so much lovely lady…I've got the kettle on so we can have a cuppa after we've polished off the wine 😉 PS Oh joy…love that you love it…thank you! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  23. Marie Keates says:

    Such a sad, rainy day and such bad news. It’s hard to watch someone you love make wrong choices and not be able to do anything. Good that you still have hope. Maybe this time will be the time…

    Liked by 1 person

  24. I’m so very sorry to hear the news about your dad being back in prison, Sherri. Your post and photos give so much hope to everyone who goes through a similar situation. When life deals you a blow there is always hope of a better day and very often it does comes along. Your photography is stunning and I’m so pleased the walk and what you saw helped with the terrible news you had received.

    I’m thinking about you and hoping to see you again very soon.
    Take care.
    Hugh
    xx

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Ahh Hugh, you have put a smile in my heart today reading your lovely, heartwarming and uplifting message. The ups and downs of life, the bad with the good. I’m humbled to share the view here, rain or shine, knowing you are sharing it too. And yes, I am very much looking forward to seeing you soon. Thank you so much Hugh… xx

      Liked by 1 person

  25. Oh Sherri, I am sorry to hear this news about your father. Your post was incredibly touching and powerful. I especially like the photograph where you say that you found strength- very poignant. Also fun to hear the title of your memoir in this post. Hope that your writing is going well and sending some thoughts your way.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Thank you so much Heather, your message means a lot to me. Always lovely to hear from you, your kind thoughts help me to press on with my wrting. Revision is tough, another animal altogether to the first draft, but I’m taking it one day at a time. I hope things are well with you, will catch up soon 🙂

      Like

  26. Ali Isaac says:

    So sorry Sherri. You wrote such a stark, beautiful, moving post. Your Dad is just another flawed human being, like we all are. Some can and do change. Some dont know how, or even prefer the familiarity of what they know, no matter how destructive it is. His journey is a different one to yours. He has to follow its path, just like you have to follow yours. Sending you lots of hugs. Xxx

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Ahh thank you so much Ali. I needed to write this to help me stay focused on my writing. It’s been a tough time lately and this was the last straw. But not a total surprise. You are right: I am more resolved than ever to keep pushing ahead with my revisions. I’m feeling your hugs and hugging right back. Was so moved by your post about your daughter… ❤ xxx

      Liked by 1 person

  27. Sherri I’m so sorry about your Dad. I know you’ll continue to climb your mountains it is just your Dad has given up on climbing his. Still it is sad for you when you had such hopes. Sending you lots of love and hugs and well lets just get walking. 🙂 You take care xxxxxx

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Yes, and I suppose that’s why the disappointment is so huge: I have never given up on the idea of my dad finding his way at last and climbing his mountain and being the man I always believed he could be, the granddad to his grandchildren in his twilight years for one. But it is not to be. I had a tiny glimmer of hope but I’ve let it go now. I’m ploughing ahead with my life and won’t let this hold me back. I’ve done too much of that for too many reasons, my dad being just one of them. Thank so much for your lovely message Irene, and love and hugs, which I send right back. And yes, get those boots on, let’s head out and walk and talk and keep on climbing … 🙂 xxxxx ❤

      Liked by 1 person

      • I’m glad to hear you are not going to let it stop you. You have too far to go. Sadly alcoholism becomes a disease that is next to impossible to break. And we probably both know that at his stage in life, with his ailments for him prison is probably the home he wants to be in. Somewhere safe, where he’ll be looked after. It probably feels that way to him and being outside is big and scary. Yes lets go walking and climbing. I seemed to have climbed downhill this week. No motivation at all but time to get the boots on. 🙂 xxxxx

        Liked by 1 person

      • Sherri says:

        Thank you again Irene, you are right and I do have some peace knowing that he is being looked after and not alone. I hope your motivation has returned. Mine is stop, start, procrastination rearing its ugly head, time rushing by and I’m panicking. And then the awful attacks in Paris…we need to go for a long walk this week, and let’s make sure to go uphill rather than down. Ready? I’ve got my boots on, hope you have too… 🙂 ❤ xxxx

        Like

  28. Letizia says:

    Thank you for sharing this moving, poetic and visual journey with us. And it’s a reminder to me that from a painful moment, we so often find moments of clarity and strength. Thinking of you as you negotiate your feelings with and about your father. Hugs, Letizia

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Thank you so much for your lovely message Letizia. Life certainly has a way of bringing us through difficult times and putting us firmly back on the path where we belong. I’m not sure when I last had such clarity and assurance, I’m glad I was able to remind you of that in the process. Feeling those hugs, hugging back 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  29. Pat says:

    Such a mixture of emotions here in the telling of your story, Sherri. I feel such warmth and strength in the beauty of your photos; yet, a sadness follows in hearing about your dad. I’m sorry, my friend.

    There’s so much more we want for those we love and can’t understand why they can’t see it. I suppose it’s the same for our own children in how they view us . . . and, so, the circle of life goes on. Hugs and love to you this day across the pond. God bless!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Thank you so much Pat, you are so kind my friend. At least I know my dad is being looked after, he obviously can’t cope on the outside even with all the help he would have at his disposal. So the circle of life goes on indeed..we can only love and hope and pray for our loved ones, even more so when we can’t understand. I feel your hugs and love Pat, and I send the very same back to you. Your message warms my heart greatly, and especially in light of the horrendous Paris attacks from which we are all reeling. Prayers and blessings to you and your family…

      Liked by 1 person

      • Pat says:

        My wishes are the same for you, Sherri, in prayers and blessings for you and your family. I suppose if I could glean any wisdom in my golden years it would be in seeing similar patterns in others lives that I’ve seen in mine.

        I remember most of my life longing for the moment when my parents would talk and resolve their differences and fall in love again. I always believed it would happen and maybe I would be there to help but they never divorced and lived together until the end both miserable when my mom died.

        I guess what Wayne Dyer said was true when he talked about his father coming to this world to teach him how to forgive. My parents came to teach me compassion and love for others even when it appears ugly.

        God bless you, my friend. Hang in there ~~ God is good and there is grace.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Sherri says:

          That is such a sad, sad indictement on family life isn’t it: ‘…both miserable…’ Yet, we do indeed learn from what we witness growing up, and at some point, if we are able to rise up and say, ‘The Buck stops here..’ and make changes in our own lives, even while remember the lessons taught, such as the love and compassion for others that your parents taught you. That Wayne Dyer’s dad taught him. And that my dad taught me. So often things don’t work out as we hoped, but then that old saying – If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans – is true. His plans so often mean we have important lessons to learn, and that ain’t always pretty! Thank you so much for sharing your heart and thoughts with my dear Pat. God bless you and I will hang in there..with God’s grace, which I pray for you too… 🙂

          Liked by 1 person

      • Sherri says:

        Hugs back, bless you Pat 🙂

        Like

  30. I’m sorry about your dad, but glad you have an outlet and are turning these emotions and struggles into something beautiful through your words and pictures. Blessings to you.

    Liked by 1 person

  31. Charli Mills says:

    How beautiful you write, how compelling. You make something new of your pain and you invite us to be moved, to reach the heights with you, to not quit. It’s raining here, too. I’m with you between the drops!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Thank you so much Charli…I’m so glad to have you scale those heights with me, to remind me to keep going and not to quit. I’m glad too for your rain on a dry and thirsty land…and umbrellas make for great protection 🙂

      Like

  32. You have lived a roller coast of a life, I see you at the top of the mountain Sherri. I felt the pain of your innocent young life. Blessings to you. xxx

    Liked by 1 person

  33. Somehow I missed this post when you first published it. I know you don’t want sympathy, so I offer support and hugs. Lots of hugs. And then a cup of tea.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sherri says:

      Thank you so much Marlene…your hugs and a cup of tea go such a long way, and are just what I need, especially today as since then I’ve been involved in a car crash and in my less than 3 month old brand new car! No injuries thank goodness…but…darn it all putting it nice & politely when I really want to say %*&**** bleep bleep bleep 😮 Hope things are going better with you my friend…have a lovely weekend. Hugs back xx

      Like

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