It is always a treasured gift when The Journal arrives at my house. Three friends from college, living away from each other keep one shared journal. We started it many years ago as a present to one of us, and now I can not remember who it will eventually belong to. We have all agreed to continue a new one when this journal is full. Someone has been holding onto it for a while (I won't mention any names, but it would not matter because they don't read my blog anyway). We have journaled to each other about the pain of divorce, losing a parent, watching our kids grow tall and our wrinkles growing deep. It is an intimate way of keeping us in touch with each other, feelings that we might not have time or energy to talk about in a quick phone call with kids screaming in the background. Our journey, our love for each other, our lives apart and together. I would like to share just a few thoughts from the journal. You can click away now it you want, my feelings will not be hurt.
The first page says Faith, Irene and Kim with a small photo of three chairs looking out to a calm waters.
Irene sent me S. Texas Weeds. "I dressed up as a gypsy for Halloween last year. As I got ready for work one day last week, my 6-yr-old daughter wandered in my room, looked me over, and asked if it was Halloween again. I guess I need a mirror."
"It's Father's Day in 2 days. My dad is gone. My dad is dead. And I have to keep telling myself that or I will not believe it. I miss him, I am mad at him.....before he came along, I was a little lonely girl with no one to champion her. I remember my girlfriends adored him, boyfriends were terrified."
"A feather from the bouquet Ian gave - One waning summer day. He was fishing alone. And might had less to carry - what with tackle box, pole and all, but he stopped to collect 100 feathers of a wild turkey got by coyotes. 'For you, Mom,' he said, 'I couldn't just leave them.' The feather marks a beginning and an end. It brushed softly on the heart of my son and I."
Daria Werbowy | Lancôme
2 hours ago