Category: Grief

Country Hopping Couch Hopper

I haven’t written in a bit. I’m a little disappointed, but I’m going to go ahead and try to have some compassion for myself and carry on. I made the difficult decision to return to Canada and I spent the last couple weeks soaking up my remaining time in Cabo and transitioning back “home.”

I spent the majority of my time abroad living in different homes with the generous people I met along the way who were willing to share their spaces with me. I met some amazing people, saw some neat spaces, and got to test the waters living in a variety of different environments. It was amazing.

The last week of my stay I spent with a woman who I was drawn to right from the start. She was the one who looked at me within days of my arrival, when I thought I’d only be there for 9, and said something along the lines of “you live here now.” That simple sentence, packed with more wisdom than I originally anticipated, gave me the confidence to think “hey, maybe I COULD live here now.” And here we are, six months later.

ANYWAYS, our schedules did not align for us to get too close in my first couple stints in Cabo. She was in and out of the states and I disappeared off to Puerto Vallarta several times. However, we kept in touch, got a couple coffees in, and developed enough of a bond that she invited me into her home for the end of my Cabo days.

I so enjoyed every second of it. We ate some great meals, we laughed and cried, we made each other our morning coffees and prattled away on our respective phones without disrupting each other. It was respectful, easy and full of love and support. She introduced me to new people, made me feel welcome, and shared intimately with me. She also dropped me at the airport.

I flew through Mexico city and scheduled my flight so that I had 1pm until 9am to explore. I landed, hit the pavement, and strolled about the amazing buildings throughout the historic center. I managed to get inside a couple massive, and GORGEOUS churches, do a little shopping in funky hipster shops, and find some roof tops from which to enjoy the light of the setting sun. I walked around for 6 hours straight, snacked on gelato and al pastor tacos, and nestled into a stunning restaurant for an amazing meal before heading to my private hostel bed.

Early morning, I was whisked away to the airport for the remainder of my trip. A plane, skytrain, bus, ferry and car ride later, I arrived back in my suite in Nanaimo.

I came back to a lot of my furniture being thrown out and my things in forty boxes that encroached on every room. Part of my decision to remain in Mexico was that my space flooded just before I left town and wouldn’t be repaired until long after I was scheduled to return. It was hard enough to leave behind a lifestyle that made me happy, people that I loved and could be completely myself around, a country where I could live comfortably and joyfully… But coming back to a totally unsettled living space has amplified the experience and I’m not landing well at all. To top it off, for the first days of landing, I’d chosen to lean on someone who doesn’t have the skills to support me.

Currently, I’m feeling a bit more settled. I’ve been picking away at the boxes, unpacking and discarding. I’ve been plugging away at getting through my workload, and I’m slowly feeling more ready to schedule playdates. I have experienced the odd transition of coming home from abroad before, and I know it can be challenging. I’ve read some articles that have confirmed this is a thing, not at all unique to me. So, if any of you have experienced something similar, I invite you to share with me. Whether you have tips to navigate, or simply want to speak it aloud with someone who gets it, please reach out!

Until next time,

A

by admin

Birthday in Cabo

I arrived in Cabo just in time to bring in my 36th Birthday. I landed the day before and snuggled right back into the beautiful community. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind since, and I can’t believe it has already been more than a week. In the little time I’ve been here, I’ve had many great meals, beach days and adventures. I’ve spent time with old friends and made new. I’ve gone for walks through the familiar streets and lay in the sand with the familiar view of the stunning arch.

It’s all sorts of bitter sweet, as I’m fast approaching the expiry of my tourist visa and have been sifting through a muddled slough of thoughts and feelings as I attempt to figure out my next move. In fact, I feel too unclear to write much more than a check in at this time, so I will keep it short.

I will say that the people here touch my heart in a way that I haven’t experienced in a long time. They are so open, honest, loving and POWERFUL, and I feel saddened at the thought of not having them as part of my daily life. Just having their regular presence makes me feel so much stronger, and with the added bonus of 365 days of warmth and sun, it’s exceptionally hard for me to think about a return to Canada.

Alas, I have parts of my heart there as well, and I’m trying to psych myself up for a return to my homeland. Wish me luck as I navigate the next weeks.

I also just want to take a moment to wish all the ladies out there a Happy Mother’s Day. Whether you have kids, have lost kids, have honorary or adopted kids, or are simply nurturing those about you, I see you, I honour you, and I hope you found some peace and joy on your day.

by admin

Another Farewell

The day I post this will be the same day that I transition, yet again. (Turns out I got swept away and this is actually going up a day late!) This time I return to Cabo. Puerto Vallarta has provided me with a mostly joyous and somewhat challenging experience that I will carry with me for life. I spent two and a half months here. Three if you count the 2 week stint when I visited in early January. In that time I met some interesting people, ate some great food, visited some sweet, neighboring towns, and did some serious self care and just a little shopping. I enjoy the city. I love the cobble stone streets, the different neighborhoods and the plethora of activities and food options. I love the lush green, the mountains and hills, the vast ocean crashing against the shore of the downtown core. I love the Zona Romantica with its colorful window displays, its abundance of rainbows, and its busy sidewalks. I love the quaint shops and galleries tucked into the Cinco de Diciembre neighbourhood, and I love the beautiful white bedroom nestled atop a spiral staircase that I’ve found myself residing in for the majority of my stay.

I love that songs filling the streets are alerts to fill up on gas, water and donuts. I love that the sidewalks are busted, uneven and lined with drooping powerlines. I love that I’m constantly inspired to stop and take photos of things that would never fly in Canada. Things like a rope as a barrier to the construction happening directly above the mass production of tortillas. Or, things like rebar sticking straight out in the middle of the sidewalk open for impaling the clumsy footed. I love most passersby say hola and that everyone addresses me as amiga. I love that the laundry guy remembers my name and prattles away in Spanish even though he knows I don’t understand a word. I love that the massage therapist I can afford to see regularly learned to speak English so well from videogames and I love that you can buy a 7 peso taco as easily as you can take in a superb twenty dollar plate in a fine dining establishment.

But, as with most love affairs, the things I loved are now being marred by things that get under my skin. The constant yapping of the neighbours dog wears thin on me. I hear it before I even make it into the main gate and I know to look forward to a night of interrupted sleep. The guy who must be learning to whistle who belts out the same part of the same tune over and over for hours has become a detriment to my workload. The Zumba music that filters its way on the wind from the park has impeded my focus for an hour per day and the heat, oh the heat. It is building and perhaps slowly frying my brain. I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure the laundry guy asked me why I’m so pale, and the answer is I might die if I were to lie out in the sun midday.

I’m being overly dramatic, more for the sake of humour than anything. But the truth is, these things are the things that make me long for home. For community. For familiarity. I can adapt to anything, I believe. I think we all can. And I like the challenge, to be honest! It makes me feel alive. I find it empowering. But I also long for a coffee with a safe friend where I can openly share my frustrations alongside some laughs. I suppose what I lack in Puerto Vallarta is community. There has been a steady stream of new and old faces that have been alongside me throughout my time, but that flow has stopped and I find myself alone. In some ways it is welcomed. It’s been nice to sit inside and read, work, do chores… live something resembling normal life. But I thrive on connection, I love daily coffee dates and routine walk and talks. While Cabo isn’t exactly home, it feels enough like home that I long to get there. It is where a large part of my heart and spirit remains. As soon as I felt ungrounded, I longed for my tribe there. I look forward to daily connections, delving into some self work, and spending my time more invested in the healing path, of myself and others. So, away I go!

by admin

“There’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” -Cohen

I currently rest on a king-sized bed in a detached master suite that is accessed by a charming, yet treacherous metal spiral staircase. I can see the mountains and corrugated rooftops through the single pain windows and the open door that exposes the light blue tiled floor of the rooftop patio begs me to come and lounge in the sun. The concrete walls are stained and chipping, which is actually my favorite part. I love unfinished. Rustic. Textured. Discoloured.

The imperfections make it artful and endearing to me, and in this moment, I wish I could find the same appreciation for my crumbling pieces, the cracks in my foundation, the spots that are rusted from a lack of care.

The last year has been so challenging. The hardest I’ve gone through, I believe. I haven’t been able to find my footing, not really. I remember a different person before all this. The pregnancy grief is astounding in its own right, but more than that, the loss of the family I thought I was given the opportunity to have, the loss of the loving partner I thought I had found, still weigh unbearably heavy too. I thought I’d found some space and had opened my heart, but now, I’m not so sure I’ve healed at all.

I’m judging myself for having feelings, for wanting things, for engaging, for everything. I’m beating myself up and am overwhelmed with fear and anxiety. I want to be in a different place than I am, and I’m having a hard time loving myself up or finding compassion for my current experience. I want to feel differently. I want to behave differently. I want to feel strength and resolve and believe I have personal power. But, really, I just feel like the peeling, cracking, deteriorating walls. I’m looking at myself wondering if I’m strong enough to bear the weight of the roof. I think maybe I could use some mending and a fresh coat of paint to cover my flaws.

But, maybe, just maybe, my collapse and decay is equally intriguing, beautiful, and inspiring as I find these Mexican walls. Maybe the way I fragment is a sight to behold.

by admin

Release.

“I release you. I release my expectations of you. I release the pain. I release our baby. I release the vision of the family I thought we might build one day. I release my connection to you, both past and present. I sit under the full moon, with the energy of the universe as my witness, and release you, us, our past, our potential.”

My first week in Mexico, I was distracted. I landed, explored, and filled my days with bus trips, people, activities. As I hit the week mark, knowing (I thought) that I were about to return home, the anxiety set in. I didn’t want to go home to the dark basement, the cool days, the slog of work and the debilitating grief, the obsessive thoughts, the overwhelming disappointment, the insane hope and attempts at reconnection/rekindling. I was terrified of myself, my life as I knew it, and I was sad and distracted.

I got a positive covid test and embraced another couple weeks abroad. As I processed everything, and shared with my travel buddy, I realized I could stay. And I did. Two months later, I still reside in Mexico.

It is hard to gauge whether I’m healing or am simply distracted from a process I will have to carry on with whenever I return home. Either way, I am so grateful from the space. I spent more than a year in the grips of the struggle and I’m now having moments of strength, joyful presence, open hearted, unincumbered connection. My days are spent working, exploring, video chatting with friends new and old, and hanging out with members of my Cabo tribe. My life is full, my heart-at times- is full. I feel more like myself than I have in years. I am writing again! Both in my journal and in the public sphere.

I have been attending yoga classes, taking moments to be still with myself, meeting likeminded and inspiring folks that are assisting me in comfortably residing in my skin and pursuing my spiritual growth. Things are good, and I don’t give my pain as much weight.

Having said all that, I still engage with the person who the pain centers around. I still let our little interaction spin me out. I still watch my mind create and recreate conversations I know there is no point in having. I still allow my feet to hit the pavement while my mind is distracted by the swirl of frustrating and fruitless thought. It’s better, like SO MUCH better, than it was. I’m moving along a little more gracefully and gaining some distance, but I keep engaging when I know it doesn’t serve me. Or likely him. Or us, in whatever formation we take.

I stood outside of a restaurant last night, after stuffing my face with delicious tacos, and I disclosed my process with a friend here in Cabo. He said things I know to be true, I’m hurting myself, I’m waiting until I feel better and self sabotaging, its normal- to some extent- given our history and my wounding. But he also said “there are so many people here in Cabo that love you and want to spend time with you.” And it’s true, not just of Cabo. I connected intensely with the folks in Puerto Vallarta, I still have regular conversations with those who love me at home. And, yet, I’m awarding so much mental energy in someone who doesn’t offer me even half of what I have offered him.

I deserve better. I want someone who knows I deserve better and will do his best to show up in a way that is caring, compassionate, loving, intentional. I want someone who will work alongside me to build a relationship that lasts a lifetime. I know that reserving even part of my heart and energy for him is only setting me back from attaining what I do want, from engaging fully with the one who is meant for me. So, this past full moon, I smudged with some Palo Santo and let the ethereal light begin to wash away my attachment.

I hope, moving forward, that I will be able to maintain a distance that allows me to really heal, to move forward, to make space for the love I desire and deserve.

by admin

Gran Amor

A year ago, almost to the day, I made the difficult choice to terminate a pregnancy. It took me months to come to this heartbreaking decision and I have been in a challenging grief process in the months, now year that followed it. My partner, at the time, chose to leave me to manage the feelings and hormones alone and the extra level of hurt was incomprehensible. In hindsight, I am actually shocked that I made it through the debilitating emotional pain without slipping into the depression that used to haunt me through far less.

On Mothers day, an emotionally trying day, this person reached out to me and told me he was still in love with me. He told me he wanted the life together I so longed for and that we saw a glimpse of in the months prior. I resisted at first, and in hindsight I can’t help but wishing I’d stuck to my guns, but instead, I took him back. We had a good month or so before all the promises he made were broken, all the kindness and understanding lost, all the lies apparent, all the compassion dissolved. Through counseling and connecting with others, I learned more about terms like gas lighting, love bombing and narcissism. Despite understanding that I had found myself in a toxic connection, I have struggled to let go.

My brother is a chef and on one of the many occasions he lost a fingertip to a clumsy knife maneuver, the doctor asked him if he wished to keep the dismembered piece of extremity. My brother, being the practical kind of guy he is, said something along the lines of ‘why the heck would I want to do that?’ To which the doctor replied that, sometimes when people go through a traumatic experience, they find comfort in holding on to a piece of it. I held onto my ex with the thought that losing him completely would somehow make the loss of the baby harder, but the reality seems to be that trying to hold on was the more difficult path.

So, when we broke up the second time, I attempted to move on. I didn’t want to stay stuck on this guy who clearly didn’t care for me for the rest of my life after all! So, I met a fella online under the guise of developing a friendship. We communicated perfectly, we called each other on what we saw with kindness, we had mutual respect, we shared common interests, we had similar values, wanted children, the list goes on and on. Only one thing, I was just sort of, well, bored. I was still spinning about the confusing relationship I was too freshly out of, I was still emotionally connected to the toxic cycle, I still had delusion about its future potential.

I suppose I could have just ended it with the new guy, and I did attempt to a few times and was consistently transparent about my entire process, but I hoped, with time, he might pull me out of the weeds. A healthy connection would trump the toxic one and I’d eventually be so happy for what I’d found and so confused about why I’d resisted. Which was unfair, and unrealistic, it turns out.

However, in this time where I attempted to embrace this kind person I was not ready for, or perhaps not compatible with, I did a lot of reading. In my research, I discovered that going from toxic relationship to healthy relationship tends to come with common experiences like what I went through. The push/pull dynamic, weird trust building protest behaviour, hypervigilance and other wonderfully endearing qualities are likely to pop up. It was stated that the overwhelming experience will be that of doubt and skepticism over a perceived lack of ‘passion,’ a word that is often just used to explain the highs and lows of trauma bonding.

So, I asked myself (and google) what it takes to embrace the nice guy. How do I get out of this cycle and revel in stability? How do I develop a partnership with a person who can give me the family I want? The thing that was suggested was doing activities together that excited you, that increased your heart rate, got your blood moving. A study was done where men walked across one of two bridges. One was high, narrow and wobbly, the other wide, stable and low. At the end of each was the same woman. Research showed that the men who walked across the sketchy bridge were more strongly attracted to the woman. Their fear response, stress hormones and racing heart were attributed to attraction and romantic connection. The solution to boredom with a decent human? Jump out of a plane together!

This incredibly long preface brings me to the point of my reflection today. I am currently in Mexico. I’m actually in a plane bound from Mexico City to Puerto Vallarta as I write. I arrived on November 23rd into Cabo San Lucas, was unable to fly home on December 2nd after contracting COVID 19, and decided to stay indefinitely. It is now January 1st, 2022. I brought in the New Year on Medano beach submerged in warm water beneath the stars and the fireworks. I was with 3 beautiful humans I’ve met on my travels. As I swam, alone a moment amidst the chaos, I felt pure joy. So much gratitude, awe and love. I even laughed like a crazy lady!

I have been reflecting a lot on love. I felt deep, profound love for the man who I got pregnant with, struggled to find comparable love with someone who treated me like gold, and now find myself reveling in the universal love that I tap into whenever I travel. I feel love with relative strangers that sometimes appears to transcend the experience of those I’ve shared my life with for years, and I can’t help but question what happens when you collide with other explorers. At times I’ve attributed it to the presence that travel demands of you. As you roam new streets and jump accommodations, you need to pay attention more than when you drive the same road, to the same place, to see the same people. Not speaking the language forces you to connect with people differently, tune into subtleties, engage more fully. Perhaps the act of engaging in new challenges, crossing those metaphorical suspension bridges, is what spurs the unusual depth and openness.

The human need for belonging, a need not a want. As I move through different cities and spaces, I indulge wholeheartedly in the kindness of strangers. I cried in my hotel room this trip, while I navigated Montezumas revenge and the delusion of being all alone, feeling as though my cravings for saltines and my complete lack of energy to acquire them was more dire than it likely was. In the morning, a kind new friend brought me Electrolit drinks, probiotic yoghurt, and my much desired crackers and again, I cried. This time because of the exceptional kindness and compassion. This is only one of countless examples where I’ve been witness to the beauty of humanity and let it open my heart.

“Belonging takes shape on the grounds of shared experiences… connected through their common appreciation of what it’s like to find the thread of belonging over and over again. [It] feeds both an urgent hunger to connect and a quiet dread of the inevitable farewell. Sometimes it can feel like walking with one hand stretched out to the world- open, gentle, receptive- while the other hand is pressed against the heart-guarded and reserved- where the cut of the latest dis-attachment heals.”

I have remained more closed on this trip than many prior, but it’s shifting and, as it does, it is helping me to leave behind my pain and make space for new. As my heart gently unfurls, and my connections deepen, I feel the bittersweet-ness and immense allure of the human experience, the travel experience in particular.

I visited the art walk in San Jose del Cabo and stopped to admire a painting. I saw sadness and grief in the face of the subject, while my friend noted comfort and ease. We asked the artist what his intention had been and he simply responded with, “love.”

How true. How astute. How beautiful.

by admin

So… like… there’s a global pandemic…

I’ve written a few potential posts but felt my headspace too negative to put out into the world.  I’m feeling a little lighter today, so I’m going to try again and see if I create something in which I feel comfortable sharing. 

I’ve been through a lot of emotions in the last week and some.  Two weeks maybe?  I’m losing track.  A few days back I opted to distance myself from the news, and that has freed me up enough to process a little of what I am, and likely a lot of you are, experiencing.

Do you remember that day when we all woke up and saw footage of planes flying through buildings in NYC?  Most people remember the exact moment they saw or heard about 9/11.  There was a collective sense of disbelief, horror, grief.  Well, that is what has been going on inside me.  My chest felt tight and sore (no Covid over here!  Just crippling grief and anxiety!) and I felt… sort of… maybe spacey?  Like I couldn’t be in my body because it was too much, and I couldn’t be in my mind because it was either shut off or overwhelmed.  A weird, liminal space filling with confusion and apathy.  And I felt like that for more than a week as I watched or read the news everyday and learned of the death, the rapid spread, the changing world and the leaders choosing economy over lives.  It’s been a baffling time.  An unprecedented time.  A time I was certainly unprepared for.

So, what else can I say really?  Maybe it just must start with recognizing, acknowledging and shedding light on the breadth of what I feel.  Maybe for now that’s all that I can do.  I will say though, the last couple days of being free of the media has renewed me a bit.  I managed to tackle some online training that I’ve been putting off.  I managed to clean my home a bit.  I’ve managed a couple walks, a few more zoom chats, and most importantly, tiny moments of peace. 

I want to make a point of saying that however we’re dealing with this is ok.  That’s one thing I have found for myself during this, compassion.  I’m not judging myself for not doing better.  I’m not giving myself grief for eating sugar, or staying in bed, or not putting on pants for days and days.  Maybe that’s part of the shift that this will bring.  There is no doubt it’s forcing people to re-prioritize.

I care about seeing my family every day.  I care about not going to work and putting them at risk.  I care about getting to the two week mark of total isolation so I can snuggle the heck out of my nephew.  I care about the people who have family that need chemo treatments or who are having babies soon.  I care about the businesses I love that are struggling to adapt to the daily shifts in regulations.  I care for the people everywhere who are scrambling to prioritize the safety of others and their own mental health.  And in the light of all that, and more, who gives a fuck if I ate all the cookie dough? 

Would love to hear how your spending your days, and welcome digital connection more than ever these days, so feel free to message me! 

by admin

What losing my fur baby taught me about myself.

I created my first post, a simple introduction in which I stated that I had a cat named Franco who was sometimes my sole reason for waking up in the morning.  The next morning I woke, we snuggled, i fed him breakfast and we snuggled some more. He purred, happy pawed (our description of his clawless kneading) and sent me off to my work day feeling grateful for such a sweet morning.  I arrived home and found that he had thrown up on the floor by the door and that he was lying amidst my clean laundry, rather than on his chair that I’d purposely cleared for his lounging pleasure. I knew something was wrong, but I picked him up, brought him to bed and hung out with him.  He struggled to get up and move around and kept choosing to go to odd places he hadn’t lay before. I think in my gut I knew he was worse off than my partner was kindly assuring me he was but i wanted to believe that it was only some random thing he’d eaten off the floor that was leaving him a bit sick and weak.  I was up with him a fair bit of the night. I gave him some water that he later threw up, and then he found his way to some toilet water and threw that up too. In the morning he was even slower and I took him in to the vet.

We’re probably all aware of what’s going to happen given the title of this post.  The vet was unkind and the receptionist horrid, but the worst of all, I left with my sweet, wonderful, fur baby Franco in a box.  

It’s too soon to write about this maybe.  I feel raw and needed to step away some moments before continuing on.  However, I want to share with you a few things I learned through this experience.  

I AM a good mom.

If ever there was a doubt in my mind of being a worthy fur baby mama, it is gone.  Yes, I totally felt guilty about EVERYTHING in the last month of his life. I doubted my choice to switch food, to switch litter, to let him be outside even the few extra moments it took me to put my shoes on (he was an escape artist.)  I felt guilty for not bringing him to the vet sooner, for not noticing if he peed less than usual the day before, for not knowing what a obstructed bladder felt like. I felt like a horrible person for picking him up and holding him before the vet when it was apparent I hurt him when I lifted him.  But, I also realized I loved him so damn much and when I accept that I’m not a vet and I did the best that I could, I think I did a damn good job of being his mom.

I AM a pet owner.

I cared for Franco like he was a child.  I loved him, I respected him, and I worked hard at letting him be him.  I made a point to not hold him against his will, or get angry at him for misbehaving (really just playing, but presents as misbehaving when it’s your favourite *insert item here* being knocked on to the floor.).  I loved his meows even when they woke me up in the morning. I even loved him MORE when he took to sticking his wet nose in my face or batting at me when the meowing didn’t get me moving fast enough. Point is, I recognized his unique personality and honoured it.  I didn’t forget my first cat Gus or lose sight of his unique personality either. And I know that any future animals I have will be loved and honoured for being uniquely them.

I am a sensitive person, and that’s ok.

I worried about Franco as soon as he presented as unwell.  I stayed up with him, cleaned up his puke and brought him to lay beside me through the night.  I brought him to the vet wrapped in a towel and asked my mom to drive so I could be the one to hold him.  I went in with him, I held his paw through the whole thing, and I wept. I brought him home, I asked family to write on his coffin, and I helped bury him in the earth.  I called my beau, Franco’s papa, and he facetimed to say goodbye. I gave him some last pats and smelled him one more time (he smelled great for some reason…) even after he’d passed.  I took that day and the next off work, may have taken more had it not been the weekend. I played the moment over in my head and wondered if I could have done anything different, or what would have happened if I hadn’t done/had done different.  I went back to work yesterday and spent some of my shift curled in a ball in the back crying. Some people think this is weird, maybe even some of you reading this, but it is exactly what I needed. He deserved our grief, I am allowed to feel sad and the process can look however it needs to.

I AM strong.

I feel good about how I was with my sweet Franco in life and in death.  I surprised myself by being able to be there with him when he died. I didn’t know I was capable of that.  I didn’t know it would feel so necessary that I touch and kiss him while it happen. I didn’t think that it would feel right to make the choice to have someone you love so much put down, but I knew it was better than him suffering through a surgery and potentially dying on the table or surviving to only go through it again.  Maybe this all sounds weak to some but strength, for me, doesn’t look like not crying or going to work that afternoon. Strength for me is somehow finding clarity, making a decision quickly, being wholly present with the process, and grieving openly and fiercely.

My Take away.

I’m sure as things settle more I will realize more growth in myself.  Growth that only comes from facing those things you wish you never had to.  I would love to hear what you’ve learned from the loss of your beloved fur babies and invite you to share below.  I will leave you with this.

A friend of mine, in a joking way, stated that the lesson he takes from it all is to never love anything.  But, my take away from all this is to love so fully that you have no regrets when they’re gone.

R.I.P my sweet Franco.

by admin