You Are Your Soul Mate

If I have heard it once I have heard it a thousand times over.

“When will I meet my soulmate?”

Many are surprised at my response.

“You’ll have to die first, and I am assuming this isn’t in your present plans correct?”

It’s true. To come face to face with your soul mate will require that you both reside in the same place at the exact same time. So that part of the illusion is real. What saddens me is that somewhere along the lines they got blurred and we were misinformed into believing that we could locate them here.  And while we can it is not in the way that you may think.

When people talk of soul mates they naturally lean into the thought process that this is an individual separate from themselves. How is that possible? A true soul mate as we understand it is that one person that knows you better than you know yourself. That person that understands your every movement before you move, your every thought before it’s thought and your every desire before it’s desired. We’re humans not x – ray machines so this makes absolutely no sense at all.

There is no one walking on this planet that can read your minds. Psychics such as myself can read your life plans but that’s an entirely different communication that I will go into at another time.  Quite simply….no one knows you like you know yourself.

Your soul mate is you. Each living breathing human being resides in two distinct worlds at the same time. When you left the spirit side to take on the arduous journey of life, you left a part of yourself behind. Who else could you lean to to make decisions along the way if you hadn’t done so?

Your soul mate, your higher self, is the voice that asks you to hesitate. The voice that asks you to go for it.  It’s that feeling deep into the pit of your stomach that tells you this is the right direction, or the wrong.  Without this part of yourself you would move erratically through life with no compass at all.

Your soul self is a split of the same light. As you move through this lifetime your higher you moves with you. It becomes a dance of sorts, a communication that occurs in your next decision, your next breath or your next thought. Did you believe that the universe would toss you to the earth below to figure it out without a guide? Not a chance. That would be like putting a three year old into the middle of the woods and expecting them to find the way home. Illogical and dangerous.

Your soul mate knows you. Knows you because it has shared eternity with you. It remembers all the remembers that you don’t. Your soul mate is a blending of every lifetime lived. So that when you arrive back to it’s warm embrace, you are flooded with the memories of every single person you have encountered along the way. We tend to think so small because our brains don’t allow for anything beyond the years we spend here on earth. But what about all the years before these ones? What about your lifetimes prior to this? Do they simply evaporate into the ether never to be recaptured? Of course not.

If you are paying attention, those memories of times long long ago will drop in when you least expect them. Science calls them deja vu experiences. A recollection of something familiar with nothing to base the experience on.  I call them your soul mate looking through your book of life and reflecting on an experience from 1565. Memories are emotion driven and you will sometimes be drawn into the emotions and not ever know where they arrived from.

But the feeling of familiar is intense. And can be incredibly beautiful. And allow for you to change the way you might move through the remainder of your day.

Stop seeking your soul mate outside of your self.  No one can remember what you yourself can recall. No one shares the same experiences and manifests thoughts in the way that you do.  Your thoughts are living and breathing and impossible for anyone on this planet to understand or catch up with. The only one that can do that is the one that you share them with every moment of every day. You. You. Yourself.

Please cease looking for what will make you whole. Look instead for what will help you to find that wholeness.  Look instead for the person who will provide you with the tools necessary to know yourself completely, to know the what you were before you arrived into the delivery room and started to question who you are.

There is someone out there that can bring you to yourself. Someone with whom your own soul mate interacts on the other side. Someone who felt compelled to approach you on a crowded street yet they don’t understand why. Someone who feels things about life that you feel. Who challenges you to accept your own insecurities. Who angers you, evokes you to do deeper. Someone you may hate in one moment and love in the next. They are the other flame that gives you light. And often times their light can dance fiercely but it’s simply to shine into your mirror and help you to find your true self.

Someone with the same memories of times long ago. Someone to complete the circle.

Don’t search for them. They will find you.

Be peaceful. Be patient. And be open.

Your twin flame is the collision in your life. The one that will show you the wreckage, force you to bring it back together and help you face the beauty in your scars they create.

I hope you have found them. And if not, I hope you do soon.

But you will.

You have no choice.

Your soul is waiting.

 

 

 

In love…in light…

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dead Relatives Guide to Living

Earlier today I saw a post on social media about the discomfort in buying and wearing swimwear. As I quickly read it, I was suddenly taken aback by a female voice in my ear “Tell ya, wish I could still look awful in a bikini”

It stopped me for a moment as I heard the melancholy in the soft voice.

I let her continue.

“You’ll wish you had when you get here. Had done what you wanted to do instead of worried about what people might think. You’ll wish you had done it anyway”

Her name is Jane. I don’t know who she belongs to or why she chose to intrude on my morning scrolling. But I do know that she wanted to share some points on living while we are alive. So here is her list word for word. Nothing is changed.

“You’re so scared of what people might think of you. You avoid so many adventures because you’ve been taught that you might be judged. You are afraid to sit in the middle of a restaurant because you feel guilty for eating; all because of a few pounds?  All because someone, somewhere in your life told you that you that you had to be perfect. And perfect people don’t eat cheeseburgers. We can’t eat cheeseburgers here, damn, we can’t eat a thing here. We have no need for that kind of nourishment. But, listen to me. My human memory would love nothing more than to dog down a chocolate shake and salty fries.  You are missing out on the incredible experience of sating your soul by ordering salad and water just to fit in. Eat. Be mindful and moderate but stop punishing yourself by not enjoying what will fulfill you.

How many times have you missed out on the adventure of a beautiful summer day? Arriving in the sand to find forty under 30’s out there in bikinis you decide that you don’t look good enough so you sit sweating like a defrosted turkey on the beach? Seriously, I am not kidding around here. You miss out on some of life’s best memories because you have a few rolls? Stop that ridiculousness right now. Get out of your own way, find a suit that covers your dimples that you hate so much, and share them with the world. No one is looking anyway. You are all too busy worrying about how you look to everyone else to care.  While no one is busy looking at you, you are busy avoiding life. Get it together. You need the sunshine.

How many times I found myself wanting to join in on the music. I would walk through the streets and hear songs on every corner. All I wanted to do was to dance but I was afraid that someone might see me and find me odd. How I missed a chance to just feel free for a few minutes. Don’t do this. Dance. Tap your foot, shake your bottom, tap your fingers..but do something.  You’re standing there as stiff as a board fence and you KNOW you wanna dance. Why aren’t you dancing? Take advantage of the fact that you are strong and healthy and you CAN dance.

Speak to each other. You came to the world smart. You know who is good to speak to and who you should avoid. When you feel pulled to reach to someone DO IT. Your own soul self knows what they need and what you can do to fill that need. Stop believing that you are not allowed to engage strangers. That stranger might be the one person that you need to change the course of your life. You don’t know. Stop assuming. When you feel called to respond, respond. Change your day and change theirs. It’s your job. It is your job to respond to what your soul requests. Your soul knows. Your brain gets in the way and messes up some amazing encounters.

Sing. I don’t care if you can’t sing. Not too many humans can so you are in good company. I don’t know how many times I stood in church and watched the parishioners whisper and glance about the room in shame.  That’s not singing! That’s not raising the roof and creating a choir. That’s pushing away your integral right to use your voice for something amazing. I always sang. Loud. Poorly. But my face shone and my spirit grew.  I felt motivated and alive. All from opening my mouth and letting my voice come through. It’s been some decades since I last did so. And no one remembers. That’s what you all forget. No one remembers you couldn’t sing. But everyone remembers that you did. Think about that.

No one remembers what you did poorly. Everyone remembers what you tried to do that made you shine.

Your memories, when you arrive to this place should be full. Your memories should include the worst fishing hats and the smallest catch. They should include the full dozen attempts to swim and sank each time. They should include your shorts and the hairy legs you forgot to shave. They should include your smudged lipstick, your less than perfect makeup and your less than perfect hair. They should include every time you tried to live your passion no matter how small the try was. You didn’t fail. You passed because you tried.

You let yourselves down. Every day and every moment. By glancing around the room fearful of judgement. By not trying to try in case you fall. By not singing because someone might be listening. By not smiling because someone may not smile back. By not being all that you can be on this journey because someone else can be that better. By not giving into your desire to laugh, to dance, to cry. You let yourselves down. By not seeking to learn, not seeking to teach, not seeking to speak. You let yourselves down.

Stop it.

I wanted to sit on Santa’s knee in my adult years. I wanted to challenge the thought process that only children were permitted that wistfulness. I stood year after year at the end of the line pretending to be someone’s parent. My legs wanted to walk right on over there and perch grinning wildly as the photographer snapped the photo. I never did that. I waited and waited for another mature adult to go first. They never did. I often wonder how many other adults waited behind me to see if I might go first.

I died at 65. I stood in line at 64. And said next year.

I am asking you to live. Without fear of living. To be silly, unpredictable and wise. To dance like everyone is watching you. To sing like everyone is listening. To find the worst bathing suit possible and saunter onto the beaches like you belong there.

Because you do. You belong here.

A favor for an old woman who grew old before she learned to live young?

At Christmas this year, find a Santa. Get in line and sit upon his knee. And take a picture for me. Grin wildly. And share it with everyone that you love.

That’s how to live.

We don’t ask for much on this side of life. We are afforded every beauty that we avoided in our human lifetime. We are loved deeply. We love each other deeply.

But we don’t have cheeseburgers. And we don’t have Santa lines.

That’s your job now.

Make us smile over here by living voraciously over there. Say hello to Santa. Tell him Jane sent ya”

Jane….

 

In love in light…dance…sing…eat…live…

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

French Toast And Erma

The other day during a reading I was talking to a client about intimacy in the face of physical challenges….

**Permission was granted for the postscript at the end**

I’m sitting here staring at a blank page and to my right a reminder keeps blinking that I haven’t written anything yet. With a (!) to drive it home in case I didn’t understand the gravity of it all.

I guess, given that my last blog post about eggs garnered more than a dozen new followers, the “blogasphere” is impatient to see what I can do to glean interest today.  I’ll admit to some mild surprise about that surge. It was eggs for heavens sake. We like our yolk I guess. Who knew.

This morning I was sprayed in the chest by my motion sensor air freshener.  I’ve had cinnamon french toast wafting into my nostrils ever since. It’s not bad actually; providing me the relaxing sensation of my grandma’s kitchen. It’s also much cheaper than my usual fragrance, so I think I might be onto something.

Erma Bombeck is my literary idol. Have I ever mentioned that before? Some might have believed that I poured over spiritual sonnets on my journey to here, but in truth, I chose to follow the real life adventures of a middle aged woman with a snappy sense of humor and a common sense approach to living.

“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say “I used everything you gave me”  Erma

My “eau du french toast” shower today reminded me that sometimes you can smell delicious for only 9.99.  A big lesson for someone like me, prone to overthinking and over trying, over compensating and over achieving.  And a damn sight less stressful than driving across a city congested with construction to purchase the aroma that I believe makes me happiest.  Oddly that fragrance is aptly called Happy Heart. But to be truthful I am happier right now sharing the morning humor that is making my chest bone glow. There must be shellac in this.

I’ve been struggling lately with what else I can share with those looking for my “wise” words. I feel like I have shared it all, tried to comfort the masses with the usual vocabulary and what I call “psychic fluffy”. I felt like I hadn’t shared all of the talents that I possess.   I reached out to the spirit side last night for some guidance. And this morning got sprayed by Grandma’s kitchen. It wasn’t profound at all but it certainly got my attention.

“Wake up and smell the cinnamon stupid”

Sometimes the simpler words smell better.

Real life will hurt. Death will hurt. Relationships will fail, good things will go, bad things will come. Balance is struck in every facet of the journey. Grieving is the most powerful reminder of all that we cannot control.

What we can control is how we choose to smell to others. Strong and musky and powerful or soft and gentle like a warm plate of french toast.

I am voting up french toast.

I’ll take that over sex any day.

Postscript:

The other day during a reading I was talking to a client about intimacy in the face of physical challenges.  She apologized for her honesty and remarked that with her severe arthritis that even self pleasure was impossible because her fingers would freeze for hours in that position. I laughed harder than I have laughed in forever. And she laughed with me.

And that my friends…

Is pure Erma power.

Let’s get back to basics. We will die to be sure. But let’s live until we have to.

 

In love and light and truth.

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three Eggs And Toast

The moment that the food arrives to my impatient soul, I morph. It’s rather incredible really. I stop spinning my head and the angel of love and light appears. I call it the “three eggs and toast exorcism”….

I get downright horrible in the absence of breakfast. It doesn’t matter if I have pulled an all night writing marathon and stuffed my face with cold pizza and Doritos; if I don’t get my breakfast I turn into an absolute bear.  My husband has been the recipient of many less than attractive moments as we’ve torn up the highway in search of something to fill my scowling face. It’s always his fault if we didn’t take up accommodation close to a coffee shop, his fault that I am angry and his fault of course that I just threatened to chew off his right ear.

I’ll scrummage through the glove box hoping for something to sate me.  Then finding nothing lean over the back seat and start foraging for the left overs from last nights gas bar stop. My husband simply stares straight ahead, I can see his last nerve clicking at his jaw junction but I persist regardless. There is no question by this point that the potential for spouseacide ( it’s not a word but you understand)  exists as his fingers more tightly grip the wheel.

I am an incredibly demanding person to survive life with.

The moment that the food arrives to my impatient soul, I morph. It’s rather incredible really.  I stop spinning my head and the angel of love and light appears. I call it the “three eggs and toast exorcism”. My other half just stares at me with the most incredulous expression.  As we exit the building that created this transformation, I will smile happily, wave goodbye to the food fairies and express what a beautiful day it is.

He follows behind burning holes into the back of my head. I know it.

We climb back into the SUV, I adjust my sunglasses and turn to grin at him.  He responds with a simple suspicious glance and replies “Ok Sybil. If only those people that think you are so wonderful knew what I just witnessed”

I embrace the mornings that start in my own home. Where I can be in control of my own demon and fry my own eggs. It is not without it’s slight tension of course. Standing at the stove I call out to the other half that I am making some breakfast and would he like to join me.  And every time without fail, he doesn’t hear me. I call it louder.  He still doesn’t respond. By this point the danger of a flying fry pan is imminent as I draw a big breath and wrestle with the inner Linda Blair.

“Are you deaf or something!!??” inevitably hisses from my lips like a snake that suddenly attacks from the bushes.  He turns, lowers his glasses and says…

“No I heard you the first time”

I break his second yolk as a means of revenge.

“Sorry about that one dear. It’s a bit rubbery”

Grin.

If you see my spouse at an event and you speak with him, please know that he is biting through his tongue as you express to him how very lucky he is to be married to someone like me.  If you pay close attention to his pursed up smile or his quick eye movement you will see that this morning he had breakfast with the truth.

Everything in life demands balance. Right?

What I love the most is that it is often something so simple that creates the shift from dark to light. Something as simple as three eggs and toast.

Stay real. Stay human.

I do.

In love…in light…three eggs over easy.

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lavenders Blue – Children And Death

Every family is unique, and every family will make the choice to deal with this in their own ways. There is truly no right way, but there is the only way that is right for you. So take from my thoughts and then make your own decisions when it comes to the young souls in your keeping.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender’s green
When you are king, dilly dilly,
I shall be queen

Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so”

 

Maybe I learned about death and found comfort there in my early childhood. Back in the day where beloved pets were not delivered to the veterinarian for cremation but instead carried lovingly to the back yard for burial. Where we would create our own cross from bits and pieces found in the barn, and with black ink, memorialize the name in a less than perfect way as our marker would never smoothly glide over the knots on our barn board.  Over time, the name would fade, and one day you would find yourself driving by the old place and wondering if the cross still remained. I still do this to this day, If you see me slow in front of your home; chances are..I left a piece of my heart there in your care.

Children for the most part don’t have the opportunity to express grief in this value anymore. Rules and regulations have taken away from our chances to provide a valuable and much needed lesson to our littlest humans. So we must find new ways to include them in a process that is important to their emotional well being into adulthood.

Every family is unique, and every family will make the choice to deal with this in their own ways. There is truly no right way, but there is the only way that is right for you. So take from my thoughts and then make your own decisions when it comes to the young souls in your keeping.

In my work I am often asked to involve children in a parent’s reading. I love this opportunity to bring forward some peace to the eager little faces that I am sitting with. But, again, it is not for everyone and I would strongly suggest that you made a decision such as this as a family.  Very often, during the course of a session like this, the kids are so excited to be able to share with me what they have encountered since the family member died. It becomes a safe space of sorts for them to finally say that Grampa was there to visit last night. And it’s incredibly beautiful to see how they shine with their stories.  You don’t need someone like me to engage them in this conversation. You can simply sit with them, perhaps at the graveyard, perhaps at the kitchen table, and allow them to share something that will create a soft spot for them and some healing for yourself.

My children were very early introduced to the conversations surrounding death and grieving. I will use my daughter specifically because much of the death in our families occurred at times where she best recalls them. My boys were significantly removed from the time frame.   My daughter’s hamster was buried in a yard in a sombre ceremony that we permitted her to create. For a small child she was incredibly respectful of the importance of saying goodbye to her little friend “Hammy”.  Over the years to follow she lost several people, so that on the day where her beloved Nanny Shirley was facing the prospect of immediate death, my daughter was prepared.  She was 12 years old, and on a holiday with friends when that day arrived.  The very best I could offer for her in that moment was a phone call to speak with the woman that had been one of the brightest lights in my daughter’s young world.

I was present with my mother in law as this call took place. And I will never forget the maturity with which my young daughter handled what would ultimately be their last conversation.

“Hi Nanny….how are you feeling”  was her first response to which my mother in law responded “Not so great Megan”.

Her next question almost knocked me over.  Not only in it’s simplicity but in it’s straightforwardness.

“Nanny are you going to die?”

The response to this was equally as simple and honest.

“Yes Megan I think I am”.

I will not share any further of the conversation but am comfortable now saying that this word share was an integral part of the grieving process for which she would begin just a few short hours later. It allowed for her to find some peace and to better emotionalize the days and months to follow.  And it allowed for her to understand that love simply never dies.  To this day my daughter still sings the words to their favorite song to her own children and reminds them of a love she once shared with someone beautiful

Not every parent will find opportunity such as I have had to share this process with their young ones.  And for the most part that is a good thing isn’t it. No one wants to have to help a little person grieve, but it ultimately will become a part of their journey so perhaps consider preparing them for that while they are young.

Talk about death openly. Include them in decisions surrounding the impending death of a pet. Include them in conversations surrounding the deaths of friends. Let them ask questions and answer them honestly.  Take them for walks through graveyards and help them to understand the beautiful and soft nature of the quiet that you find there. Bring a picnic and sit among the headstones. I love to take my granddaughter to our local graveyard with bags of apples to feed the many deer that walk quietly through the space.

Create a comfort zone around the subject of death and dying. Ask them to draw pictures of what they believe it looks like. What they believe heaven might look like.

There will always be an opportunity to begin the process of teaching them to heal. Whether it be a school mate or the next door neighbor that suddenly isn’t there anymore to wave good morning. Using tactics such as “They went away on a long holiday” while easing for you in finding the right words, are a lost opportunity to provide some lessons early into their lives.  We can learn ourselves how to more appropriately respond to grief when we allow children to show us the way.

Kids are incredibly resilient and curious. Once they have absorbed the understanding that from the physical perspective someone is gone, they will move onto the next part of the process of asking questions. It is amazing how many answers you find while you give them the answers you didn’t know you had.

There is nothing more beautiful to me than watching a small child, not pressured, not coerced, when they tip toe to the casket…and leaning in they pat the hands that they loved…or stretch as high as they can….to drop a kiss on the cheek that lays there.  In this lies no fear at all. Just a simple understanding of love in it’s purest form.

And for them…this is goodbye…

Until we meet again….

A kiss goodbye.

Teach your babies not only how to live. But teach them how to live beyond death. Allow them to help you with your own pain. They are truly the closest things we have on earth to angels.

And they know the way.

 

 

Lavenders blue..dilly dilly….

Love…

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grief And Blueberry Scones

“Grief is an emotional, spiritual and psychological journey to healing”

Elizabeth Kubler Ross

 

I sat on the edge of the unmade bed waiting for the cup of tepid coffee to spurt from the small brewer in my hotel room.  As the gurgling stopped, I heard the familiar ding indicating an inbox message had just arrived. I stood up, wrestled with the plastic packaging that held my creamer pack and poured it in. I was stirring the oily substance into the dark brew as I ran my thumb over my notification to find her message.

“She’s gone. My sister is gone”

Knowing my dear friend as well as I do, and her predisposition to long winded narratives, these simple six words were indicative of the shock, the confusion, the pain and the tears that she was typing through.  Not knowing in those moments where to turn to share such news, she had come to me, knowing that I would understand what she was trying to convey.  I sat stunned for a brief moment, I barely recall what I responded with as the waves of her agony washed over me.

She is the grief counselor. I am the medium. And for those brief moments to follow, our shared understanding of death fell to the wayside as neither of us could find the words to make this disappear.  This wasn’t a typical death. Her sister was younger, living life, raising a child, vivacious…and a few hours before this one….she was alive. Or perhaps it was a typical death for those that we respectively counsel, but in that space of time, we were without vocabulary and hopeless together.  I didn’t have to utter a syllable, and she didn’t expect one. A thousand miles apart we sat together in the silence and found some odd comfort there.

I closed my eyes against my tears, calmed the punch into my stomach and sent her my angels.

This news shook me to my very core. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling this so deeply. I didn’t know her sister well, I had met her only twice.  I only knew of their ridiculous adventures, their shared love of anything inappropriate and their bond that I envied from afar.  My struggle with finding the right things to say grew stronger as I bombarded her with flippant and humorous anecdotes to move her through the process of the first days of her loss. Her pain was far too familiar, our friendship too close. Thankfully, her sister being the powerful woman she was, was able to assist me with her words often falling from my fingertips and spilling onto the page in front of me. Some were not the most comforting of words and my instinct was to backspace them away. But true to myself I left them there hanging and was brightened by the laughter on the other end. My friend needed these words so I left them for her.

A few weeks ago now, the process of the expected duties of the bereaved came to a crashing halt. It happens. After the whirlwind of must do is over, the silence of not knowing what to do will descend.  She took to sharing her thoughts in her not knowing.

” What my sister has taught me about grief is that you cannot hide from it. As an educated psychotherapist, I have read about this and counseled others but now I am living it. You can stay as busy as possible and you can take care of everyone, but it will come looking for you. Those times when something hilarious just happened and you go to text her, it will find you. In those times when you see a family photo after she’s gone and instantly notice her absence, it will find you. Those times when you think about the trips you had planned to take, it will find you.”

You cannot hide from it.

I saw my friend yesterday. We sat on her couch and she shared over lemon blueberry scones with warm butter and coffee. Well, coffee for me. Steeped tea with an ungodly amount of sugar for her.  “Coffee will kill ya”  Yes, well so will sugar in copious amounts. Ding ding.

But I digress.

She curled her legs up beneath her, picked away at her scone and spoke of her anger surrounding certain elements of such a profound loss. Her resentment in finding that some didn’t recognize how to allow for healing.  As I sat listening, I began to recognize the tone of her voice, the pinch of her lips and  the sadness in her eyes. As I sat watching her I saw myself and heard all of the words I have never expressed.

It’s been nearly two years since I also lost someone very dear to me. I have lost many people but not one of them provided me a better lesson in out running grief such as this one did. Maybe it was his age, his unassuming manner, his expectation of nothing, his gratefulness for the small things.  Maybe it was simply that we grew up together. Or maybe it is my own anger over a life not fully lived. I really have no answer for it.  All I do know is that every now and then…swells of grief wash over me while I scramble to find a beach bucket to scoop them away, because I just don’t have time for this today…

You cannot hide from it

I know because I’ve been trying.

There is no hiding from this. You can’t comfort it away in comforting others. You can’t busy it away in heavy schedules and must do lists. You can’t write it away, dance it away or dream it away.  It is a part of your world and you must allow yourself to honor that part by giving space to it when it demands. You can’t pencil in the time you spend with it. It simply is there and it rarely announces its arrival.

Grief showed up yesterday and I allowed it in. To share blueberry lemon scones with warm butter. To share familiar words and familiar feelings with a friend.

And grief will show up again next week, next month or next year.

And I will sit with it over hot coffee and blueberry scones…

And share with it what it will teach me.

And then share it with you.

My friend’s blog is below if you wish to read the rest of her words.  I would do so, because she is incredibly gifted at helping us understand. She opened my eyes yesterday without even intending to do so. That’s a gift. 🙂

“What My Sister Has Taught Me About Grief”

In love..in light..in giggles and copious amounts of silliness..

Tania