Where Butterflies Wander

by Suzanne Redfearn

there are times it feels as if I’m trying to hold back a tsunami by sipping a bottle of Evian,

we’ve all become a bit like cheese-heads lately, the six . . . five . . . of us constantly tethered to our electronic devices,

No one loved is ever truly gone. And if we keep them in our heart”—she touches her fist to her chest—“we are able to keep them with us.

What will be will be, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.

I simply opened my heart a little wider to let someone else in.

Loss is personal and belongs solely to the person experiencing it.