 When I left Stratford the hardest goodbye was with my recovery group. I still feel that spot in my heart soften when I think of the people who made me feel safe first. I’ve always kept journals and at that time I had a significant number filled with some of the details of the early days of freedom and drudgery. I got hung up on figuring out if I should pack my journals for the move, or let them go. I broke down one night in a meeting in the last week, and the crying had nothing to do with the journals, I wasn’t sure how to let go. Then someone around the table told me to bring my journals in and the group could decide. The room erupted in laughter — full on belly laughing. They were there for me right to the end. The journals went to the dump. I’ve never shared a photo of my friend Ghaithaa. I feel protective of her, and she is modest. She’s like a sister to me. The other night she smiled beautifully for me with this large platter of Idlib tabbouleh, made with lots of cabbage and a pomegranate syrup dressing. I sent a message the next day asking if I could post the photo. The image is what she sent back to me. *heart-melting* Good life advice. *** I finished Dideon & Babitz this week and both these women are mentioned. Linda Ronstadt and Bonnie Raitt, help me I’m melting. 19691976Comments are closed.
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