Aloha 'Oe

A few weeks ago I received a phone call from Arlene. "Your dad's cancer has spread and it doesn't look good." What? I had no idea there were more problems. Crap. Not good. Not good. Not good. Those words echoed through my head over and over until I thought I might go mad.

I booked a flight to see him and on July 12 I landed in Portland where Uncle Ed, Aunt Alice and cousin Brenda scooped me up and took me to see my dad in the Hood River hospital.

Dad had been put on life support. They had removed half his colon and for a bit, it was touch and go for him. Guess what? He pulled through like the trooper he is. They kept saying "I can't believe how good he is doing." And he did, you know? He pulled every ounce of strength necessary to get home. He walked and sat and joked while being poked and prodded and groped all in the name of getting better and getting home.

When I arrived at the hospital to see my dad, he was on a ventilator. They had removed the tape from his eyes. He was drugged and miserable and it BROKE MY HEART to see him in such disarray. I remember sitting by his bed and holding his hand. I was so very cold in that hospital. Don't they have a heater? They sure charge enough. You would think that they would pay the heating bill. Geesh.

As I held my dad's hand, his warmth coursed through me. And my thoughts played through the song by Pink "Please, please don't leave me."

Do I need to tell you how hard it was to leave when it was time to fly home? I tried so very hard to keep my grown-up-I'm-a-big-girl game face on as I hugged my dad for the last time. Of course, I told him I loved him. Did he really know? Did he know how he had changed my life? Did he know how grateful I was to be a part of his journey? Did he know? Did he know? DID HE KNOW? I left my dad sitting in his bed in the hospital with I.V.'s dripping and monitors flashing. I shut the door to his room and fell into the waiting arms of Uncle ED, Aunt Alice and Brenda. Then I sobbed. I mean I SOBBED. From my toes to the top of my head I cried. NO WAY did he know the depths of my love.

I got home and life resumed. Bills still came. Emails still dinged. Phones still rang. But not a single day went by that I didn't worry and fret and fear for my dad.

He went home with Arlene. He went back to the hospital.

This time the doctors sent him home with hospice. And, indeed, things didn't look good.

I wrote dad nearly every day. Since he and Arlene live in the BOONIES without cell phone coverage and only dial-up internet, (Yep. I'm not joking. Dial-up internet still exists and yes, it's still frustrating.) I decided that I would send a short letter and a blog post daily. I truly believed that if I had an agenda that the good Lord would put his plans on hold and let my dad read all that I had written.

I wrote dad every chance I got. When we left on the motorcycle? I made the group stop for post cards and mailings. I wanted dad to know he was in my thoughts. I NEEDED dad to know he mattered. Ugh. WHY OH WHY do we wait to share our true feelings?

Last night came.

Mark's job has him leaving at midnight on Sunday and Monday night, so he attempts to hit the hay Sunday afternoon to sneak in as much sleep as possible.

The house was quiet. The dogs were sleeping. Jaden was with his friends. Mark was snoozing. I was watching the Olympics and decided that I would get a head-start on writing dad. I sat down to the computer and it hit me. Hard. There isn't much time left and I need to say the words to him.

I wrote "This is the deal, dad. We are nearing the end and I'm freaking out a bit. I know all the right words I should be saying, yet I am a selfish, selfish, selfish girl and I want you here. With me...
I love you. More than words can express. I'm so lucky to have been able to get to know you and love you without bounds. And I do, you know, I love you endlessly."

When I first met my dad, I wrote a blog called "It's a good story. And it's mine." It IS a good story. Unsure whether he had ever read the posting, I put that in the envelope.

I took the dogs outside to do their business. While enjoying the night sky, the cool air on my shoulders the tears began streaming down my face and realization hit me. I uttered the words "I'm never going to see my dad again."

I came upstairs, sealed dad's envelope, kissed it, set it aside for tomorrows mailing, sat on the couch and my phone rang. It was my brother Ron. "Hey. Can I talk to Mark? I've called his phone a few time and he isn't answering." "Sure. But he's sleeping for work tonight. Is everything okay?" "I just want to ask him a question about my motorcycle." You're not a good liar Ronnie. I knew. I knew. I knew. Dad had died.

My all-time-favorite-cartoon-movie-in-the-history-of-EVER is Disney's Lilo and Stitch. I love Lilo. If you haven't seen the movie? Watch it!

The basis of the move is: (According to my search on Bing)

A tale of a young girl's encounter with the galaxy's most wanted extraterrestrial. Lilo is a lonely Hawaiian girl who adopts a small ugly 'dog', whom she names Stitch. Stitch would be the perfect pet if he weren't in reality a genetic experiment who has escaped from an alien planet and crash-landed on earth. Through her love, faith and unwavering belief in "ohana" (the Hawaiian concept of family), Lilo helps unlock Stitch's heart and gives him the one thing he was never designed to have – the ability to care for someone else.

Lilo's parents were killed and Nani (the sister) is left to care for her rambunctious and often difficult younger sister. This dysfunctional family is about to be ripped apart by a Social Worker. Nani sits with Lilo in a hammock and attempts to explain the precarious situation in which she finds themselves. Inevitably, Nani pulls Lilo into her arms and begins to sing:

Aloha 'oe, aloha 'oe
E ke onaona noho i ka lipo
One fond embrace,
A ho'i a'e au,
Until we meet again.

While waiting for Mark to break the news to me, that was the song that played in my head. Over and over and over I heard the words. So, I say loudly. Aloha my dear dad. Rest. Thank you for your warmth. Your hugs. Your love. Your strength. Your kindness. Thank you for giving me your eyes. The curl in your hair. The stubbornness that kept you going against all odds. Your emotional attachment to family and friends. And the silence of my words when my heart and mind are running away.

Most of all? Thanks dad, for letting me share these last years with you. I love you.

My shining star

My Tanna had a birthday on Thursday. This is the year I have decided to write a tribute to each of my children on the day they were born. I was away on Thursday (yep, another blog for another time) and between checking 297 emails, shifting design work to another day, getting Jaden registered for school, going through icky bills and getting the house back in order, I thought I would take a break and write about my girl.

My parents had come to California to see my baby be born. Nope. I had no idea if I was having a boy or a girl. I love the surprise and I love hearing the doctor say "It's a boy." or "It's a girl." Not much in my life has brought me as much joy. When the doctor said "It's a girl." I wept. I was beyond thrilled. She had taken her sweet old time getting here and OF COURSE it was by her own rules and on her own timeline.

I was VERY pregnant when Mark and I decided to invite my mom and dad to the birth of our baby. Normally, I feel like births should only be shared by the parents of the baby, but since my mother had never given birth (we are all adopted) I wanted her to experience this special moment.

My parents drove from Utah to California and we waited. And waited. And waited. And went to the hospital 30 miles away. False labor. Home we went. Went back to the hospital. False labor. Home again. What the crap? Went for a high speed boat ride. Bingo. August 4th came and along with the sunshine? Well, you know the rest of the story. A star was born.

Tanna has always been a beauty. As a baby, I would take her shopping and people would walk aisles over to gaze at her. Inevitably they let me know that I had the most beautiful baby they had ever seen. And they were right. Wow. Was this girl something.

As soon as she could form thoughts, Tanna decided right away who the boss of our household would be. Need I say that adults were not part of the chain of command? Well, they weren't. Tanna was boss. CEO. Commander in Chief.

Those who have met Tanna have witnessed that this girl holds NOTHING back. There are times that people don't want to hear what she has to say. Too bad for them. She says it anyway.

My favorite memory of Tanna developed before she could walk. Tanna was crawling. By crawling, I mean she had this oh-my-gosh-I'm-gonna-die army fling her arms in front of herself and pull with all her might scoot. The boys had gone outside to play. Tanna scooted/crawled/flung herself to the front screen door. The bottom screen was missing and next thing you heard was Tanna hollering at the boys in her garbled I-don't-understand-a-thing-you-are-saying voice, all the while wagging her finger at them and laying out the rules in no uncertain terms.

As Tanna grew, her beauty increased and kindness became part of her demeanor. Tanna will and HAS given to everyone she knows. Her strength in spirit has been shared and at times has been taken advantage of by fellow human beings. I FOREVER am saying to this girl "If you don't take care of you, who will?"

Some of my most epic adventures have happened with this girl. There was the time that a moth the size of a BIRD (I'm not kidding) flew at our car while we were at an intersection waiting for the light to turn. We both screamed and flung ourselves out of the car. Yeah, I know, we went right into the supposed lions den. Whatever. I was getting as far away from that moth/bird as I could possibly get. Except we had left Jaden to fend for himself while strapped in his carseat. Oops.

We laughed and laughed until we were all laughed out. Then we laughed some more. To this day, periodically, one of us will say "remember that moth?" and we ERUPT into uncontrollable laughter yet again.

Tanna loves music. I mean, this girl loves music. She listens to chords and lyrics and beats and rhythm with intensity. There isn't a new song released that I don't immediately think "I wonder if Tanna has heard this."

I'm going to end with song lyrics. Know I love this girl more that words can say. I love her beauty. Her calm. Her crazy. Her smile. I adore her laugh. Her kindness. Her drive. Her honesty.

If you have shared all or part of these things from my girl, you, my friend, have witnessed a shining star. You will carry her in your heart forever. How lucky are you?

Star
Bryan Adams
Written for the movie Jack.

What ya wanna be when you grow up?

What ya gonna do when your time is up?

What ya gonna say when things go wrong?

What ya gonna do when you're on your own?

There's a road...

Long and winding

The lights are blinding but it gets there.

Don't give up.

Don't look back.

There's a silver lining

Out there somewhere.

Everbody wants an answer.

Everybody needs a friend.

We all need a shining star on which we can depend.

So tonight we're gonna wish upon a star

We never wished upon before.

There'll be times

In your life

When you'll be dancing, but you ain't getting it.

Don't get disillusioned, no don't expect too much

'Cuz if what you have is all you can get

Just keep trying

It just ain't happened yet.

Everybody wants to be a winner.

Everybody has a dream.

We all need a shining star

When things ain't what they seem.

So tonight we're gonna wish upon a star

We've never wished upon before.

Everybody wants some kindness.

Everybody needs a break.

We all need a shining star when things get hard to take.

So tonight we're gonna wish upon a star

We've never wished upon before.

Lane Change

My nephew is getting married on Thursday. That's the day after tomorrow. Nope I'm not ready. Did I mention that Lane is only SIX? Okay. Not really. He's a little bit older. But that's not how I remember him. So six he remains in my scrawny brain.

Yep. Six. Swimming. Eating popsicles. Dirty face. Underwear wearing, snotty nosed, mouthy, arrogant little booger from unknown regions. He was an AWFUL child. We argued. We fought. I disciplined. He pouted. We laughed and cried and loved together. And despite ALL evidence to the contrary, Lane has flourished and grown into a most impressive adult.

When Lane was a little guy (I swear it was just yesterday) Uncle Mark would call him "Lane Change." Lane would howl and holler and protest VERY loudly "THAT'S NOT MY NAME." So of course, Mark would continue "Lane Change. Lane Change. Lane Change." (Yeah, I'm married to a two year old.)

Fast forward a few years and Lane Change is just what he did. I swear to you, I have NEVER seen anything like it. I watched this boy drop his friends, drop his bad habits and drop his self destructive behavior. He looked down the road and recognized that he was heading for disaster. That was NOT flying with this boy. Nope. No way. No how.

So Lane changed.

Lane is strong and kind and good and generous and loyal. Oh, and handsome.

I read through this writing and it sounds as if Lane was not strong and kind and good before he made the switch. You would be wrong. He was all that. And more. However, Lane just forgot to show all these qualities and soon enough they got lost in the mud and the mire of bad behavior. Lane simply began to tap into his strength and kindness and goodness and loyalty THAT WAS ALREADY THERE waiting for his acknowledgement.

Oh yeah, and guess what? He loves his Aunt Nette. Despite all the yelling and discipline and warnings and butt-smacking. Lane loves me and I'm better for it.

I'm so lucky to be a part of his life. The Deason's are lucky to have him. Tim and Shannon and Devin were blessed to raise him. Bayley is lucky to marry him. The world is a better place with Lane in it.

Don't tell me that change can't happen. Don't tell me that it is too hard to make the changes to better your life. Don't tell me that it's not fair to have to change. Don't say the words.

I've seen it.

I've witnessed it.

My all-time favorite quote is from Mahatma Ghandi.

"Be the change you wish to see in the world."

Lane did it. So can you.

Introducing Lane and Bayley Deason. Together they'll do wonderful things.

Beyond Cereal Bowls

So Jaden turned SIXTEEN today. What? How did that happen? I swear I didn't blink. I swear I didn't turn my head. I swear ON MY HONOR that I have treasured every single moment with him. I don't know how it came to be, but 16 he is and will stay that way for one whole year.

Quite a few blog writings back, I stated the wishes that I have for each of my kids. I wrote:

"My wish for Jaden would be the greatest of all wishes. He has the most time. His path in life hasn't be scarred with the pits and valleys of growing up. I wish for him to take advantage of the opportunities he can't even see yet."

He's had a broken heart now. He has experienced disappointment and sadness. He's seen disloyalty, greed, fear, pain and all the things that come with growing up. Yet, he's funny, kind, generous, smart, and fierce in the face of a storm. And now I'm glad that he has seen the dark and turned it into light.

Jaden has always idolized his siblings. He has blossomed and grown while silently watching and learning from Tyson, Goose, Tanna and Shelby. Nope. Hasn't always been an easy road. I like to say that Jaden has six parents. The other "kids" are so much older than he, that I find myself quite often saying to them, "I'm the parent." Mark believes that Jaden is his easiest teen because if a screw-up happens, Tyson or Goose will take care of him. Oh geesh. Poor kid. The village that raised my youngest all share the same DNA and the last name of Deason.

My younger Jaden was obsessed with spiderman. He had all of the toys, t-shirts, costumes and gear necessary to look the part. If it had spiderman's picture on it? He wanted it. He climbed the wall of our staircase. He shot "webs" from his fingers. He dressed the part and talked the talk.

Maybe spiderman is a super hero that YOU know, but Jaden is a super hero that I know. Nope. No comic books written about him. There isn't a movie showing his lifesaving tactics. You won't find toys, action figures, coloring books, t-shirts, costumes or books blaring his face and screaming his name. He IS a super hero nonetheless.

According to quora.com the three most vital (and indispensable) traits a super hero must possess are: 

1. Extraordinary powers and abilities
2. Courage
3. A strong moral code

That's my boy. His strength and courage is remarkable. His moral code is enviable.  A super hero? Without a doubt.

Jaden saved me. I argued and argued AND ARGUED with my doctor. I was NOT pregnant with my fifth child. I wasn't. I wasn't. I WASN'T. I was. Crap.

I bawled and howled and hollered and stubbornly pouted and on June 15, 2000 my son was born.

Giving birth to Jaden about killed me, you know. After seven blood transfusions, many days and nights in the hospital, two emergency surgeries, one scheduled surgery, tons of worry and fear and swearing and work, my body mended and for the fifth and final time, I slipped into the role of being a mother to an infant.

Jaden taught me to notice the small things again. I remembered the significance of bugs and leaves and butterflies and puddles. I reveled in walks and talks and cartoons and warm blankets. I reaffirmed the value of rice crispy treats, ice cream, popsicles and cheetos. Once again, I could recall nursery rhymes and songs and childhood dances. We did it all and loved each moment immensely  Even better? We have loved each other without boundary. Yep. He saved me.

You won't find a cape in Jaden's closet. There isn't a cool uniform with a logo emblazened across the chest. No spandex or tight-fitting-muscle-showing outfit folded nicely in his dresser drawer. Nope. Looking through the jumbled mess you'll find jeans, plain t-shirts, Nike socks and Vans. A chess set, a television and cereal bowls adorn his room.

Keep looking. You'll find more love than you can handle. You'll find loyalty beyond measure. You'll find a true friend and a simple boy that will save your day. He saved me. He might just be the one to save you.

I Think I'll Go To Boston

I must like music. I (once in a while) read back through my blogs and there are quite a few times I write about a song that has struck me. Here we go again. Another blog about another song.

In 2005 the rock band Augustana released a song "Boston" on their album called "All The Stars and Boulevards". I don't know where I first heard it. It has played in the background on some television shows. But I think I heard it on the radio. However it came to be, I heard it, loved it and bought it. I put it on my iPod which is on "shuffle" and periodically the song comes on and I fill with whimsical thinking.

"In the light of the sun
Is there anyone?"

I just went with my gal pals/sisters-in-law to Cabo San Lucas. Oh what fun we had! No worries. No stress. No obligations. No timetables. No cooking. No cleaning. No laundry.

Lots of fun. Lots of sun. Lots of pool time. The ocean. The sun. The sun. The sun. Oh how I love being in the sun.

I came home and what the crap happened? Everything is falling to pieces and it feels oh-so-out-of-control. It seems the more I work on fixing "things" the farther the puzzle pieces seem to fall. And I feel so very alone. 

My kids were students at Franklin Elementary and one of our most favorite teachers IN THE HISTORY OF EVER was Miss Sutton. Oh how we love that lady! Shelby used to "babysit" her dogs when she left town. They were the best of friends and Miss Sutton will forever remain a soft spot in the heart of the Deason family.

One of the times Shelby was asked to keep track of the dogs and house, Miss Sutton was headed home to bury her father. She was oh-so-sad. I tell you, it's my biggest fear. Age is creeping up on my parents and their time is getting shorter on this earth. Therefore, when "parents" leave and kids are left behind I weep right with them. I cry for my beloved friends, and I cry for myself - out of fear of what is yet to come.

Miss Sutton and I were sitting on her couch talking about her dear father that she loved so much. She was telling stories of youth. Of her dad. Of her home. 

As the stories progressed, Miss Sutton began to cry. And cry. And cry. Through her tears she whispered, "I tell myself to BE STILL, but it is so hard."

Through the years I have thought about the words "Be still." At times I have emulated stillness. Other times I SHOULD have stilled my tongue.

These last few weeks those words have echoed in my mind. Over and over like a mantra. Be still. Be still. Be still.

And I wait. For patience. For forgiveness. For gratitude. For kindness. For hope. For power. For love and grace and peace.

"I think I'll go to Boston I think that I'm just tired I think I need a new town to leave this all behind.
 I think I need a sunrise. I'm tired of a sunset...

 Boston. Where noone knows you're name."

My Goose

Goose turned 29 today. I know you hear it all the time, however, I REALLY can't believe my baby is growing up. And doing it so well.

April 28, 1987. That day changed my life and I've never looked back.

Goose has a real name. It's Kadell Mark Deason. Yep. Kadell. While half-heartedly browsing through name-your-baby books, I ran across the name Cadell. I HATED IT. I couldn't believe that name made "the list" and I vocalized to anyone who would listen how much I hated that name. Problem is, I couldn't get it off my mind. I substituted a K for the C. I loved it. And that became his name.

Until...

Kadell was young when Mark flung him in the air while asking "How's my little goosebump?" And the name Goose came to be. On the first day of school, his desk was found because "Goose" was displayed loud and clear. He learned to write Goose long before Kadell was memorized. Friends, classmates, co-workers and family all know him as Goose.

I have been thinking about this blog for over a month now. I have combed through stories and thoughts and memories to share, yet, words elude me. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe the stories are too long to write. Maybe, just maybe, as I think of words to describe my son, they seem SO small, so inadequate, so trivial in the world that Goose has created.

My boy works harder than anyone I know. He loves immensely. His laugh is contagious. He's honorable and gracious and kind and generous in spirit and action. He is sentimental, loyal and is consistently and fearlessly compelled to do what is right. Don't mistake his kindness for weakness. He might cry while doing it, but he will knock you upside the head if needed.

When Daulton and Goose got married, I wrote Daul a letter symbolically giving "one of my five treasures" over to her. It was all a lie. Goose is MINE. I don't want to share his spirit or his strength with anyone. Yet, I puff with pride as I hear stories of how great my kid is. And he is, you know? He is.

And I'm proud.

Goose rocked 28 and year 29 holds limitless boundaries for this guy. Up is the only direction he can see and that's right where he goes.

Yes, he is kind and wholesomely good. But most of all? He loves his mom. And there is nothing finer.

It's a BAD word, but I used it. ALOT.

Let's face the facts. I swear. All the time. I swear when I'm happy. I swear when I'm mad. I swear when I'm excited, glad, upset, sick, or feeling absolutely nothing at all. I make an honest effort not to subject my readers to my potty mouth on social media of any kind. I have friends and family that don't have filthy language and I try to keep my sailor-talk to myself.

Except now.

Late Thursday night (March 31) my I-love-him-EVER-so-much brother-in-law, Gerald, brought his pretty-amazingly-awesomely-fabulous wife, Randi, and my cooler-than-cool-super-beautiful-inside-and-out niece, Camryn, from California for a visit while killing two birds with one stone. They came to watch my super-talented-handsomely-gifted nephew, Cody, pitch for the Arizona Wildcats as they played the Utah Utes and the BYU Cougars and of course the other stone was to visit ME and (I suppose) the rest of the family.

I spent Thursday cleaning the house, washing bedding and getting the house presentable for the visit and I was ever-so-tired when I collapsed into bed. Therefore, when the Deason clan came rolling in, I didn't lift my sleepy head from my pillow to greet them and left the welcoming job to Mark.

7:00 am rolled around and I figured the California visitors were brutally tired from their journey and had decided to run to the grocery store and get some food in the house before they awoke. I was throwing on some jeans, Mark was heading out of the house and Jaden was showering for school when I heard Mark come back in the house. "Oh good," I thought, "I'm going to ask Mark to start my jeep to get it warming up for me."

Nope. Didn't go that way.

"You're jeep is gone."

"What?"

"Yep. It's gone. Call the police."

"What?"

I looked out he window. My jeep was gone. I looked again, thinking I had maybe missed seeing it. It was gone. I called the police. I looked out the window. I couldn't believe it was gone. It was.

The police came. Took my statement. "Was there anything of value in the jeep?" "Heck yeah. My Tim McGraw CD was in it."

I went down the stairs to ask Gerald if my jeep had been there when he pulled in late last night. It was. Later, as we were all talking about it, Mark, Gerald and I had heard an engine rev up. I remember hearing it. And then I passed it off to someone speeding down the street.

I spent Friday and Saturday in a HUGE funk. I was shocked. I felt violated. I was angry and sad all at once. I kept looking out the window awaiting it's appearance in my driveway.

Yes. I had left the keys in it.

I have lived in this house for many, many, MANY years. I NEVER locked my front door. Mark and I used to leave our keys in our vehicles. I've left my purse in my jeep. My i-pod, my phone, cash, checks and personal belongings have all resided at one time or another without EVER being disturbed. Our neighborhood has changed enough that we have been locking our front door for a while now.

About a week before the stealing-of-the-jeep incident, someone broke into my jeep and Mark's truck. They took a few things. They were of NO value to the thieves. But the the realization hit that (duh) I need to remove my keys and valuables every night.

Tyson broke his ankle while playing basketball. Surgery was required and I found myself Thursday morning waiting at the Surgery Center to hear that my son was alive and well and would be back on his feet in no time.

Surgery went well. Tyson survived and will walk again.  I headed home. I was super upset about something that had happened and wanted to get home to Marks rational thinking. I pulled into my driveway, jumped out of my jeep and wobbled into the house. I didn't think NOT ONE TIME about my keys dangling from the ignition.

Is this my fault? I have relived that moment over and over and over. If I had just grabbed my keys. If I wasn't so dang emotional. If... If... If...

Whatever. I didn't do this. I didn't ask some moron to violate my trust. I didn't invite some stranger onto my property. And I sure as crap didn't give permission for my jeep to be stolen.

Sunday morning around 10:30 my phone rang. Provo Police. "We found your jeep." OHMYGOSH! They had found my JEEP! It was in American Fork. Mark got the address and we madly drove to the location. We pulled up to the house and a sinking feeling hit my gut.

"That's not my jeep." They had it wrong. This jeep was silver and ugly and dirty. My jeep is teal and clean and cuter than cute.

Mark's answer? "Yes, it is."

Mark got out of the truck to talk to the cop-guy waiting for us. I wobbled up the driveway to look at the hunk of junk that they kept calling my jeep. Yep. They were right. It was my jeep. You could see my Deason chick sticker. Albeit it was covered in this awful silver paint, but the outline of the sticker could still be seen. And I started crying. I opened the passenger door. The filth was abundant. I have had my jeep for years now. It is NEVER dirty. Ever.

I cried harder. My stereo was gone. My speakers? Gone. The ignition was ripped out and the jeep was not drive-able at all. What the crap did they do? They had the dang key!

The spray paint, the filth, the violation, the sick feeling... all of it summed up to "dumb ass." I said it over and over and over again. Then I lost it. I opened the passenger door and flung all the crap out.

Mark had called Goose and Daulton on our way to American Fork and they had met us at the stealer-of-my-jeep house. Goose yelled for Daulton to "Get mom out of here." I was having no part of it. I threw and swore and threw and swore. I kicked and hollered and yelled and bawled.

And we towed the jeep to our house.

Tuesday I began removing the spray paint. 3 gallons of paint thinner and scrubbing and working and swearing brought my jeep closer to the jeep that was before it was stolen. I scrubbed the inside. Gerald had found a needle in the jeep. Apparently the dippety-do-dah had overdosed in my jeep, someone had called the police, he was revived and carted off to jail. The tags were off the jeep. It was OBVIOUSLY spray painted and the police ran the VIN. Stolen. Mine. NOT YOURS.

His name is Kevin Ontiveors. Nope. I don't know him. He's a lost soul who decided that it would be easier to grab my stuff instead of working and getting a jeep of his own.

To every bad, there is a good. Yin and yang. Right? Sometimes it's more difficult to sift through the horrible. But it's usually there. This time it came in the words of the American Fork police officer who found my jeep and witnessed my mental and emotional breakdown.

When all was said and done and the tow truck was on the way. Mark pulled me out of the truck for a photo op with my new BFF.

"I'm sorry this happened to you."

"It's okay. I forever say that 'worse things have happened to better people.'"

"Well, I don't think so."