I am in the beginning of the middle of the storm, again. This time I am not 10 years old, awkward, lonely and terrified. I am 49 years old, awkward, lonely and terrified. During the thirty-nine years in between I have become older, more awkward, lonelier and more hopeless than terrified. My tenth year was the one that brought devastation that would kill the woman I might have become. That hot summer day in July 1974 forever ripped my life into before and after the murder of my step-father. My young Mother and 4 year old brother became the holy trinity, scarred and intimately aware of how people known to you could invade your home with hand guns and a sawed off shotgun, hold you hostage and wait to take the life of our protector. No place would ever feel safe again, no person could ever be trusted ever again because we had seen into the darkest places of man’s soul, and that 10 year old girl’s childhood and dreams died that day. Something inside of her mind was broken and began to bring the storms that many times destroying everything and everyone in her life leaving her ragged and alone, always alone. This time feels different because there is nothing left that I haven’t already lost except my long painful journey alone among those I love and the wreckage of my broken dreams and heart. I cannot think my way out of this place inside me. Today I CHOOSE to pray, be thankful for my blessings and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I am praying that one of these times I am reaching out that someone will reach back.