Is there rest for the weary?  When we reach out do we find another’s hand reaching back to us?  Are we here for one another, or are we too busy to listen, too busy to care?   Do we assume people know we love them or do we reach out and tell them so?   Most of us are too busy to notice.  Too busy to really look below the surface.   Until it’s too late.  And then we look back and wonder why. 

I think sometimes the hole inside of a person cannot be filled no matter how hard you try and you begin to slip away.  Once your *self*, your very essence, is gone, you feel that you must slip away too.  The feelings of shame, and insignificance , the feelings of worthlessness– the sheer vastness of the pain inside of someone prevents one  from seeing any other option. 

For me, personally, I’m glad no one IRL notices the constant fear, the depression that burdens me. I’m glad everyone was always confident that I was always *okay*.  This is how I want everyone to remember me – as the strong confident woman, and not as the depressed girl who was always sick and afraid.  Not the scared little girl who always felt helpless and alone.  The little girl who lived under the thumb of a ghost – her pain unnoticable by those around her. 

I dont want to be remembered like that.  I want to be remembered like this:  Grace was a strong, loving woman with the ability to touch everyone she met.  She was honest, friendly, giving, and thoughtful.  She was humorous and silly with the ability to make people laugh.  A beautiful soul, Grace laughed often and her smile could light up a room. Grace was strong and dependable and she was always there when you needed her.  She touched many and was beautiful inside and out.  

Remember that Grace.  Remember her. 

When the weary shall rest…