Roscoe, Dusty, and the cozy house are the truest of lost and irreplaceable things. Losses that can never be resolved, but will slip into the breaks in my soul, finding their nestled place to live until my soul once again shifts to stardust. Always a part of me. The kintsugi of my spirit.

But at night, memories of other things come, other things lost, things that only really matter to me.

The tiny harness brace that K wore for some weeks as an infant. In the womb, she positioned herself to jettison out of there early on, one leg straight and ready to push off, and one bent, knee to chest. That bent position gave her an underdeveloped hip socket. When she emerged, the doctor could pop her hip in and out of joint. And so she wore that little brace to make her hip socket perfect. Whenever I would see it, it would always amaze me that she was once that small.

There is so much more to say, but tonight I am at the Retreat alone and am struggling.