Yesterday was all about being present.
Today was about learning that being present doesn’t always protect your heart.
The day began beautifully.
I slept in again—mostly because it was nearly two in the morning before I finally crawled into bed. When I woke up, I was determined to create a little peace around me. I looked around my home and asked myself, What needs attention? What project can I wrap up? What can I do today that will make next week a little easier?
Those kinds of days fill my soul.
I spent a little time with my daughter Katy and her four-legged sidekick, Kash. She was cleaning out her freezer, and somehow I became the lucky recipient of all kinds of goodies. I’ll never turn down free groceries!
Back at home, I photographed several finished quilting projects, listed a few items for sale, gathered my sewing machine, and started organizing my studio. It felt productive. Peaceful.
Then came our family Zoom call.
My oldest daughter—the only one who lives nearby—shared that she and her husband are putting their house on the market and moving to Oklahoma.
Everyone else seemed to already know.
I was hearing it for the first time.
Of course I want her to be happy. She has found her person, and the two of them have built a beautiful little life together. If Oklahoma is where that journey takes them, I truly wish them nothing but happiness.
That wasn’t what hurt.
What hurt was realizing I was the last to know.
The silence after the announcement felt heavy. We laughed a little. We stumbled through the conversation. Then, before we ended the call, she asked everyone not to tell Grammy because she wanted to tell her in person.
That sentence landed like a punch.
My daughter had been at my house earlier that very morning.
She had every opportunity to tell me.
She chose not to.
After we hung up, I asked my husband if he knew.
He quietly said yes.
He had known for a while but had promised not to say anything because she had asked him not to.
That realization hurt even more.
Not because she is moving.
Not because I’m losing the convenience of having her nearby.
It hurt because I realized everyone had been protecting a secret…from me.
I found myself asking questions that probably every parent asks at some point.
Why wasn’t I worthy of hearing it face-to-face?
What reaction were they expecting from me?
Why did everyone else get to carry this news while I sat unknowingly in the dark?
Those questions don’t have easy answers.
This morning, before any of this unfolded, I pulled an oracle card.
The image showed a lightning strike.
At first I thought it represented sudden change.
By the end of the day, I realized it represented something much deeper.
Hands and heart open, ready to receive with clarity and fortitude. The lightning bolt has a clear destination, and you are perfectly aligned to receive the opportunity it brings. This card reminds us of the power of sound judgment, honesty, and proceeding objectively. Your inner truth is valid and deserving of expression. Say what you think. Bring it into the light. Trust your instincts. Trust your strength.
Funny how a card can seem so abstract in the morning and so personal by evening.
I’m still processing what today means.
I’m not angry.
I’m hurt.
There’s a difference.
Maybe the lesson for Day 2 isn’t about loss.
Maybe it’s about honesty.
About having the courage to say, “That hurt me.”
About remembering that love and disappointment can exist in the very same moment.
Tomorrow is another day.
Tonight, I’m simply giving myself permission to feel this one.