Control.

As I sat on my couch a few minutes ago, watching Miranda Lambert on CMT, Deak bum-scooted around the corner by the stairs with a funny little grin on his face.  It brought tears to my eyes as he scooted to his cup, stood up by himself, and walked to me, asking me for a drink.
I'm grateful for him and the blue-eyed, curly haired, bottle of perspective he has the ability to grant me, if I choose to allow him to.

Choose, being the operative word.
That guy upstairs sure knew I needed him on Earth with me.

I grew up in a good, but chaotic world.  I did my best to make sense of that chaos by controlling myself in every way I could.  I was a perfect little child.

I'm not sure that little child has entirely let go of that control.
She still needs it.
And, she still kinda expects perfection (especially from herself).

A compilation of several events have given me the opportunity to spend some time in an attempt to figure out the why/how/who's that make me, me.
The only conclusion I've come up with is...I still don't have a clue.

I have written before, and I'll say again, that I am genuinely grateful for the different experiences I've had (both public and private), however challenging they've been, because those experiences have made me, me. I used to think that maybe they've made me stronger, but truthfully, I don't think they have.
I'm not that strong...no stronger than any of you.
I've just become comfortable with smiling through the crap that life hands out to us.

These experiences have given me an opportunity to feel emotions on a level that many do not understand, which in turn, has allowed me to have an ability to relate to others (especially children), who live in a chaos that again, I can understand.  These little bodies I see at work, just want control too.  They are making sense of a world that isn't fair, and are doing their best.  I look into each of their eyes every week, and feel that hurt with them.  Pieces of my heart are given to them as they walk out of my office...every single time.  I love them deeply, as if they are my own, for the two hours I have with them, and hope that they can carry that feeling with them as try to fumble their way through elementary school in their tiny little Velcro shoes.

Lately, those kids I see, and their stories have carried me. They have reminded me that I too, am still doing my best to grasp straws and regain control of myself.  They have helped me to feel like I still have pieces of good inside me to offer others; that maybe all this craziness that has followed me around in life has a purpose.  A purpose actualized every week as I visit with a new set of smiles, sad eyes, and Velcro shoes.

Control.  
I'll continue to look for it, but I'm beginning to understand that I have never really had it.
Letting go of that desire is difficult for me, but I'm learning how necessary it really is.
It is the only way I can heal.