The answers we seek aren't always the answers we want, are they? But knowing the truth is what helps us sleep at night.

Strong winds buffet the sea oats and tall dune grasses, tossing sand and seabirds where it will, winding my sister's golden hair into sunlit spirals of silk until it becomes the only good memory I have of her -- the only memory I allowed myself to keep.

There is how we were before, and how we are now, and the time between is spent choosing which doors to open, and which to close.

I know what it is to hope and pray so hard that you're sure God will answer your prayer just so you'll stop asking.

There are no completely good or bad people. Everybody makes mistakes, or bad choices. It's how we live with them that make us the people we are.

But there is room now in my heart for more memories, carved by a letting go that I could find only by coming home to a place I'd never been.

Every woman should have a daughter to tell her stories to. Otherwise, the lessons learned are as useless as spare buttons from a discarded shirt. And all that is left is a fading name and the shape of a nose or the color of hair. The men who write the history books will tell you the stories of battles and conquests. But the women will tell you the stories of people's hearts.