Candace's blog is honest. She speaks from her heart. She doesn't blog about subjects she thinks is going to draw a ton of hits. She blogs because she needs to, wants to, and wishes to share, with all of us, the pain, joy, ache, sorrow and excitement of being a mother, musician and writer. And she has a unique voice. And you know why she has a unique voice? Because she is REAL. She never tries to be someone she's not. And I ADORE her for that. I APPRECIATE that. I know that when I go to read her blog every morning, I'm going to get the TRUTH. Whether it be the hard raw bitterness of grief, or the quirky light-hearted wit and wisdom of motherhood, it's the truth - no holding back. And she should be admired for that. I DO admire her for that.
Not many bloggers are as strong or as genuine as Candace. Candace has a backbone, and I think many of us could learn a thing or two from her. So if you too admire honesty, visit her blog today and show her a little love. Show her that despite the hell she is living through right now, she has us - friends that love and care for her, and support her no matter what.
If you'd like to see who else thinks this highly of Candace, take a look at these following blog posts:
But remember, today is not about us, it's about Candace, so please don't feel the need to comment here, just drop by and say hello to an amazingly inspirational woman that needs as many hugs as she can get right now, whether they be real or virtual. Just go.
Candace, I wrote the following prose poem during a time of great sorrow and depression, and by the time I finished it, I saw my pain in a totally different light. I'd like to share it with you, and hope that maybe it can change your perspective a little as well. I love you. I always will. Hang in there sweetheart.
The Dolour ThiefI turn off the ignition. For a split second, I wish I had a garage to gas myself in. I rest my arms, my head on the steering wheel. When did I realise, life does not heal? I need to cry, to feel, the emptiness, the ache. Not an ache. Hatred. A ghost. Breathing all my air. I look through the windshield at the trees struggling to shift in the thin hot breeze. I lean back in my seat and close my eyes—listen to the hum of sin brush against my skin. The only lingering proof left of him. Of us. I wish for sorrow to get caught on me like a broken nail in wool. To remind myself I’m human, that I can feel pain, that for once in this life I am allowed to, without constraint. It’s time to bond with it, this grief. No pain? No relief. No relief? No joy. I must deem it vital to survival, change colour with its leaves. I’ll become the leader of The Dolour Thieves.