God is Love.

I've touched on this topic on my blog before, but I guess I need to address it again.

I write a lot about the trips that I take, the cool things that happen in my life and the concerts that I go to. But there's a pretty dark topic that I've touched on, but haven't really explored or written about yet.

There's no way to sugarcoat this, but I'm just going to throw it out there.

I was homeless for five months.

Yes, I technically did have a roof over my head the entire time, and for that I am very, very grateful, but that roof over my head (three weeks of which were AirBnBs) was not my permanent address.

I had no address to mail boxes to.

I got pulled over once, and I had a hard time explaining why my address said another city when I moved/started working in my new city months earlier. 

I was homeless for five months.

And when that happens, you don't think about the future. You aren't concerned with what happens a week or two weeks or two months from now.

You worry about today and that's it. Sometimes, I didn't even worry about the whole day. I was just concerned about getting through the current hour of my life.

Now that I have a place to live, and I have some of my things with me and am now sleeping in my own bed, there are a few things happening that I honestly wasn't prepared for.

I've been pretty emotional this week. Unpacking and seeing my stuff for the first time in five months has just been a little too much than I can handle at the moment.

Tonight, I bawled. I cried like a baby, all over my new place. As I sobbed, my dogs followed me around, and tried to kiss me and console me.

Little Pickles even kissed the tears flowing down my face.

And the reason why is going to make me cry again. 

--

I'm Catholic. 

In this religion, you get your First Communion around age 7, when you're in second grade. There's a class you take before your First Communion, and I honestly don't remember what that class is called.

It's basically a room full of second graders making kid art projects and coloring in Jesus-y coloring books, learning about Catholic stuff along the way.

During those classes when I was little, we got to make little beaded rosaries. I remember they were hard to make.

I remember I asked my teacher if I could make two rosaries, and she agreed. I really wanted to make one for my Grandma, a woman I was really close to.

My rosary was made with dark blue pony beads, and hers was made with light blue beads. I gave my Grandma the light blue rosary, and I kept the dark blue one.

I'd have to ask my parents for details on the timeline here, as I was 7 at the time and I could have things a little wrong here. My Grandma didn't live very long after that. If my memory serves me right, she passed away sometime that year.

I remember telling my parents that I really wanted my Grandma to have my rosary, which was dark blue. I was 7, and at that age, I honestly thought that if I gave my rosary to her, it'd help her get into Heaven.

I really loved her, and I really wanted her to go to Heaven.

At her funeral, I took my dark blue rosary with me, and when it came time to walk up to tell her goodbye, I put my dark blue rosary into her casket.

And now I have to take a break from writing, because I'm sobbing right now.

--

I was so young when she died, that I really only have a few memories of her.

I remember her telling me that she had a B-A-L-L for me in the garage. I was young and couldn't spell, and I had no idea what that meant (she spelled it out), but I remember going into the garage, determined to find whatever the hell a B-A-L-L was.

Also, my brother popped it on the yucca plant after I found it. 

Figures.

Mostly, I just remember feeling really loved when I went to her house. 

I don't know how to explain it, and I don't know if it will make sense to anyone who might read this. When I think about my Grandma, I just remember all of the love that I felt when I was around her.

The only thing that surrounded her was love.

--

After her funeral, I remember my parents giving me the rosary that I originally gave to my Grandma, which was the light blue one.

I remember my parents told me that Grandma would want me to have it.

I've kept that rosary on my dresser for the past 30 years. 

Every city, every state, every town. It's been with me my whole life.

--

I've been unpacking in my new place, slowly, over the last couple of weeks. Having bronchitis for seven weeks means that I can get through a couple of boxes before the coughing starts. Plus, I'm not really sleeping, so any physical movement leaves me pretty much wiped out in about 10 minutes.

Tonight, I looked on top of my dresser, and I found that light blue rosary. 

I cried like a baby. I haven't seen that rosary in five or six months, since all of my stuff has been in storage since I tried to move in April. 

I was not prepared to cry like a baby today over that rosary, because for all but the past five months of my life, I've seen it every day.

Sometimes you don't know how much sentimental things mean to you until you haven't seen them for a while. 

If my place catches on fire and I had time to save one physical item (minus my dogs), I'd probably grab that rosary. 

And honestly, I want to be buried with it. 

--

I thought about taking a photo of the rosary for my blog, but I decided that I can't.

It's too personal.

It's silly, really. It's just some light blue pony beads, a white cross that says "God is Love" and six pink heart beads. 

And there's a few dark blue beads, which are probably from the same package of dark blue beads that my Grandma got buried with when I gave her my dark blue rosary.

--

I don't know if things happen for a reason or if things happen for no reason at all.

I haven't figured that one out yet.

For right now, at least, maybe I was meant to go through a really tough time to be able to appreciate some light blue pony beads, a handful of dark blue beads, and six pink heart shaped beads.

And a white cross that says "God is Love."