Here We Go!
Final in the series (and yet it all begins)
In a few days, I’ll be getting in my car and driving back to New York.
That sentence alone feels like it carries more than just miles.
What makes it even more incredible is this:
somewhere along the way, I’ll be stopping in Virginia to pick up my sister—who just happens to be there visiting for her birthday. She lives in Colorado. I live in Florida. And somehow, our paths are crossing at exactly the right moment so we can finish the last stretch of the drive together.
From there, we’ll head to my brother’s house.
The three of us… under one roof.
I don’t think that’s happened in thirty-five years.
Maybe more.
He’s seven years younger than me, and for most of our lives I was a little more like a second mother than a sister. The thought of walking into his home now—laughing, cooking, making sauce and meatballs the way we grew up—it doesn’t feel small.
It feels like something that was always meant to happen… finally happening.
—
Before I even get there, though, I already know my first stop.
I won’t be pulling into New York without going to see my son.
His beautiful wife.
My granddaughter.
And the little one we’re all waiting to meet this spring.
There are moments in life that don’t need a lot of words.
That will be one of them.
You see, they are my priority.
And this is my true reason.
—
And then, somewhere in the middle of all of this…
I will walk back into St. Patrick’s.
The same building where I once walked as a little girl.
The same hallways.
The same worn floors.
The same quiet corners that once felt so full of something I couldn’t explain.
And I will sit beneath the statue of the Virgin Mary.
The one I used to stand in front of as a child.
The one I would quietly speak to without really understanding why.
I already know I will cry.
Probably more than I expect.
Not out of sadness.
But out of recognition.
—
It’s a strange feeling… coming back to a place that helped shape you.
Because in some ways, everything looks the same.
And in other ways, nothing is.
I’m not the little girl walking those hallways anymore.
I’m the woman she became.
The one who learned, slowly and sometimes painfully, how to trust what she felt.
The one who tried, at times, to be something more “normal”… and found her way back anyway.
The one who now sits with others in their hardest moments and reminds them they’re not alone.
That happiness does live within you — within each breathing moment.
And that getting older is a privilege not received by all.
—
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how life doesn’t always move in straight lines.
Sometimes it circles.
Sometimes it brings you back to the very place where things began…
Not so you can start over—
But so you can see it differently.
Stand in it differently.
Understand it.
—
If I’m being honest, it also feels like I’m standing between two lives right now.
The one I’ve been living…
And the one I’m being gently pulled toward.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not rushing to figure out which one is “right.”
I’m just walking.
Listening.
Letting it unfold the way it’s meant to.
There’s something freeing about that.
And yes… if I’m honest, a little intense too.
—
But I trust it.
Because I’ve learned that the same quiet knowing that guided me as a child…
Is still here.
Still steady.
Still leading.
—
Funny how life works like that.
You leave a place as one person…
And one day, without forcing it, without planning it—
You find yourself being invited back.
Not as the child who once walked those halls…
But as the woman she was becoming all along.
With love,
Mary Rose
If something in you felt seen here…
you don’t have to carry it alone.
I sit with people in these spaces every day —
quietly, gently, and without judgment.
Most people who reach out simply felt something
they couldn’t explain…
and followed it.
If that’s you, I’m here.
Love this. ❤️
Enjoyed your personal journey.
I liked the comment, Letting life unfold. So difficult to know if it is God’s will or your own.
Love, Donna Eye