Yes, I used AI to generate a graphic for the blog. Get over it! Today, the third anniversary of Pop’s death, I am quiet. I am reflecting on a journey that took me from a hospital room in Corinth to the depths of a broken heart, and finally, to a place of reclaimed grace. I have fought to be a phoenix rising from the ashes, and today I stand on solid ground. . The First Year: The Battle and the Break The first year was defined by a brutal fight for Pop’s dignity. I had failed

The lights are far too bright this year, A neon hum that grates the bone. The table has a hollow chair, A silence where a voice was known. One man is gone, his stories stilled, The other—lost in rooms of mind— A mother with a cup unfilled, Forgetting all she leaves behind. And then the phone that doesn't ring, The son who chose a different shore. The sharpest salt the season brings Is waiting by an open door. To feel it all would be to drown, To let the tidal wave break throu

Balance At the Barre Between Two Couplets, 1975-1988 The core of balance, strong and deep Secrets that the barre would keep. I learned the lesson there in youth A steady, undeniable truth. The metal rail felt cool beneath my fingers, a cold, firm contract with gravity. It wasn't just the height of the leg in the battement, or the perfect angle of the arabesque. It was the mental discipline of the tendu, pushing the foot out a thousand times until it was effortless; the unwave