It didn’t help that nothing was normal for me. My routines were shattered, and I couldn’t do things the way I was used to doing them. I needed to sleep downstairs in the recliner while the others slept upstairs and I hated it. I often would stay awake most of the night praying rosary after rosary after chaplet after chaplet for anybody who came to mind – anyone but me because it made me too sad to pray for myself. Continue readingPlease visit Marge Steinhage Fenelon to read the full post.