Ticket stubs, foreign coins. Life’s ephemera tossed into a box. After my husband, Kevin, died of cancer at 49, I packed it away on a shelf, unopened. Now, a decade later, it was time to look. I didn’t expect to find a letter, never delivered, from 2001, in which he admitted that he’d read my journals and said he missed that passionate writer. He wanted her back. An admission and a plea. If I could, I would tell him this: I missed that writer, too, and found her again with your help. Thank you, Kevin, for always knowing me best. — Lori Tucker Sullivan

Positively Purging-I welcome your feedbacks in the comments and your likes and passing the real life wisdom on to others as I embark on this new venture of “positively purging“, as I know each of these pieces represents something…