Those of us who are conscientious about doing a good job and being a good parent constantly weigh competing priorities. Every day, we make decisions about where to put our time and attention, so that both our kids and our coworkers get what they need from us.

Life has seasons, and I know unequivocally that everything happens in divine timing. Now that I have fully embraced this fact, I am better able to compartmentalize my life.

The three most important men in my life were right here. I could hear everyone breathe as they slept, each with their own pattern of inhales and exhales. I remember thinking "this is it." This is why we work hard. This is what life means. This is what is important.

It's enough to be a working mother -- constantly inundated by the discussion of whether or not we can "have it all" -- and then to hear this awful tale that plants a seed of fear about how maybe you can't even trust the one person who, for those of us trying to do it, helps us keep it together.

My mom was my first great love and my first great loss, which makes me a guilt-stricken mother.