turning point

I think I've come to a fork in the road.

As the one year anniversary of your death approaches and hovers over my head, I feel so much anxiety, disbelief, and sorrow for just having to survive it. Not necessarily the day, but the entire idea of you being gone a whole year. I also cannot believe that I'm still standing. An entire year, are you sure? On this day last year, we were making applesauce together as a family. The last real pictures I took of you were one year ago today. It suddenly feels like a lifetime ago.

On the flip side, I've noticed a turning point in my grief. I pointed it out to Sarah the other day, I've felt like I'm finally at a place where I can look outside myself. Not all the time, it comes and goes, but it's there. A few people I know are suffering lately: my parents who are still very heavily grieving my brother, a friend who is going through a dissolving marriage, another friend whose mother is in the hospital - they have all been heavy on my heart. And for the first time since Jer died, I really felt the truth: things could be much worse. 6 months ago, no one had seen a greater tragedy than me and my children. And even if I prayed for others, I still felt such injustice for my own situation. I still feel the injustice sometimes, but I'm coming to terms with it. We live in a fallen world, God said the load we bear would be heavy. And even in my darkest moments lately, I'm able to see a few things: I have loved and been loved, I have seen what love can do. I have been given many incredible blessings in my life including three beautiful children and wonderful friendships. I found this as my Facebook status last year: 

“Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.”

I don't know that I will ever stop desiring you, babe. Ever. But what I know is that happiness is a decision and I have very consciously decided to hold onto my unhappiness. It's safe there. And you're there. I don't want to let go of my grief and lose the grip I have on you. But every time I grab pieces of gratefulness, or dip my toes into thankfulness, I realize you're still there. Just in a different form. 

Sometimes I have no idea what I'm talking about. Okay, most of the time. This grief journey has proven anything but predictable. Today, I feel thankful for what God has shown me out of the ashes. Tomorrow, I may be covered in soot. I just want to remember that no matter what I do or where I go, I know you'll be there no matter what. 

I'm still holding on to my promise. I'm gonna make you proud someday baby.

I miss you.

I love you always and forever.