I typically write my annual letter about life after losing Aidan weeks before the anniversary. It is the first sign that the day is approaching. My brain reaches into my heart and starts delivering words to order my world and orient it in the world that comes after.
This year, the same thing happened, and all of those words are undeniably true. I am undoubtedly more “okay” than I have been in five years. I am weaving all the complicated pieces together day by day. I am living a full life and most days do not forget the gratitude for the life I am living.
The truth, however, as I sit on a bench near the harbor on a rainy morning, stealing a quiet moment while everyone is asleep (so much gratitude), is that I still get lost. The fullness of my life makes it hard to connect to the one person I mostly know through sorrow. I’m working through that, but I still don’t know where it goes.
I heard two whispers from the universe yesterday, however, to help point me to my true north.
Chop wood, carry water. Mindfully moving through the mundane chores of making your life is still making your life. In fact, my intuition whispers, it’s the only way to make your life.
And I want to write again.
So I here I am. I’m not sure what will come of it. But I know this bench and this breeze are part of it.
For now, I’m stepping back into the fullness. Broken heart and all.