How can one day hold so much?
I had a lot of anticipation and anxiety about this day. Today marks the continuation of my life. A life that is very different than what I had planned or hoped; a life without the dynamic life of another. And, in many ways, a life that has brought me into deeper joys, deeper pain, and a deeper understanding of God and myself.
I’m tired of writing about pain, and I wonder if people are tired of hearing about it. Today, I’m struck at how much this day was able to hold.
I woke up thanking God for life. For holding my atoms together, for placing me in this story that is so much bigger than myself.
Thankfulness for the darkness, where he allows me to see the ugly, broken, hidden parts of my heart- and know his love for me there.
Today also held my favorite coffee. Dinner with friends and so much love from so many.
A homemade Italian cake. Kosher wine.
An apartment that is becoming a dwelling… an apartment that is filled with two cats when everyone else departs.
Youtube videos with a kind friend.
The feeling of being on my own, and the familiar pang of grief. Today it feels like my heart is almost physically reaching out for you… almost.
There’s a small voice in the back of my head that says two years is enough: Moving forward means moving on. Experience and write about new things.
Today, in its capacity to hold so much, shows me that I can also hold so much. Moving forward looks different now, as I am different.
For me, for today, moving forward holds thankfulness and new understanding. It holds memories and the pangs of grief. The foraging fingers of my heart reaching for what isn’t this.
It holds space to not know how to do this, how to be me. It holds space for tears and for checking out, for packed semesters of grad school and the quiet schedule of summer.
For making different plans.
For hikes and drives, beautiful landscapes, laughing at dumb jokes and sobbing into pillows.
Moving forward means continuing to learn how to walk in this disjointed body, pulled apart and pieced back together in new ways. It feels awkward, it feels off. It makes me long for what was, when it seems I had smoother strides.
I don’t know how to do this now, but have I really known at all this whole time?
I think I can hold that too.