Lately, I’ve been void of words, thus the absence of writing. My motivation declined as my scattered thoughts took root, all-consuming and coaxing me into replaying the memories from the “good old days,” over and over in my mind. You know the ones when you were a younger you, life was fabulous, your career was in full swing, you had a beautiful “intact” family and life was normal. Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. Good old days they were.
November is always a bittersweet month, especially near Thanksgiving. November 27, will always be the best day of my life. The day I became a mother for the first time to my precious Lydia.
After submerging myself into deep retrospect, the days slowly filled with loving memories as well as gut wrenching pain of the emptiness my heart contains. The dull ache continues to linger in the background, gently serving as a subtle reminder of the life the once was. And at times, the longing to have it back is so overpowering.
In these moments I am boldly and forever reminded that I am different now.
A grieving mother living simultaneously living in the past and the present. Stumbling and crawling, while gently putting one foot in front of each other just to get through each day.
And then, just when I need it the most, I am given a reminder of just how fortunate I am today, in this present life. An uplifting creation that my 10-year-old proudly gave to me after school, which couldn’t help but make me smile. With impeccable timing, I was given the perfect reminder of just how grateful I am for everything and everyone in my life.
Through it all I am older, wiser, very broken but still incredible blessed.