I am grateful.
For all the people in my life who so tenderly supported me through this difficult journey.
For the anger I did not know existed that transmuted into explosive creativity.
For my partner who never gave up on love, and stuck by me throughout my madness.
For the mysteries I unveiled within the contours of my grief.
For my sister who flew out to hold me while I birthed a breathless being into the world, then cleaned, cooked, and held the most sacred space.
For my inner strength that kept me driven to come out on the other side.
For my best friend who was next to me when I found out the worst news of my life, and for driving my car back from California to be with me.
For the messages I received from friends and strangers, encouraging me to keep going.
For my therapist who kept insisting that the storms would eventually pass.
For my heart that broke a hundred times over to let me know that I was alive.
For loving a being I grew and never really met in person.
For realizing that I am not in control, and learning how to surrender.
For the darkness that could only show me the light.
For the questions I would not think to ask.
For the hope that rose out of the ashes of despair.
For being able to share my process and lift the spirits of others.
For vulnerability that otherwise would remain hardened.
For being thrown into the underworld where so much wisdom resides.
For the beautiful stories of others that somehow made it all ok.
For witnessing the societal fear in the transparency of death.
For surviving the unimaginable.
For just being with it.
As I sat at the Thanksgiving table with my lover’s family, I came to really ponder what it is that I am appreciative of. I felt the throb of that deep scar in my heart as I watched the kids run around, wanting so much for Leif to be there, playing with his cousins. It’s a sharp ache that returns in those moments, one that brings forth tender emotion and lucid remembrance. I welcome it, for it speaks of love. And for that, too,
I am grateful.