The contours of grief, smooth and shapely, soft and cavernous push against my skin and squeeze my lungs causing a deep ache.
This ache pushes and pulls me through the day while I try to tend to the needs of my children, the meals, the cleaning, the play, the presence I try to cultivate while my mind skids like a skipping stone across concerns.
I pause and pull in deep breaths to conjure space, to feel my body and remember the song in my bones. The song that sings of life.
The song that sings life.
Surrendering into that rhythm, that cadence of familiarity, the ancient hymn fuses my muscle to bone, soul to sinew and I feel the grace of calm, the grace of knowing all is as it should be and we are ok.
My hand flutters from my heart to the earth and I send my prayers to Her, for Her, with Her.
This is a quiet moment. I am grateful.
I am heart broken. I am finding my way.
I am hopeful. I am so sad. I am tracking grace.
Slowly.
Slowly.
Slowly.
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