The Day After Christmas

I almost didn’t have a post for today.

Christmas Eve I barely slept because of physical pain.

Christmas Day was full and demanded my attention.

We had a good day yesterday.

Family that hadn’t been here last year managed to arrive (sans luggage) in spite of technical and weather delays. New family was here for the first time. We facetimed with my oldest son and the grandboys. My eighty-nine year old dad was able to get around without pain on two brand new knees and we celebrated his and my daughter’s December birthdays. Everyone treated the day like the gift it was-giving and receiving hugs and slipping some much-needed chats in between.

I’m thankful.

Today I’m sitting in the quiet afterglow of too many carbohydrates and a tree emptied of its gifts yet still shining in the corner.

I’m worn out.

I’m still barely able to type but the pain is better. The dull ache in my left hand is much like the longing in my heart for Dominic.

I can function but it hurts.

So if you woke this morning amazed as I am that yesterday went as well as it did only to find yourself more tearful, more tender, more likely to want to crawl back in bed, that’s not only normal, it’s perfectly OK.

Rest, friend.

The family can eat some of those leftovers in the fridge (or not!). The phone calls and the text messages can wait.

Give yourself permission to sit in the sacred sorrow of missing and let the tears fall.

It won’t always be like this-the chasm between what should be and what is.

One day, ONE GLORIOUS DAY, everything the enemy killed, stole and destroyed will be restored, redeemed and resurrected.

Hold onto to that.