Sometimes I schedule a post the night before and wake up to a day that contradicts everything I just wrote.
Grief is like that.
Good day. Bad day. Better day. Worse day.
I can barely predict one moment to the next, much less a day or a week.
It’s easy for me to become discouraged when I stare at my own feet-measuring paltry progress when I long for leaps and bounds.
But truth is, no life is lived primarily by giant strides. It’s mostly baby steps and falling forward.
Got up this morning? Step.
Remembered to make that phone call? Step.
Smiled at the bird outside the window? Step.
Looked at Dominic’s picture and treasured the memory instead of crying? Step.
And when I trip over my broken heart listening to a song on the radio and tumble headlong into wracking sobs-I reach out and fall forward, still making a little progress toward learning to live through a day.
It doesn’t matter how fast or how far I’ve traveled in this Valley.
It only matters that I refuse to give up.