Three years ago today, my mom took her life after years of struggling with something that I sometimes struggle with myself, depression.
There is nothing easy in this truth. Nothing.
This day, October 13 falls heavy on the calendar and then sits, like a lump in my throat
As much as I try to avoid it, my mind moves through her last day to her final decision with an inward groaning.
But, we don’t grieve like those who have no hope, and this? This is goodness. This is something to grasp onto with white knuckled hands when every other thing seems shaky and unstable.
This is the reason I pump like a child on a swing, that I gather the freedom and life and love that I still have and fully intend on having for another 50+ years.
I am here. I am alive. I will not, will not surrender the fight.
I don’t not grieve, proceed or live like one who has no hope.
I tell this story because I know I am not alone in this weary remembering, we all have our days of the year that seem heavier than we can conceivably bear on our own.
I have hope, so when I take my children to the park, I grab a swing and I fly, I remember who I am, whose I am.
I hang on, press on, free, hopeful and loved.
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