Because I am loved.
Because I have loved.
Because I have won.
Because I have lost.
I am blessed.
I am wounded.
I am healed.
I am broken.
I am healing.
I am blissfully raising my children knowing they are nothing short of a gift. I am deeply aware of the milestones we pass. I beg my mind, my heart, my soul to download them all so I’ll never forget. The smell of their hair, their cries, their little fingernails, their silly giggles.
There are days when I struggle with the ache in my heart from having it broken into a million pieces when my baby was born still. And the shattering of faith that ensued. I struggle with difficult times in a way I never used to. I can’t shake bad news off like I could before. Or I find myself disconnecting completely.
Lately, I can’t disconnect. I have to share my emotions. I have to hold my friend’s hand while she grieves her dear husband who took his own life a few months ago. I think of her trying to live on and how difficult it is to maintain normalcy. It hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to live. I remember.
Somedays I miss my old, naive self. The one that doesn’t get it.
The one who thinks that people live forever.
The one that thinks that only old people die.
The one who thinks that I can make it through anything.
The one who fearlessly went into the field of nursing.
But I know better.
And when you know better, you do better.
I can only pray that all the broken pieces have taught me enough to get through all of what lies ahead.
And be thankful for the angels who light the way.