Sunshine

The sun is shining into my dining room and I decide I will try to be productive. I'll do some laundry, I'll sort through this pile that has accumulated on my desk. I'm taking care of business, sorting through papers, throwing away unneeded items, even making a new pile for Goodwill. 

And then it happens. I see one item that reminds me of Matt. An event we attended together, a dinner we ate, a movie we watched, a flicker of sunlight on leaves that reminds me that he will never make his way across my backyard again, he will never eat another meal in my house, he will never make another sarcastic comment. And my heart plunges to the floor and tears fill my eyes and I want to curl in bed under the covers and sleep and sleep and sleep until I feel better. 

But instead I pour out my feelings into this virtual journal, the very act of summoning words for my thoughts a catharsis of sorts. I won't collapse in a puddle on the floor. I will choose to keep going. But for how long? I guess until God calls me home or comes again. 

There is joy to be found in folding laundry, in feeding my husband, in laughing with friends and contemplating a homemade Christmas. And as each year passes, this heavy layer of sorrow will lighten and joy will come again - pure like a cold autumn morning, like a single bird singing, like a child laughing.

I know this is true.