We know grief comes in waves and this week has been a tsunami: grieving my baby now fourteen and a full on teenager, grieving my marriage, grieving all the moments I tried to be present with her, all times I tried not to worry about returning this email or writing that or coaching that writing client, and all the times I failed.

I love myself so much for trying and I weep wishing I could have those days back.

And then I bring myself into this moment because here is another chance.

And another.

And yet another.

On yes, being here is so good. And so painful. And there is fear… flitting by… and there is joy.. and love… and regrets… and it just all keeps moving, as long as I allow it.

To…keep… moving.

BATHTUBS

This week, I teared up when I would remember the fierce firmness of her tiny feet, when I would hold one of my dogs and recall the absolute rightness of holding Lilly against my chest, when I caught sight of her picture on the table by the sofa. She’s four and in the bathtub, big grin on her face, hair gelled into a curl onto of her head.

That bathtub may have burned last night.

Or it might be burning right now.

My old neighborhood in Santa Barbara, where that picture was taken, is in the evacuation area and the area around it did burn last night.

My former neighbors are wondering right now if their homes are still standing.

I’ve left phone messages.

I keep checking the news.

And during all this fearful wondering for their well being, I find it so startling and just plain odd that my mind has been in that house so much this week.

It feels like my memories are burning.

And that’s not a bad thing.

Join me in praying.

P.S. My old ‘hood is fine as are all friends! And the comment box is not appearing for some reason I just discovered so if you tried to comment, so sorry. Will fix, promise!