The Gift in the Tragedy

There is an emptiness in my heart. Sometimes it feels as though it will swallow me whole, but then I take a deep breath.

I know I have two choices. I can let it swallow me, or I can choose to use that feeling and learn more. Share more.

For the last month, nearly everyday I’ve taken time to write. To remember. To process and learn.

The last two days I’ve been silent.

Needless to say, my mind has been anything but silent…

So today I write. Tomorrow I will write. I will continue to write and share the lessons and memories that Rylie has unknowingly taught and continues to teach me.

Sometimes I stand in the middle of the room at a loss for what to do next. Then I remember – I have to put one foot in front of the next and do life.

There’s comfort in routine because it’s familiar. The dishes still need to be washed, the laundry done, the house picked up, etc.

But it also feels wrong to go about these routine things like nothing has changed in our lives.

Then I pause, breathe again, and realize that Rylie would want us to take comfort in routine. The truth is the actions may be routine, but they will never be the same.

I will continue to look at life through her eyes, through the lessons she has taught me.

Yes, the dishes need to be done… but if they get done a little later because I stopped to hug my husband or son a hold them tight – that’s okay. If the pile of stuff stays in the living room an extra day because I paused to sit on the porch and enjoy a cup of coffee and just be – that’s okay. If I eat an extra cookie for dessert and remember the meals and treats Rylie would make for us – that’s okay, too.

I’m stopping and enjoying the life around me. I’m praying a little more. Hugging a little longer. Breathing and pausing more often.

Amidst all the tragedy and loss, I realize I’ve been given a gift – my eyes are catching more of life.