There have been some dark days lately. Sleep deprivation and grieving is not a recipe for awesomeness. And then of course there was the unspeakable event in Newtown, which brought about dark days for our entire nation. Tim and I both cried this weekend. Every time I closed my eyes I pictured those kids. I thought of their parents. I thought of my own daughter.
I’m still thinking of these things.
But today, I want to talk about goodness. I want to talk about gratitude. I want to talk about enough.
I had a good day yesterday. Despite not getting a ton of sleep the night before, I woke up feeling well rested. I went to work, used my brain and felt productive. When I picked up Lettie at daycare she laughed, for maybe the fourth time ever. Instead of going to bed at my usual 8 pm (no, I’m not exaggerating here), I stayed up and ate dinner with Tim: salmon, Brussels sprouts and instant rice.
These are all small things. Ordinary things. But on that day, they were more than enough. I went to bed last night feeling incredibly blessed and—for no real reason at all—strangely hopeful.
And to me, that is the best way I can honor the memory of my mother, and the memory of those twenty innocent children: by counting my blessings. By cherishing each precious, mundane day. By finding hope in unexpected places.
Because living in a world without hope is not an option.