Gratitude is a funny little animal and I always find that when I’m not actively looking for it, it rears its head in my life anyway.
I think a lot of us plod through our lives feeling drastically out of place, even when everything–from society’s take anyway–seems “right”. And then, without even understanding what is going on, sometimes those lives, that we have convinced ourselves are so “right”, flip upside down and present us with a new perspective.
Maybe it’s awesome and new and exciting and we can’t wait to explore it.
Maybe it’s abjectly terrifying because we repeatedly deluded ourselves into believing that everything was just “right” the way it was until, suddenly, it just wasn’t.
And sometimes (after all that welcome or unwelcome upheaval), after we’ve had some time to adjust and adapt to the unexpected or the tragic, we look through the window on our new life and realize, with heart-clenching gratitude, how grateful we are that the world didn’t stay “right”.
I’ve had some seriously profound moments of gratitude in the past 6.5 years since Cora died. I’ve felt myself lifted up by angels; I’ve spoken with my long-dead mom on the other side; I’ve felt all the grief I’ve ever carried washed away by the strongest ocean of love I’ve ever felt (over there with source); and I’ve experienced the miracle of feeling my feet finally trekking down a path that fits them perfectly.
But tonight, as I stood in the kitchen looking out the window and watching Greg grab shots of the sunset, my breath caught in my throat and I felt tears well in my eyes.
After everything that has happened in my life–every trauma, every heartache; all the loss of loved ones and the pain of grief; after what feels like a lifetime of rising from the ashes…I’m finally home.