In charting each step of these after-years, maybe I’ve laid down a map—small footsteps of a lurching heart after the firestorm of loss. Some have been sweet; some grueling. Some, pressed so close to Mystery, I could barely breathe. Some, lost, even though I’ve tried to keep track.
This whole unfolding of what comes after love and loss has been so much more than I can say. Almost more than I can bear, though the bearing is an odd, joyous tenderness I wouldn’t have missed for the world.
There is this trail I am laying down, this packet of notes: small, rounded pebbles of patience you could travel across, if only you would.