18

Today marks eighteen months since that normal December day when everything that we had come to know as normal left our house.  Eighteen months of mornings that I've woken up and for a split second had to relive everything so that I understood once again why his side of the bed is still tidy and tucked in.  Eighteen months of singlehandedly making decisions that should be made by two. Eighteen months of seeing his words, convictions and humor lived out in his children.  Eighteen months of receiving support and love from the most unexpected places.  Eighteen months of adjustment to using I and me instead of us and we. Eighteen months of being more aware of what it means to be alive than I had ever previously experienced.  Eighteen months of reconciling that the hand of God that comforts is also the hand that takes away.  Eighteen months of loosening the death grip that I had on the need to have this all make sense.  Eighteen months of resigning to and then leaning into, even embracing the truth that God is God and I am not.  Eighteen months of seeing miracles and joy unexpectedly rise up from the rubble of cancer and death.  Eighteen months of mercies that are new every morning, just like He promised.