May I remember how much it matters. And how much it doesn’t. How much I can affect. And how little control I actually have. Courtney Martin
May I accept that even now showering, running errands or cleaning the kitchen can seem overwhelming at times. That when life feels foggy or gray, energy can be hard to summon, motivation may be in short supply and completing even the most mundane of tasks is its own kind of victory.
On the days I don’t feel like accomplishing anything at all, may I find the will to do what needs to be done.
May I keep moving my body … to stay strong, to clear my head, to find my way.
May I continue to make space for everyone else’s grief without ranking or judgment. Accepting that I can never fully grasp all that has been lost or how painful the absence is.
May I trust that I don’t always have to know what to say or what to do. That it’s enough to bear witness and hold space. That tears and silence can be the best way to honor unfathomable loss.
May I choose to be kind, recognizing that I am not the only one who is struggling. That loss and disappointment exist for everyone, especially right now.
May I value those who show up, share stories and remember instead of focusing on those who don’t.
May I stop wondering “What’s wrong with you?” understanding that people are carrying burdens and pain I know nothing about and that shaming doesn’t help anyone’s shattered heart heal.
May I see the good in the world. The beauty. The kindness. The way they each continue to shine no matter what.
May I notice my dog’s devotion and unconditional love, remembering the way he has never left my side since my son died.
May I stand my ground the way my son did and my daughter does. Uncowed by cruelty or criticism. Unfazed and unmoved by those who decide to walk away.
May I never forget the way my son’s smile lit up his face, the sound of his full body laugh, the warmth of his hand, the joy he found in the simplest of life’s pleasures.
May I cherish the sweetness of our days together .. the long walks, the heart-to-heart talks, all that we shared.
May my work honor my son and the life he never got to live.
May I continue to find ways to go on without him.
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