plugging away at this thing called life

I just keep plugging away,
unpacking boxes,
making judgment calls,
sorting,
purging,

putting things away,
re-sorting,
more purging.

Two weeks ago I attacked the attic.
It took me two full 8+ hour days, but I now know what is up there
and have been through "my" boxes.
That led to bringing down my journals to put in the library alongside Bill's.
They have sat, two boxes and a stack on the floor, until last evening
because to fit them on the bookshelves meant more sorting and purging.
These are two books that didn't make the cut this time around.

Grieving the Loss of Someone You Love
Getting to the Other Side of Grief
They are new. 
Not to me, I have had them for three years, gifts from people who care.
But I never read them.
I don't think I even opened them.
They are last survivors of grief books, other titles were already re-homed.

As I sat in the car this afternoon,
the title of the second book kept rolling through my head
Getting to the Other Side of Grief.

I don't know what that means. 
I am not convinced that grief has an "other side".
It may simply be semantics, 
I'll never know because as I said, I didn't read the book,
but for me learning to accept grief,
figuring out how to live with it as part of the fabric of my life,
has been what's important for healing and full living.

I was trying to figure out how to explain this and Ron came to mind.

Ron is a dear friend who lost the lower part of a leg due to an accident.
There is no other side of losing a limb.
There is no escaping the reality that he is not "whole".
It is visible every day.
(Broken hearts are not visible, but the loss is just as real.)
Every morning he has choices to make:
focus on what he lost and be miserable
get out of bed or stay there
spend the day hopping around on one leg,
wishing he was "whole"
or get up, strap on his prosthetic and do the best he can.
He will never walk "normal" again but he still walks.
Ron lives a full life because he has made the loss, pain and all, part of his life.

As I drove away from KCU today after taking two other books to a friend
I was struck by what surrounded me
the two "grief" books in the front seat,

this fall headstone arrangement in the back seat
(I replaced it with a Christmas wreath)
and raindrops on my windshield.

Three years ago I was not where I am today.
My grief was fresh and raw and deeply uncomfortable.
But I kept getting up every morning.
I kept going on with living, however painful and awkward it was.
While there is no way to get up every morning and ignore what I lost,
and there is no replacing the part of my heart that belonged to Bill,
I have had time to practice acceptance.
I have learned how to embrace my loss.
I have learned how to walk differently.
I don't know about getting to the other side of grief,
but I do know I am more at ease with grief being part of my life.

I can keep going
because I have learned to keep going to Jesus,
no matter what.

Today there was no ugly cry, 
(yet anyway, 
that is still subject to change without any advance warning)
only thankfulness for what I had,
and thankfulness for what I still have.