Weight

It has been a while. Time has flown and here I am, nearly two months later, wondering where it went. Sometimes I want to scream at it to slow down. And, I know, it will only go faster the longer we live. It makes me think of the quote credited to Lincoln: "In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years."

Being with Kinnie fills me with life. She plays, and sings, and dances, and giggles. I think she tries a new song every day. Today, it was "Where is Thumbkin?" complete with some sort of hand gestures. We read books, and watch Elmo. She loves the bath, and swimming. She plays with the dogs, who sometimes (reluctantly) return the favor.

There is still a weight on me, a confusion in my heart. I still have not healed from the difficulties, and loss, from the last year. I realized recently that one of my most strongly held beliefs, has been challenged. From the time I was 14, and faced the diagnosis of and treatment for an auto-immune disease, I have believed things happen for a reason. I have believed the things that I have faced in my life have made me stronger, wiser, more compassionate. Which is why so many of my posts in the past many months have focused on making sense of the senseless. But I haven't been able to get there.

I'm not quite sure what the hump I'm trying to get over is. I just know it's there. And I know that I worry that its existence changes how present I am with Kinnie. Worry, worry... I have to let that go.