“What was I thinking?” I say to my husband.

To which he replies, “I think you were feeling. I think the problem is that you’re thinking NOW.”

For a very brief moment, I stop my spin on “Who do you think you are? What do you know anyhow?” in reflection on my offering of a class and gathering for others to share their grief. I see Greg’s simple genius. He is spot on.

In these days prior to the first Christmas with my family yet without my dear nephew in body, I give myself the gift of more quiet space. I sit down with me and settle in to less thoughts and more hearing the birds. I recognize more when I’m breathing but not smelling. I feel aching tired in my upper back. In the center of the space, I feel the magnetic churning within me of,
“How exactly is this Christmas going to go with an elephant in the room?”

And Wisdom responds in quiet and tinkling tones,
“You don’t know.”

Nope, I don’t know. I don’t actually have any idea how it will go.

And so, I sit down in the sounds of the leafblower. The cars driving by. The warmth of my ears and the pulsing in my back and throat. The lingering taste of coconut and spices from a beautiful lunch with dear friends. The lean to my right into fatigue. The gentle numbness of my temples and tongue. The smell of the wooden prop that my computer rests upon winding its way toward me.

When my mind strays, I herd it back to center with an exhale breath and a gentle reminder, “Just this.”

Just this.

I take in here and now. Because that’s what I’ve got. This moment writing you out there. Me sitting in here. And closing the space between.

There is magic in the space between us.

Just this.

Less thinking. More feeling. That will be my love hold this Christmas.

Just this.

I wish you all well as you wrap in the robes of your holiday. And all that it offers you in Grace.

Take good care,
Rachel