A month ago, I felt like I was in a different skin, and I didn’t quite know how it fit. Many of the things I used to enjoy doing, like going shopping or baking, no longer held any appeal for me because they reminded me of time I’d spent with my mom doing the same thing. Shopping just seemed like a chore, and baking took too much effort. I couldn't even drive through the neighborhood where I spent more of my childhood without falling to pieces in the car. But with the change of seasons has come a time of healing and rejuvenation. I can’t explain it except as God’s incredible grace and mercy.
Since my mom’s death, I’ve been in a hamster wheel chasing after something to just help me feel good again. I’m not talking about drugs or anything like that—I’m talking about lifestyle changes. I’ve changed my diet to include much less refined sugar and white flour. I’ve started going to an upper cervical chiropractor to try to get rid of the heavy fatigue that’s hung over me most of the summer and fall. I’ve gotten a new job with a much shorter commute and more chances for challenge and growth. I’ve started to invest once again in my relationships with the people who’ve held me up in prayer all these months.
But something else triggered a change only this past weekend. I took my stepdaughter shopping for a Confirmation dress. It was a very short shopping trip, as we’d done our research online before hitting the store, but it was enough to launch me forward. The next day, my sister commented that my nephew needed new pants because he’d worn holes in all his jeans. “If Mom were alive, he’d never need pants,” my sister said. “I’ll get him pants!” I volunteered. Shopping is such a silly, unimportant thing, and it makes absolutely no difference in the grand scheme of things whether I like to go shopping or not. But I feel like I’ve regained a piece of me that was lost, and that is good.
The grieving process still continues, though. I can’t look at recent pictures of my mom without breaking down, and I can’t yet read her notes and emails. It’s too exhausting to deal with all of that right now. But I can talk about her. I love to talk about her. I love to tell stories from my childhood and tell my stepkids things she used to tell me. That’s something, right?
There was so much more I wanted to say, but I need to get to bed, and I can’t remember what I was going to say anyway. All I know is that God’s promise to be near to the broken-hearted is true. He’s so good. 
