At Most

I am changing my "at leasts" to "at mosts", partially because it makes sense to me, partially because I am so grateful for the fullness that DOES exist in my life, partially because the "at leasts" indicate a minimum to me, especially as I wrote, and reflected, on my past entry. I do not really know what I will write when I sit down with my thoughts, intuition, soul searching ways. It just pours out and I don't even know if it makes sense. I rarely read the entries. I don't even know why I am writing, except that it is my therapy, my release, my way of taking those steps of healing that I am learning so much about. However, I DID choose to read the "at least" entry, mostly because I hear those words a lot. I ponder them. I count them as gratitudes. But the "at leasts" sound like the exception, the things I will "settle" for because something else is lacking, someone is missing, many people are missing. The whole in my heart stands for my child, but the layers of grief are piling up with each passing day. Layer upon layer, news of the day, filled with pain and sorrow, devastation and destruction, loss and angst. So what to do? For me, turn the "at leasts" into the "at mosts".

But, for this moment, this dawning of Easter weekend, and the significance, the beauty, the story, the promise, the onset of something bigger and better in one's life, I have chosen to focus on the "at mosts" in my life. I am turning the minimum into the maximum. That doesn't come easily, at times. It has taken me many twists and turns to remove the "at leasts", which for years, have sustained me, and turn them into "at mosts".

Some "At Mosts" that I am thankful for at this moment in time....a vibrant, loving daughter, a husband who has a routine and commitment to family that nothing, not even the devastation over losing his youngest child, can shake, a sister who I can express myself to without fear of judgment, daily walks with my beloved Rex, the pink corner of my deck, complete with incredible blooming plant and angel wind chime, the strength to make my way to the grocery store to purchase food for Easter dinner, the ability to even host Easter dinner, an intuitive spirit that just knows what needs to be done, the gift of time and retirement, the ability to never complain about any situation, resources to give to charity, a cozy couch that welcomes the afternoon sun, a rainy day to clean a closet or read a book, seeing eyes to read that book, hands that can shape, mold, hold and create, ability to move on my own, memories of Allison's 21 years that sustain me through moments when I cannot breathe, smiles of the heart over what Michael would say to me, or how he would make a comment about everything, answers to prayers, and the trust that goes with waiting for answers to be revealed, memories of two little girls growing up in our own Easter traditions, filling a house with a palette that is pleasing, and filling that house with light and love, endless messages from Allison as she helps me appreciate the day, and scriptures from God that help me know that where I am, at any given time, is only temporal.

I wonder how long I could type and feel such overwhelming gratitude of the heart. I know I could choose to focus on the pain, the loss, and some days I do just that. I cry. I pound. I beg God to help me. I ask Him to show me how to do this. I ask Him when the numbness will go away so that I can feel again? Feel, as in the physical sense. I do all the things that grief causes me to do. But I know, "at least" for the moment, some moments, anyway, I can focus on the "at mosts" and be just okay.