There is no "one-time thing" when it comes to grief.

When everything extraneous has been stripped from your life by a loss, and you are left naked and broken, sometimes just getting your pants on in the morning is a big deal. But you look for those moments that you see progress, too. Moving forward, whether in small steps, or giant leaps--in the end, that's the only thing I can really ask of myself.

Dear Levi...

I can't tell you how many things this year I wish you could have done with us,  or the things I wanted to show you. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to hold you close or hear your laugh. I can't tell you how broken I feel without you here.

I learned so much from being your mama. And by God's grace, I am learning still,

As a reader, I always thought that the ending was the goal. And it is. But it never occurred to me that it was the well-written middle that actually got me there as inevitably as a cart on a roller coaster track.

If only life had someone writing me out of my "swampy middles."

As predicted in my last post, the last couple of weeks have been pretty hard in the grieving department. There have been pretty bad days. And some okay days.

Today is one of those days when I want to do something, but I can't. Or maybe I am doing something. I'm not sure. But I feel like if I actually did something, then I would stop feeling so sad and angry and scared.

It's been quiet on stage here at Winters' Day In.

But so, so far from quiet backstage.

Are we in control of our destiny? Or is God? And who is to blame when things go wrong?

Over the years, I have often wished I could be one of those people who could just focus on one thing and get really good at it, and was frustrated trying to do that over and over. It's about time I accepted myself just the way I am. Are you like this, too?

Yesterday was the four-month anniversary of Levi's heaven birthday. Thanks to some wonderful friends, I got to spend the weekend at a scrapbooking retreat, and chose to use that time to add pages to Levi's memory album. And while doing so, I remembered the reasons I have to be thankful.

Can we look backward and move forward at the same time?

Even though I don't understand the reason, I still believe. Like Job, I choose to believe despite the uncertainty. And because I choose to believe, my grief is changing me for the good.

So often we think that it is words as sharp and cold as icicles that will sink the deepest. But really, it is love sown through kindness and respect that opens hearts.

Moving forward is what we are designed to do. I will never forget him, but it's okay to find pleasure and joy in other things in this life. In this life, there is a great deal of joy to find.

Moving forward is hard. Yes, the inexorable march of time moves us whether we want to move or not. But how do you "move forward" inside without feeling like you are leaving something--or someone--precious behind?

One word we would often use to describe Levi was "fearless."

He had no fear of anything--big machines, big animals, dangerous things, strange people (although he was often quiet around strangers--I think he was studying them, not afraid of them.)