I’m sitting on the back porch, the room in which Olivia took her final breath, the room where I last saw her alive. I’m feeling the warm sun against my face. I’m hearing Heather practice piano in the next room. Slowly, music, ideas, and even hope have begun to rise from the ashes of the past several years.
It isn’t at all linear. Some days I feel we are emerging, alive, up from the ashes. Other days, I feel we are almost dead. I honestly can’t tell if we’re at the end or the beginning of the story.
Maybe it’s that truly living and dying feel the same. In a way, that makes a lot of sense to me.