It’s been about a year now since I began my particular suffering. A year.

A year is the time that some say, you begin to come out of it a little–come out of survival mode, come out of the fog . . . .

For the most part, I can see that that is true. But I’ve have twists and turns that make it interesting–some good, some bad.

Its still just a matter of acceptance.

Accepting that after a year, my life is-well-what it is. Accepting that grieving still happens and probably still needs to be done. Accepting that everything isn’t going to turn out the way I want, that even the good parts aren’t everything I dreamed.

The reality is that suffering changes us and our lives forever–in good ways and bad.

There will be parts of me that will be haunted forever, and will mourn forever over my suffering.

But I think what it points to is that reality that this life is broken. This life can never be perfect.

This life is not the end goal.

And so maybe we can’t heal the way we dreamed of. In fact, I can’t even imagine being able to fully heal. It’s hard to believe that even in Heaven,  I will be completely okay. But we will.

We will.

There’s beauty here.

But there’s stunning beauty in the world to come.

And that is always something to give us hope.

And hopeful is  good way to look at the new year.