I’m throwing away piles of letters, papers, notes, calendars, yes what once was keep-sakes. This process this year has been heart-in-pieces and letting it just fall like that, and letting it be okay to feel it, every piece. And THEN grieve. And then deliberately choose to walk forward into the next step holding all the heart pieces in my hands in front of me, cupping them, scooping them if you will, in a jello mess and being okay that they aren’t together and this is me. This picture was of my lunch view in Maine and I recall it well because I remember telling my cut up heart to LOOK! Look, there is death and life everywhere. Newness, blooming, color, growing, dying, glory, light, and a heart can beat on when it’s held. I’ve had two friends this past year who have given this advice in one way or another, “Just do the next thing.” And when our hearts aren’t sure they’ll make it, it’s really just the next beat and then the next and then the next that makes the rhythm for giving. What I have found to be the very best antidote for this stage has been having eyes for all those around me who I can give some part of my heart to. Whether it’s buying coffee for the lady struggling to juggle two toddlers in line behind me, or my own crew who needs my love in a thousand ways, or giving random people honest compliments, or volunteering at school, or whatever. I have found my heart beats strong in pieces, when I am giving it even when I thought I had nothing left to give. It’s like the healing comes most when I reach back and grieve my pain and think, “What would have felt like love for me?” And then, I do it. And so the grieving is stirred with this unexpected and unexplainable elation as I give pieces of a broken life. I wonder now... is it the broken that get truly being whole.