Sometimes, as you drive down the road, through the corridor of life, you miss the beauty that surrounds it—the freshness of the air, the quiet whispers of the wind, the light dancing through the trees, the popcorn doing a somersault. Stop for a second. Pause. Be still. Breathe. Absorb the moment everywhere and everything. In that stillness, you will see that life is sacred and present. It is a blur of moments we try to hold. It does not vanish; it becomes a river instead of a storm, carrying a blessing waiting to be noticed. And you, no longer fighting its current, learn to float. Take a minute and reflect on what truly matters. What is important. What brings you joy. Be grateful for the quiet blessings, the unseen gifts of each day—the sunlight spilling through the window, the wind huming softly through the trees. Celebrate. Say “thank you” often—and trust that the universe, in its gentle wisdom and careless whispers, it will echo that gratitude back to you.
Searching for the vibe, the energy, the ‘it’, the will, as life slowly begins to shift into place, put together one piece at a time like a jigsaw puzzle. Yesterday will never be again, but tomorrow may arrive with old habits left behind; perhaps it is the reconstruction of the self with a new set of wills. Some lives are forever transformed, but others return right back to where they began as they fail to understand the ride they have taken.
How are you, my love? What a question, right? The nerve of I asking you about your state of mind. I ask gently, knowing there are not words big enough to hold what you are feeling. There aren’t. I wish I could wrap you in the tightest embrace and let you rest there for as long as you need and tell you it is going to be ok but I can’t. No one journey is the same. There are many layers. The club comes with one distinguish membership card. I know this road feels unfamiliar and heavy — gray, confusing, and painfully quiet. Grief changes everything. It stretches time. It makes ordinary moments feel impossible. It runs like an uncontrollable train. And yet, even here, even now, you are being held by the grace of the Almighty. When your strength feels gone, He is carrying you. Lean on HIm with gusto. Please be so very gentle with yourself. Take all the time you need and not be apologetic for it. Cry until your tears run dry. Speak his name. Sit with the memories. Scream if you must. Run outside, go for a midnight walk — the therapy I needed. It worked that day. Breathe slowly through the waves when they come. There is no “right way” to walk through this. There is only your way — and that is enough; trust me. Lean on it. The days may feel long and strenuous. Some will be frustrating, some confusing, some unbearably lonely, others atrocious but little by little, you will move forward one step at a time. There is that light at the end of the tunnel. One day the air will feel lighter. The grass will seem greener. The emptiness will give way to memories. You will smile and not feel guilty for it. You will find yourself again, joy — not unchanged, but still beautiful, still whole. Until then, lean on me whenever you need to. If you need to talk, I will listen. If you need silence, I will sit with you in it. If you need someone who understands the ache, I am here. You do not have to be strong for me, no need to rewrite that script. I know it too well. You only have to be real. Remember, I have been there just a few months ago. It seems surreal. A side note, I just want you to know I broke down for a second there when they played, I Can Only Imagine — it was the same one they played at my husband’s funeral. I love you. I am holding you close in my heart and in my prayers. Sweet dreams.
ludlum drive 
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