100 Days of Grace

I’ve had 30 days of grief, and while I know I’m not nearly done with it, there are now fleeting moments of something approaching happy, something I can only call Grace. 

Sometimes it sneaks up on me when I’m watching a TV show and I burst out laughing.

Other times it arrives like an old friend when I cuddle with one of the pups, or my husband reaches out and touches my hand.

Often I don’t realize it until it’s done, like the satisfaction I feel after a weekend of concerts with my bell group.

Occasionally it smacks me right in the face, like this view on the morning walk today.

Grace. That subtle feeling that life continues, that I will be alright even if I’ll never be the same. 

That all will be well. 

There is an Instagram “project” known as the #100daysproject, and while I’m not always one for participating in those kinds of things, I thought it a worthy venture to take note of those times when I notice that gift of Grace landing in my life. 

My mother was the epitome of Grace. Quiet, thoughtful, kind, she lived a simple life and found fulfillment in doing the things she loved. 

So these moments feel like a gift from her - I can almost believe she’s handing them to me, like the warm cookies she might have coming out of the oven, just at the time I arrived to pick up the pups after a long day of rehearsals. 

Sweet, fragrant surprises to lift me up and make me smile.