Today we went to a relative’s large yearly picnic. There were of course children. And there, too, were those moments when I abruptly looked away as the image flashed through my head about how my child should be running around, too. But for most of the time it was just eating and listening to relatives chit-chat and even thinking about what chores I needed to get done and how I was glad I wore my larger jeans because hell that was a lot of food.

Last year was a very different picture. Much of last year is a haze, but that day stands out for me. I remember feeling like crawling out of my skin. I felt like an elephant among giraffes – everyone knew, but everyone politely avoided mentioning it. It – the incident, our son. I wasn’t yet at a point where I was okay with that; it was all that filled my head, all that really mattered. My son is dead. Why am I at a picnic when my son isn’t? I ended up in the pool, with others and yet alone, separate. Being underwater is a good deterrent to idle chit-chat. I insisted we bring the dogs, too, as little anchors to hold on to.

It is often quite shocking to look back and compare year to year and realize just how far I’ve come. I don’t even really realize the changes as they occur, but suddenly I’m in one place when I used to be in another and I’m not really sure how I got here. It is so important to see it – especially on the bad days. Sometimes we just need the reassurance that progress is being made. This year is better than last year, and next year will be even better yet. One step at a time.

I’ve been sitting here in my living room enjoying my evening, just thinking about how peaceful I am, how happy I am that this room is coming together. And then I take a step further back to examine myself in this setting and realize, I am calm. I am peaceful. I am in large part happy. Maybe just for a moment, and certainly not about everything in life, but at least I have that moment. It feels like such a profound thing. A loss makes you appreciate far more than just what you physically have, it makes you appreciate how you feel. After living in such a grief for so long there came a point when I realized that I could breathe again. Oh it felt good. All my previous life I’d been breathing and never paid attention, never thought about it. Now every day that I can look out the window and smile, every day that I can spend time being silly and playful, every day that I can feel at peace is a day that is treasured.