There's a certain amount of peace that comes with this time of year.
Lovies, even as your dad and you are screaming your heads off in the other room cheering on the Bills, I am overcome by such sappy peace that you are just going to need to ride it out with me.
It's almost poetic.
Last week, I was begging, pleading, for time to heal me.
But, just because I'm ready to let the loss go, does not mean the healing will begin.
As dad said, it's like watching a pot. You keep calling for it instead of just allowing it to happen organically.
I'm grasping for something, but it's not there for me to grab...not yet.
It's almost poetic.
And during my favorite Sunday calls, my sister-in-law reminded me that all I can do is forgive.
Not the pain, not the people, but forgive yourself for what you put up with and why.
And so I started to do just that. On my hands and knees, in child's pose, I asked for forgiveness.
Not healing, but forgiveness.
Because for years, I put up with too much - we all did.
There is peace in forgiving yourself.
It's almost poetic.
Scrolling through social media, I can see all of the posts about how fall is the universe reminding us of the beauty that comes with letting go.
The beauty in losing it all and creating something...new.
See, sappy...but there is peace at this time of year.
It's almost poetic.
I sat in the tub tonight, with so much hot water, not warm, hot.
The suds were all around me. The salts smelled so good.
My heart rate slowed down.
My thoughts got a little quiet.
I was so warm, so incredibly warm.
And I asked for forgiveness, not healing, but forgiveness.
I closed my eyes and thought, there is peace in this.
It's almost poetic.
I finished one more part of Nonno's stuff. My dad's stuff. One uncomfortable and awful part that was left for us.
Left, for us.
And sometimes it made me so mad that it was left.
How he just wouldn't believe this was happening so wasn't going to tie up loose ends.
So he left us with it.
But more than anger, I was so sad.
For him, his trust, his love for his family, his character, his damn strong character.
Instead I cried, again.
Being sad about him brings me such strange wonderful comfort.
My relationship with your Nonno was so complicated and the fact that I'm sad feels so normal to me.
There is such peace in his loss and the deep sadness it brings.
It's almost poetic.
The leaves are changing, falling to the ground now.
The colors are strong, but barely hanging on.
The trees are losing a lot and bracing themselves.
I wonder if that's what peace actually looks like?
Getting down to nothing, a stub of who you were, getting ready for the cold, and then starting over again and getting something new to reach out.
There is such peace here.
It's almost poetic.
I don't know if I will ever shed you, the feel of you, the warmth you once brought.
I don't know if I will ever forgive myself all of the way.
I don't know if I will ever be able to hear your names and be okay.
But I do know I will feel warmth again and again and again.
I do know that I will find something new, once I stopped grasping for nothing.
And I of course know, there's a certain amount of peace that comes with this time of year.
