Balance

I was in gymnastics in my childhood. So I'm going to use the balance beam analogy. Right now, I can stand on the balance beam. I'm still wobbly, but I am not falling off. I'm on two feet. Not one foot, or up of my toes, like you see in the Olympics. Not doing flips, or spins, or even walking on the beam. I'm standing there, afraid to move. If I don't concentrate and focus, I will fall.

I not only have to stand on the beam, I have to juggle several balls at the same time. What? How? I can barely hold the juggling balls and keep my balance. Right now, all the juggling balls are in one hand. The weak hand. All the balls represent the bad, and ugly. All I can do is concentrate and focus. I can't move a muscle, or I will fall. But, I'm standing.

This blog is a picture of my journey through grief. As I go back and look at past postings, I can see the dark place. I remember what it felt like. Today, I seem to be in a little lighter place. Farther along in my journey. I must be healing a little. Healing. A. Little. That is unbelievable. I didn't think it was possible. I want to reach out and touch the light. I want to, but afraid that if I move a muscle, I will fall. I think I will just stand here and try to breath, and not fall off of the balance beam.