Where did 2011 begin?
It began knowing it would be the first full year I’d live without Jack, hoping to be admitted to a PhD program, not yet realizing I wasn’t ready to move on, suffering from insomnia, beginning what Anne Morrow Lindbergh referred to as “a long uphill climb back to sanity and faith and security,” setting boundaries, finding solace in Barney’s Version, reeling from mean girls, marking a year of loss, and thinking I’d take a break to write a memoir of my time with Jack.
Almost a year later, nothing looks like I’d thought or hoped it would by now. I’m both stronger and weaker, further along and further behind. I’m neither happy nor sad about this fact, just making a note of it. Perhaps instead of looking ahead with such certainty, I should remember that how I handle things as they arise is much more important than whether I plan for them to happen.