I tried to create yesterday. It didn’t work. I sat with my iPad for a long while in the morning but no words flowed. Later that day, after I had eaten, and avoided, I sat down to create. I looked at my papers, paint supplies, flipped through a magazine, looking for an image to create around.

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It didn’t work.

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I took my journal and went out to the porch.

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Thursday I cried real tears. The feeling of hanging on to the cliff wall with both hands, fingertips bleeding, had started to sink in that early evening. The message at the parking lot gathering at church that night unleashed the flood gates of my eyes. Salty wet tears streamed down my face, sitting in my van, the boys sitting with me. They all told me it would be ok, a gentle curly head nestling into my shoulder, a pat on the back or arm, it’s ok to cry, Mom.

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It didn’t take long, sitting with my journal, for the tears and fears to spring back.

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You came for me.

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You always come for me. Sit with me. Listen. You don’t offer cliches. You don’t dismess how I feel. You sit.

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We’ve been sitting together for a long time now. We’ve been listening for what feels like forever. I still remember the day I met you but its hard to think of a time when your friendship wasn’t there.

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The tears stopped. The creating never quite happened. I wanted it to come, to flow, to open me up. Yesterday wasn’t a day for it. Yesterday was a day for feeling, for resting, for allowing myself other choices. Giving myself permission to say, ‘ok’ to something different.

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I’m allowing myself space these days.

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I’m giving myself permission to not feel bad when an expectation doesn’t come to fruition.

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I’m letting go of the preconceived notions I had about normal. About what my life should look like and seeing what it actually could look like if I stepped out in faith, fear, and commitment.

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I give myself permission to cry.

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I won’t allow myself to stay there though. I can be afraid. I can name that. I can cry myself through it. Then I need to trust God will do the impossible. I’ll take your hand and walk through it.

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Impossible.

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Everything has felt impossible for a long time now.

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Seizures and meds.

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Alone.

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IEP’s and middle school.

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Fighting.

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Hurting.

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Fighting.

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Separation.

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Hoping.

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Letting go.

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Walking away.

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Loving you.

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Impossible.

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What feels impossible becomes possible and in the possibilities I still have fear. Perhaps, I can create my way to the other side, perhaps, something great and unimaginable is just around the bend.