I’ve always been a dreamer, prone to joy or weeping depending upon my mood. The other day a mist was sitting low all over town. It kept pulling my attention until finally I gave into it and pulled over. Where I stopped was right next to the office I went for my prenatal visits with Briar, now converted to an office of some sort. My eyes misted as I traveled back to those weeks and months anticipating becoming a mom.

I find myself suspended between then and one day a lot lately. I don’t discourage these flights of imagination, but I am understanding as I experience more and more loss, that it is in this space with mist on either side that I must make my way. The present, steeped in anticipation and hope and dusted with just enough regret to keep me honest, is my place.

It’s strange feeling tethered just out of reach of dreaming, but then I am reminded how quickly now becomes before—how close sorrow and bliss truly are. Today, as we pause to give thanks, I am embracing each of my worlds and revering the short time between hope and memory.

Peace to you and yours.