Sometimes there aren’t enough words in the world to describe how a word has changed you in a year.
Grace has smelled like burnt popcorn and tasted like defeated salty tears as once again, I only had the energy to pop popcorn for dinner only to burn it and fill my apartment with smoke. Grace has smelled like eucalyptus mint and sounded like whispered prayers as I sat in the back of a studio on a yoga mat and cried out grief. Grace has felt like hands teaching me that touch can be safe and hugs can be welcomed.
Grace sounds like a three year old saying, “I love you when you are frustrated, mad, and sad. I just love you,” after raised voices and tears came from both of us. Grace tastes like all-dressed chips mailed with love from Canada. Grace tastes like coffee too. Multiple cups, in fact. Where conversations about the broken and beautiful dance among the laughter and tears.
Grace looks like skype coffee dates with children playing in the background and laundry being folded. Grace sounds like bed time stories read over the phone on nights when the darkness is too deep. Grace feels like thorns piercing your skin when setting roses on his grave for the first time in six years.
Grace looks like hope. Grace feels like healing. It sounds like love being whispered in your ears when the taste of defeat is too strong. Grace has been my healer, my redeemer, my lifeline this year. I know I will still hear it’s voice whispering in my ear in the dark of night when fear takes over.
peace, little one. rest, my heart. you are safe.