Objects in the rearview mirror may appear closer than they are

It's hard to recap 2024, the first full year of life lived without my mother. It feels like it's been so much longer--the world has already changed so much since she's been gone

I spent the better part of the year in a daze, grieving and mourning all the parts of me I lost after she died. But so much was gained then, too--new experiences and perspectives, deeper understandings and awakenings. And finally, sometime in the fall, the bits and pieces I'd been collecting over the passing months finally started to come together, and the New Me emerged as deep grief settled into a quiet hum inside my heart.

It's gotten easier and harder. There is no more wondering how much of "her" is here, existing halfway between worlds, waiting patiently for purgatory to end. She's whole again, wherever she is, a place that equally feels farther and closer than ever before.

There is work to be done in 2025. There is a collective grief that we must begin tending to seriously. I see so many answering the call already--the doulas and healers and artists and grievers ready to usher in this new era with the wisdom and strength that only can be gained by loving and losing and finding the strength to love again. It will be hard and heavy, but it will be possible if we all shoulder some of the weight.

I'm not entering this year with resolutions, but with resolve and prayers: May we be soft, may we be brave, may we bend but not break.