On mercy…

My phone vibrates. A text message. I don’t recognize the number. The message says that they have been thinking of me and I am forced to admit that I have no idea who has sent this. I lost my contacts recently, so every person that texts me feels, momentarily, very insignificant. The sender decides that a trip down memory lane is in order and proceeds to try to jog my memory. It only takes one hint. They tell me that they make the best late night waffles and I know exactly who it is. My heart constricts. It’s been so long since I heard from him. We were so close once. We were such good friends.

The strange thing is that I had been thinking of him today, for the first time in a very long time. We text back and forth for some time before he gives up and calls me. He always hated text messaging. I remember this now. It is a strange conversation. Neither of us knows where to begin or what to bring up. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. It occurs to me how, with someone that mattered, a certain level of discomfort can coexist with a calm familiarity. You’re scared, but it is safe to be. Its a strange feeling, but I don’t hate it. We end up on the subject we have been avoiding. It takes far less energy than I anticipated. The last thing he tells me is that, while he has no expectations, this is him reopening the door for our friendship. I smile, though he can’t see this, perhaps he can hear it in my voice. I hope so. I tell him I’ll see him around, and that is the end of our conversation.

I spent the better part of the next hour perplexed less by this turn of events, and more by my lack of reaction to it. A year ago this would have been terribly unsettling. I would have agonized over every detail of the exchange and every moment of our friendship and every memory I ever had of him. Now I am simply, content. The thought makes me smile. This whole exchange brings a thought to the forefront of my mind that hasn’t taken up residence there in sometime.

I’m not drowning.

I also realize that nothing in my life is significantly different. Nothing is greatly improved and nothing, fortunately, is terribly worse. Only one thing has changed. Me. I’ve finally begun to truly heal. I can look at my blessings and appreciate them. I can see my challenges and not drown in them. This is the biggest change, I think. I am still healing. On some level, I am still grieving, but for the first time, in a very long time, I am not drowning.

I have spent the better part of six years drowning. When my first marriage ended, I grieved the loss of the idea of what was supposed to be. When my second marriage ended I grieved the loss of that many more years. When my mother died, I grieved more that I can begin to form into words. There were so many moments when it felt like the grief, itself, would siphon the very air from my lungs. It felt as though if I stopped paying attention for one, brief moment, that I would be overcome by the weight of it all and cease to be able to exist.

None of that happened though. I was, through some miracle, able to take the next breath. I was able to function one more day. That day turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months and so on until one day I was faced with a ghost from the past and was able to walk away unscathed.

That was the day I realized that, against all odds, there is, surprisingly, a tomorrow.

That was the day I realized that, against all odds, I survived.

That was also the day that I realized that, against all odds, God had mercy on me.

I am alive. I am healing. I am, someday, going to be whole. I don’t know when, but I do know that it is coming. I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I will live a full life.