Lost and Found

You get THAT diagnosis.

In spoken words. In an email.

In a phone call. On a piece of paper.

You swirl with the lostness of your life.

Of your child’s life.

Your thoughts race and run marathons.

Your emotions spill, freeze, and overpower you, all at the same time.

Your feet become steady again.

You resolve. You research. You rise up.

Strong. Determined.

A warrior for good.

A warrior for growth.

A warrior for others’ good and growth.

And then a child’s missed milestone wrecks you.

Grief comes like a Florida hurricane. Again.

Until it is just a wandering wave.

You sit in the white wash a bit.

Sandy tears getting into every crevice and bone and marrow.

The sun soon dries it up.

Renewed resolve comes to you.

Hands reach out.

You are held, and you are healed.

You are grace-full and you are grateful.

Suddenly you are lost in a forest with dinosaur-sized trees.

Towering all around you.

Which way leads you to home? To yourself?

How did you even get here you wonder because there is no visible path,

No signs,

No trace of anything.

A map drifts down like a falling leaf.

You are guided back to self,

To home,

To carry on with peace, presence, and perspective.

You come back to yourself and others.

Solid.

Secure.

Consistent.

You acquire precious insight that there are days that you are

Altogether untethered and grounded.

Lost and found.

Grieving and grateful.

Angry and forgiving.

Unsure and sure.

Fatigued and energized.

Self-loathing and self-loving.

Hopeless and hope-filled.

Fearful and full of bravery.

Both.

And.

Forever.

And it’s all right.

You will be all right.