Living ‘one day at a time’

I don’t know what to write about today. Okay, yes, maybe I do, although I’m not really sure which emotion to feed.
Okay, yes, I do. I need to feed them both.
I am content and melancholy, happy and yet somewhat sorrow-filled, mostly healed and yet reminded in a New York minute of the loved one who left more questions than even a year or four—or I so fear a lifetime of magical thinking—will ever satisfy the souls of the survivors.
Today, one day before another year passes into the books once again, I’m all about “that day.” And as much as I’d thought four years post “life change in an instant” would pass unnoticed, I still find that getting past Jan. 19 unscathed is like trying to pull mussel from a live conch shell.
I still believe that making it to the anniversary date of the first, second, third, and yes, even the fourth year, after any major event in life is a feat of legendary proportions—and each of us comes to it in different ways.
I also have come to believe it is a sacred journey each year, no matter how it’s walked.
I’m not sure yet what tomorrow (Jan. 20) will bring, as I am writing this column the day before and you are reading it the day of (or more) after the fact.
Here’s what I will think I will do when I face in the day of memories; be it as cold outside as it was that day so long ago. I will wake up before sunrise and live the day as fully as I can.
I will live the day believing—as I have done most of the time since—that I am where I am supposed to be.
I won’t forget about the road I’ve walked and I’m going to continue to do my best to honour my life, as good as it is—and it is very good. Very good, indeed.
I’m going to continue to honour the fridge magnet “One Day At A Time,” now paid forward to someone I felt needed the code mantra more than I. I no longer need to see it to believe it.
“One Day At A Time.” It will stay with me forever.
Since Jan. 19, 2012, I have written more than 140 columns for this space and I’ve dug deep many times on what it means for me as a survivor left behind by the suicide of a loved one.
I continue to try to pay forward the German proverb that says, “To bury grief, plant a seed,” in any way, shape, or fashion I can.
“Not what you have but what you use. Not what you see but what you choose. Not what seems fair but what is true. Not what you dream but what you do. Not what you take but what you give. Not as you pray but as you live.
“These are the things that mar or bless the sum of human happiness.”
Thank you, Chris Pentney, for finding me, for loving me wholly, for teaching me what it means to appreciate the mystery and grace of life—and for regenerating a true happiness within my soul.

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