Grief forces you to live in the moment.

I have spent far too much of my life not living in the moment.

But grief, the grief of losing your child, rips you from every “I should be doing” and all of the “ok, tomorrow I need to” and forces you to feel what you are feeling right now because it is so big and so ruthless that you cannot take in anything other than the single instant that is now sucking the breath from your lungs.

It also sends you back to “I wish I would have” thousands and thousands of times. I have never been one to stew in regret; I believe in moving forward, accepting the situation for what it is and forming a plan of action that will best get you where you want to go, no matter where it is you are at that time. Greif has changed that about me too.

But for as much time as I still spend looking back, I’m grateful for this newly acquired skill of living in the now. I used to spend virtually all of my time looking forward, now I spend most of it looking around, and still much of it looking back. I don’t see the same, I don’t seem the same, I am not the same.

But what I am is infinitely more capable of enjoying wherever I happen to be this instant.

So this instant I am sitting with a little dog at my feet (who I have missed for the last 10 days far more than I’d like to admit), next to the husband I cherish as we both tic and tac on our laptops, sharing the company of his beloved parents who we cannot see enough and who always welcome us with open arms.

I am only posting here to mark this moment. I have no idea when I will post again; I haven’t regained my affinity for the future yet, so I honestly don’t know. I know that I am so incredibly blessed and I am glad there is a day when we can sit together and revel in that tomorrow. I am glad I have made some amazing new friends in this place and I get to meet them and make some more in January at Cupcake ’10, I’m glad my family is so remarkable, I’m glad for my son. His life, however brief, has changed everything forever, and however much of that is bad, it is infinitely more good. Thanks for giving me this moment, Joel, and every moment I am truly present. You, my little four day miracle, have given me far more than just memories; you have given me the gift of being better at making memories.