The house is quiet. I am quiet. The gentle hum of the dishwaher and the high efficiency swish of my washer tell me it's either early morning, or late evening, as it's the only time my house is typically still with me in it. I need to get upstairs, spoon against my husband who is warm and sure and probably softly snoring. But the house is quiet. And I am quiet. It's good.
I've been reflecting so much lately on time, which is really an oxymoron, as, for each moment I'm looking backward, life is just moving along, sidewalk square by sidewalk square. Quietly. Steadily.
Today, I am:
Sure.
Forgiven.
Forgiving.
Content.
Optimistic.
Focused.
Relaxed.
Open.
Opening.
Happy. I am Happy.
Loved.
Loving.
With song.
Silent.
Without nightmares. (It's been almost a month for me! This is huge.)
But, Dreaming.
Remembering.
Remembered.
Joyful.

I'll tell you this: What I can remember about my yesterdays is probably both not quite as beautiful or horrid as my memory recalls. And I cannot assure anyone else of the beauty of tomorrow in any terms other than my own. But today, today was beautiful. My days are made of beautiful. From baby shampoo to oreo kisses to first job jitters to warm, soft pillows... From tears of having to try again to tears of having to say goodbye to voice changing squeaks to forgotten uniforms... From having grown up LIVING The Pain and the Great One to carting around love in my arms in one form or another since I was about, what 12? From dishes to laundry to business to pleasure... Today, my days are made of beautiful.

And my house is quiet. And I am quiet. And it is good.