I was sitting in my chair beside my bed and putting on my socks to go downstairs. These four curious eyes were staring at me with expectancy that I would hurry up and move. My furbabies, Queenie & Twinkle Bell, had already been out for their morning potty break which was our routine. Get up at 6:00ish am and take them out for their break. When we come back inside I take them off the leash and they bolt back up the stairs and beat me back to the bed. It’s times like these that I’m drawn to the memory how that routine started. My late husband Stephen used to arise way earlier than me. He’d get ready for work and before he left he would take the dogs out to potty and then let them back in the room to sleep some more until I got up for work. So their routine of going out then bolting back up the stairs for that morning nap is instilled in them. As I was preparing to go downstairs I looked at these eyes staring at me waiting for me to make my move. And the flashback of their routine with Stephen sort of caught me off guard. I felt that all too familiar sad nostalgia creep into my heart. Before I caught myself, I said aloud, “Girls some mornings I just don’t want to move.” It dawned on me that even now after 1 1/2 years, the tendency to settle into the despair of my grief was still a struggle. To go about my day in a semi normal fashion sometimes still required significant emotional energy just to go downstairs . Everything is a reminder of our life together and the life we no longer have together. I sounded so exhausted when I heard myself say what I truly felt in that moment.

“Some days I just don’t want to move.”

I don’t want to go downstairs. I don’t want to carry on like everything is perfectly fine. I don’t want to be strong another day. I just don’t want to move!

But then there are these four eyes staring at me. Expecting me to move. Expecting me to follow the routine. I have to admit that they have been a source of inspiration for me. Their unconditional love, their nonjudgmental patience, their adaptability, their gift of presence. Being there when the rest of the world carries on. I’m thankful for my furbabies and their therapeutic support. Maybe I’m that old lady that lives alone with her pets. That’s perfectly fine with me. I feel blessed that God knew I’d need them in my life for such a time as this.  So come on girls let’s go downstairs and get this day started. Let’s move!

Sharing my morning musings. Maybe you have those days that you just don’t want to move on your grief journey. It’s okay to admit it and process through it. I ask the Lord to open our eyes to all the ways he’s placed support around us to encourage us to keep it moving. Doesn’t matter how slow just that we move. Grief is not a race, it is a journey!