It has been hard, lately, to write. So much has been happening in every area of my life it has been hard to just stop for a moment, to breathe, to process it all. I feel like the bulk of my days have been spent simply reacting to everything going on around me, not thinking or feeling, just doing what needs to be done to get through.

It has been hard to write, to think about writing, to parse the words swimming around in my head, to quiet the cacophony. The cooking has been easy, standing at the counter chopping and mixing, standing at the stove stirring a pot, steam warming my face as the cats swirl around my ankles, feeding my husband, feeding myself. I’ve relied heavily on a simple roster of comforting fare, on soups, on pasta, on cheesy gratins, on a big pot of smoky chili we ate for days, with tender cornbread and good malty beer. The cooking is the one thing I’ve still had some control over, and I am so grateful for that. But words haven’t come so easily.

And in the rare quiet times over these last few weeks, I’ve been thinking about what’s next, what lies beyond the getting through, thinking about the hard reboot we’re planning. We’ve thrown the dart, we know what’s next, or at least where we want it to unfold, and though we took a major hit last week in our path to getting there, thinking of the promise of a clean slate, a fresh start, a much-needed do-over, has helped me to deal with the ugly realities of the now just a little bit better.

It has been hard to write, but I feel like I should, because so much is happening and so much of it sucks but the promise of what we’re working toward is thrilling, and I want to remember these times. I want to look back at all the times I said to Mike, “we’ll get through this, we always do,” and know that it’s the truth, because we have, and we did, and we will again, together. Our story is here on these pages, and although it has been hard, lately, to write, I owe it to us to keep doing so.