December is here again and I've been waiting for this moment to slow down, to pause. Even with Christmas, with the Winter Solstice, this month feels like that moment between inhaling and exhaling, that moment where all is calm ... even if it isn't, even if it doesn't feel like it.
I took a moment this morning to read through the few posts I've made since my return at the Summer Solstice. Here I am almost six months later and my life has completely changed. In July, we lost our last living parent and I had a stroke. Four weeks later, my twenty year old son was killed in a car wreck. Nothing feels the same; everything has changed.
Nothing is normal yet I want to reach for some sense of normalcy. I want the rising early in the morning. I want the purpose to the day. I want a to do list that goes beyond make it through the next moment.
December Reflections is the closest thing I have to ritual and rhythm right now. I've participated every year and it feels right to reach for this practice that wraps up a calendar year. I'm shaking my head as I try to find the right word to describe the passing of time and how we mark it. If anything, I have released any idea of how time exists, of how we try to compartmentalize it. I can give you a number. I can tell you how many months, weeks, days it has been since I hugged my son but it doesn't mean anything. I exist, we all exist, in a space where time doesn't.
So in ways, it is odd to be at what I could rightly say is the end of one space of time, reflecting on it, and preparing for the next. Here I am though, wondering about early ... and late ... and wondering how did it get to be so late so soon?