Today marks three months since the day I held my little boy in my arms and he drew his last breath. For some reason, three months seems significant.
I feel like we were pummeled for five months-black and blue, bleeding, swollen, and raw. Then on November 7th, we were completely knocked out-unconscious and down for the count, a shock to our system!
Now, three months later, we are just starting to come to, but we are totally disoriented. Everything hurts. We feel bruises all over. We can hardly move, and we don’t know what happened to us. Suddenly, we remember that one of our legs is missing, and we can barely wiggle our toes on the other foot; the idea of ever walking again, much less running or jumping seems impossible.
The Great Doctor reminds us that there is hope, but we must simply take it one day at a time. I do not need Him to measure out enough mercy for the year, just enough mercy for today.