The year opened its eyes lazily, slowly. Unfurling itself in a violet-tinged haze that seemed to want to hang onto 2018 in an attempt to make things right before letting go. Before I could snap to, the year had already kicked my butt in a tense final goodbye. The year started with an unbelievable sadness. Joy had been driven from these streets and as the fireworks went off and the countdown began, gleefully for some, there was a bit of melancholic indulgence and looking back in wonder at how 2018 was survived.
I may have survived 2018 but I have enough scars to show. New ones. The old ones had healed over and I thought I was immune to scarring, having gotten a live vaccine in the years past. 2018 was the toughest year of my life. So far. As the second quarter started, I thought I had landed on a patch of evergreen grass. But this too, burned beneath my feet, scarring my soles and my soul. What kept me together was this notion that my little family needed me to keep it together. This is the thought with which I started 2019.
2019 will be the year that I thrive. I made a decision to be back home because of the dust 2018 had thrown up in my face right up to the final week of the year. 2019 is the year I will thrive and dust off that dust. Literally. Off my heart, off my back, off my skinned knuckles and definitely off my burned soles.
The only patch of evergreen grass I will ever need, even beyond 2019, is my little boy smiling up at me. That is the sweetest balm to any burn I will ever live through.