I sit at the edge, on the precipice of something that has been in creation since my arrival. I have more of my story to tell, which was seemingly impossible until this moment. Until I was able to reach a certain plateau in my own healing, not one that was knowable, but one that was to be felt.

I have given up much in an effort to hear, see, feel God being given breadcrumb messages from Divine that become ever clearer as I work through and remove the cluttered trauma from my body, mind and heart. I am settling in and reestablishing my foundation and this has, in fact, unlocked doors to my past that were both previously hidden and newly formed.

As I officially move into my childhood home a new woman, a seemingly insurmountable feet in many ways, I feel a great need to cleanse my space and truly reclaim and establish it as my own, if in ceremony alone. I emptied a box that was packed for a move that was destined for another timeline unrealized in this reality…and in that box was a journal, and that journal belong to my 3 plus years deceased husband, Trent. This journal was a piece to an ever-forming puzzle that I didn’t know I needed, but understood nearly immediately upon reading it’s contents. His story is one that I haven’t had the strength, time, space or love-of-self to tell before now.

Now I recognize oh so deeply the importance of his story – in part – as it is inextricably linked and essential to my own. And while my story is one of great sorrow and pain, it is also one of grace, love, triumph, enlightenment, transformation and life. And it is an important one to tell, if for no other reason than this – it is mine. It is me. And if my story, the thoughts of me break your heart, it’s ok. It is meant to. We are well overdue for a heartbreaking. These cracks created through connection, empathy, identification, resonance are the spaces that allow for more Love. These cracks are the spaces where the Light comes in.