I've written seven different posts, seven different ways.
Each one has been abandoned, just partially written: unacceptable.
Because everything I could talk about is so small: small worries, small bumps, small inconveniences. Small things buried beneath waves of grief in the world.
Today I am thankful for everything small in my life.
A small head to pull close, to kiss her hair.
A small house, safe and whole.
A (not so small) husband with strong arms, ready to hold my small self.
And this, a small way to help.