12 per diem

It's going to get better. It is.
All this pain (that feels now like everything there is in all the world to feel) is going to roll up into a blink.
You will flip back through these pages and know how the story ends. You will smile because beauty chased you down in this present darkness. You will see how it found a way to surprise you when you least expected it.
You will look back at these terrible mountains you're climbing, the ones that take up all your hope and strength. You'll catch them in the corner of your eye while walking long and far from this despair.
Looking over your left shoulder, you will stop, sit in the grass, and trace the tops of this year with your finger. You will whisper, "Even still, I made it through."
Look how far you've come already. Look how much you've learned. You're growing through this. Your grief is not wasted. None of this is. In these fires you are deepening. You are being refined. The dross is being burned off. You are learning what love really means.
You are coming into the ranks of the holy worn, those blessed, ravaged few who have weathered mighty loss and found what remains.
Yes, you are dying, but there is life enough to sustain this death.
Yes, you are weak, but there is grace enough to sustain this weakness.
Yes, you are devastated, but there is strength enough to sustain this devastation.
There is stability enough for your anger and your confusion. In this breaking, you are upheld. In the terror that comes at the end of finding your own end, you are yet safe.
And there is a second gift, besides. There is something good for you to do next. Tomorrow when you wake, there will be someone in this world who needs your love.
Love will be an option, and you may choose it trembling. You may choose it second. You may choose it after hating first, and weeping, and lashing out.
But when you do choose love, your heart will grow from that choice.
Friend, this battle rages on and on and on, and it is full of blood, and earth, and sorrow, and fallings down. Let me kiss your wounds. I will cry over them tears of seeing.
I have been broken, too. See my scars.
Love, it is dark for you now. It is dark. But your enemies would have you quit fighting. They would tell you it is hopeless.
It is not hopeless. There is a way. There is a path that you can't see yet, just around the corner. It will open up to you like a yellow clearing in a black woods.
Tomorrow there will be one good thing for you to do, and then another good thing the next. Your hands will find good work. Step by step, it will fall like bread from ravens.
And then again, so very soon it will all be over. These days will be a sweet old song sung in a golden room, and your eyes will be clear, and your heart will be warm.
Hold fast, dear heart. Hold fast.
Listen while I whisper over you your true name. I remember who you are. I've seen you, royal one. You have the countenance of a child of a King.
Sleep now then tonight, because your body is tired and weak from the day.
Sleep knowing that I have prayed for you. And when I wake up in the night, I will pray for you again.
Remember that you are seen. Remember that you are known. Remember that you are loved.
Hold fast, dear heart. Hold fast. You are very nearly home.

—Rebecca Reynolds
http://www.rabbitroom.com/author/rebeccareynolds/

The best thing i've read in weeks. A month since the death of my mom.