Continual prayer was the one form of meditation that came naturally as grief propelled me into a running conversation with God. As I carefully considered, reflected, pondered, and meditated on those things that were true, just, pure, lovely, virtuous, or praiseworthy (from Philippians4:8), I couldn’t help but feel a semblance of gratitude.

The whole encounter was surreal. No one had mentioned cancer. I hadn’t requested special treatment for Jacob. Yet he’d just nabbed a private meeting with an actor from his favorite movie. I would later ask Mike, the comic book store owner, what had prompted him to invite Jacob to the supper and a private meeting with Mr. Bulloch.“It was Jeremy at the door. He recognized something in Jacob. Jeremyis a cancer survivor.

Can you remember another time when your chest felt like this?”My fingers splayed across my aching chest as I carefully pondered herquestion. Then I nodded vigorously as I remembered. Tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked as I whispered hoarsely, “Yes, I do remember.After my husband died, it hurt like this. My chest felt full and heavy, and I thought then, Oh, this is what it feels like to have your heart break.

Tonight I attend my thirty-fifth high school reunion with some trepidation.I have not seen most of these former classmates for thirty-some years. I am not the same young girl they knew in high school. What they cannot know, what I am just realizing myself, is that I am not even the same person I was two years ago.

You have no idea how well you are doing,” John complimented mejust a few minutes after he mentioned the Christmas card. What did that mean: That I was doing well? That I’d come to a family gathering? That I’d remembered to bring food? That I was dressed, and my hair combed? That I was wearing shoes? I wasn’t sure, but maybe just making an appearance at a family event meant I was handling things well.