Where do I fit now?

 Where Do I Fit Now?

It’s been a year since Michael left this earth.

A year since the laughter, the routines, the knowing glances, the shared silence. A year since I’ve reached across the bed and found only blankets where his warmth used to be. A year since I stopped having to manage appointments, pain levels, and prayers that somehow balanced both healing and surrender.

He’s no longer suffering. That part brings comfort. I remind myself of that often.

But now, I find myself standing in a space that doesn’t feel like mine. For so long, I was part of a we. Michael and I. And before that, Michael, me, and the kids…navigating the wild, beautiful mess of a blended family. Life was noisy and full and, somehow, ordered. But now, I’m just… me. And honestly, I’m still trying to figure out who me is without him.

I’m surrounded by love. My kids, our family…they’ve been incredible. Steady. Kind. Present. But there’s still a hollow ache where I used to belong. The in-between is hard. I don’t like the gray. I like to know. I like clarity. Direction. A plan. This space of “not yet” makes me feel unanchored.

Where do I fit now?

What is my ministry now?

Who am I becoming in this new, unfamiliar season?

I don’t have the answers. And that’s hard. I’ve always been the one to keep going, to take the next step, to know what the next step is. But now, I’m learning how to trust God with no map in hand. I want to trust Him so much that I don’t need the details, but if I’m honest…it’s a battle. Some days, I feel myself slipping into that old heaviness, that familiar lie that whispers, “You’re not needed anymore. Your season is over.”

But I also hear another voice. A quieter one. A truer one.

It says: “I’m not done with you yet.”

So this is the beginning—not the end. Maybe the ache isn’t absence, it’s making room for something new. And maybe, just maybe, if I let myself stay soft and open in this discomfort, God will show me how to live again…not as I was, but as I am becoming.

So today, I begin here…with gratitude.

Gratitude for the love I had.

Gratitude for the people still walking with me.

Gratitude for breath in my lungs.

Gratitude that I’m not forgotten.

Gratitude that even in the wilderness, God doesn’t leave.

This is the start.