Mirriam-Webster says this about thrive:
Thrive: verb \ˈthrīv \ 3 : to progress toward or realize a goal despite or because of circumstances.
Thriving doesn’t mean we’ve put closure to something and we no longer allow ourselves to feel sadness or pain in our difficulties.
Rather, it’s taking our story and our memories and our hard places with us and stepping back into life while we still have breath.
Today is my husband, Gary’s, birthday. It’s also our wedding anniversary. If cancer had not stolen him from me, we would be celebrating forty-five years of marriage.
In Fredrick Backman’s novella And Every Morning the Way Home Gets Longer and Longer, a young boy asks his grandfather a question about his grandmother: “How did you fall in love with her?”
Ralph Waldo Emerson said this:
No member of a crew is praised for the rugged individuality of his rowing.
That’s because a crew needs to be in synch; to pull together at equal strength. Connected. Coordinated.
When Tyler Henderson was diagnosed with brain cancer, Marni brought their two sons home for online schooling so they could spend as much time together as a family while they still had the hours, the weeks, the months.
Turns out, they only had fifteen more months together. Which wasn’t nearly enough time.
Tyler and Marni
There’s a chapter in Gary’s and my story, titled “The Wilderness Years,” that lasted for more than a decade. A windswept, barren, bleak, heart-throbbing trek through financial reversals, and a live-in parent sinking into dementia, and a terminal cancer diagnosis, and the death of a most beloved husband, friend, life partner.
Most of us would edit some chapters of our stories if we could.