It’s been quite a month. Four weeks ago today, my dad passed away. Over the month before that, and the month since, Kelly has battled a persistent flareup of his inflammatory bowel disease—serious enough that on Thursday last week he was admitted into the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.

Except for the slow resolution of Kelly’s issues (he still hasn’t quite turned the corner, though we’re getting a handle on it), a lot has gone right: friends, doctors and nurses, Virginia, Kelly himself … everyone has really stepped up. So I got home tonight from the hospital with orders to tune-out and relax. I ended up on my back deck about an hour after the sun went down. Beer in hand, I watched an unbelievably vibrant scene as thousands of fireflies blanketed the trees and flitted across our large yard. Above me, the moon was bright and you could make out stars in the night sky—and I was reminded that whether I look up or out, I am surrounded by lights of love and concern, and that I want to approach this latest crisis with a spirit of gratitude. Now comes the hard part—getting my chest to loosen, finding my breath, and trusting that everything is going to be alright … because it will be.

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