I’m going to start with a small part of my journey to gratefulness. I’m ten years old, sitting on the school oval during our fete, surrounded by daisies and dandelions. I remember feeling something magical all around me, even though I didn’t know what it was back then. So much happened after that beautiful September day. I grew up, and the magic slowly disappeared.
At twenty, I lost my father, my best friend. At thirty, I married a man who was controlling and abusive. After fifteen years, I escaped my marriage with my two sons and my mother, whom I cared for deeply. Today, I’m sixty. My boys are grown, walking their own paths. We’ve all been through hell and back, and still — we rise. There were more losses, more joys, and moments that shaped us all. Now, I am a grandmother of three perfect angels.
As I sit here today, I am grateful. Grateful for that day in September that brought me here. Grateful for this moment — and for my life, that allowed me to return to that meadow of daisies and dandelions, and feel, once again, the freedom I felt that day.
