Last week I said the words “I’m so ready for this hellscape of a 40th year to be over”.

And honestly, I mean it.

If you know me, if you’ve read my writing, you know that I’m someone who is fully capable of holding two emotions in my hand. I live by it.

Because I feel to let yourself be ruled by one emotion- sadness, joy, grief, anger- and not to make space for a second, not to hold the belief that emotions can coexist you will find yourself missing out on the things you can pick up along the way.

I will not mince words: this year has been fucking hard. 

Even starting from the beautiful, perfect weekend I turned forty- it was the best, but my body was unknowingly continuing to shut down. I was in pain unable to move quickly, pushing through all of it.

I feel as if I lost the entirety of the first half of this year. June to December was spent in pain, in the hospital, unmoving, terrifying.

I spent a lot of the year in grief. Grieving what I had lost: moments with friends, trips, celebrating those around me, being present.  I had to grieve my body and what it had been and what it had become.

I have spent a total of 3 weeks in the hospital. I spent a good month being unable to walk downstairs with making sure someone was around. I couldn’t get in and out of bed. I would go days without seeing another person. One night walking back from the bathroom my body collapsed at about 2am and I had to lay there to figure out how to pull myself off the floor when I had no strength in my body to do so.

My list could go on and on.  

But in all that I also hold strength and hope and the knowledge that all of that; all the hell, that terror, that pain, I got through it. 

I did it.

Then, just about a month ago, getting on a plane to try to make it in time to say goodbye to my dad. 

To be frank, I’m still fresh with that grief. Writing both of my parents obituaries before I turned 41 is something I don’t wish on anyone. Mourning my parents, my childhood and the realization that there is no one on the other end of the phone. Saying goodbye to my dad is something I still haven’t completely come to terms with. 

This year has been undoubtedly the hardest year of my life.

Today in church when I 100% didn’t want to be there I heard words incredibly clearly.

The Lord is close to the broken-hearted.

I have been utterly broken-hearted this year.

But, in all of it the Lord has been close.

He’s been there in every moment where a friend came to hold my hand or help me shower, or take me to an appointment. He’s been there when I’ve been unable to sleep or when I’ve been trying to make myself eat.

He’s been there in prayer circles and care packages and cards and people showing up.

This year has been heartbreaking. I have been lonely, in pain, scared, gut wrenchingly broken sad.

But I’ve been more surrounded in my heartbreak than I ever have before. 

If you take anything away from this year of my life, this year 40; I want it to be this, please know you can hold two things in your hands at the same time. 

You can hold hope and grief.

Joy and pain.

You can hold strong to the belief it will get better while still feeling devastated it’s happening.

You can hold two things.

That’s all.

With love,

An almost 41 year old

Meg