I am just wrapping up a week in north east Canada where it is bitter cold yet beautiful. This evening, I began a long drive back to a small airport that will soon take me to Toronto, then ultimately back home. At one point I looked out the window and saw a most beautiful sunset and took this photo. Instantly I thought of Mitch - or better said, I instantly became aware I was already thinking of Mitch. 

It was the kind of sunset where he would have tugged at my arm softly and pointed, "Look Dad, isn't it beautiful?" In my heart I whispered, "Yes, son. But not as beautiful as you."

Earlier this morning a large winter storm was headed our way and the RCMP had blocked off the roads. There was no getting in or out of town and no way of knowing when we'd be able to leave. I wondered if I would make it out in time for my flight. 

So, against the backdrop of a severe winter storm, I didn't expect to see the sun this evening. In many ways, that is how I felt when the storms of grief were especially new to me; I didn't expect to see the sun for a long, long time. In both cases, I am grateful to have seen the sun.

In just a few short days from now my little family will recognize the 3rd anniversary of my son's passing. Three years. To some who sit comfortably on the outside of grief, three years may seem like a long time ... time enough to "get over it" or "move on." They who think such thoughts are wronger than wrong. To those who live with grief, 3 years is but a blink.

Three years into this new journey and grief is still very real. But so is healing. 

Early on, I didn't expect to see the sun. I felt darkness would last a million years and one. But that was not so - for I have since felt my love and hope grow. 

I was grateful for this gentle reminder tonight. That life is worth the struggle and internal fight - for it's in the struggle we find the meaning of life.