I woke up not long ago, lay there in bed awhile. My head hurt. Luxuriate.
Eventually, I forced myself up, padded to the kitchen and noticed every soft swoosh of my feet on the hardwood floors, the blanket of fog that lay over the city, every glint of light fighting to enter my world and every colour on every flowering plant in the room. Setting the coffee maker, I returned to the room and sat cross-legged on my yoga mat (if only for a minute). Something was different. Something had changed.

Then I realized that in my grief, and for three months, I had forgotten how to breathe.

Today, I breathe.