I've been feeling a bit like George Pickett at the end of Gettysburg; straggling back from a lost charge, shell-shocked and hurting. Staring up at a leader who's demanding I gather my wits and troops and get back in the fray.
"But General, I have no division."
This had been my state of being for so long, I'd forgotten what joy and true fire felt like. I have it back now, truly back for the first time in years, and I'm quite frightened to lose it again.
The road of grief is a never-ending struggle, and I don't know if the waves of anger, doubt and self pity ever really go away. But I've found my fire in the middle of the storm, and I'm holding on as best I know how.
With careful steps my General is gathering me up and setting me back at the head of my regiment. And I'm guarding my flame jealously, praying it never again goes out.