Okay. The writing prompt was for me to sit and just watch the world for five minutes and to record my thoughts.

But as the berry flavored melatonin gummy melted on my tongue and my brain relaxed, I realized that I wasn’t going to last for five minutes.

Moreso, I wanted these five minutes of reflection, if just peaceful being to not be saturated with grief. I have thought about Peter constantly today. His pictures are on my special bulletin board.

But I haven’t wept today. And to have that moment of reprieve is a blessing.

So, as I sat in my office, my attention kept being drawn to the conflicting ceiling fan shadows fluttering on the walls and against the open pocket doors. Three lights embedded in the ceiling cast three angles of light that are swallowed and refracted by the slowly spinning fan. And I keep charting how the shadowy blades intersect and diverge.

My office is a controlled chaos that reflects my life. When I wasn’t watching the fan, my attention kept drifting to the real blue dragon tucked above the E-last name authored books. My oldest child gave me the dragon 10-15 years ago. According to the tag, I technically own a star that I don’t know if I will ever see given light pollution and my inability to read star charts or coordinates.

But as I consider my star, I feel the enormity of this celestial body. It’s not just a pinprick of light. It’s a sun clinging to its tiny, insubstantial corner of the ever expanding universe. It’s a potentially massive ball of gas shedding light on a collection of humble planets thriving to give forth life.

Yes. I know that I do not own a star.

But it’s still intriguing to think that on a six inch high, teal blue dragon hangs the coordinates to my sun.

I dream about helping the world in my own humble way. To end the conflicts and heal the divisions. I know I’m a blind optimist.

But it’s that constant hope that sustains me. And right now, I find myself clinging by ripped fingernails and chipped teeth to my hope.

I scan the contents and length of my bookshelves and recognize the facets of my dreams. I see the confluence of my past and my present which translate into my hope for my future.

I see my children. Their small handprints tagged across the ragged skin on my heart. And I love them. I love every precious nuance that they reflect and are and give and hold in reserve.

I see the angles of my family. And once more, I feel the shadows of my Peter-memories stretch out next to me and touch my hand.

The shadows spin over my head. And I touch the moment. Listen to the cricket chirping outside my window.

And remember to breathe.