I want to write one happy thing. One hopeful thing. I want to find one happy, hopeful thing to focus on tonight. I haven’t written a single creative thing since we left Hindman on July 28. I feel so stuck. I feel like I’m trapped somewhere and I keep reaching for a way out, but I keep coming up short. But that is not happy or hopeful.

This is happy. Russ and I attended our final concert for the Summer in Charlotte on Friday evening. Keith Urban. It was an awesome show. Fantastic energy. Such a positive guy. He brought Nicole Kidman out on stage at one point. It was sweet. My foot was hurting, but I tried to stand for the majority of the show, anyway. Keith Urban deserved that.

We went to Ikea earlier that day and shopped for things to take over to Hindman to donate to the Settlement School for the community. Despite the sadness that has permeated that area, doing something to help will hopefully make others happy. They need so very much. Every little thing helps, right?

I don’t feel like I’m making much progress these days. I don’t feel like I’m making much of a difference. I feel like the weather. Overcast. Cloudy. Rainy. Because I cry so much, maybe. I feel like I have Troublesome flowing through me. That I keep trying to push it all down. I have to keep it back.

I’m tired. I’m not doing anything productive, but I’m absolutely exhausted. I need to get back on track. How do I do that? Where do I find the answers? I feel like I talked to Cowboy Dave about all the wrong things. But it’s not fully my story. I was only a bystander. I didn’t lose anything. Except for my joy. There’s no insurance claim for that.

What if there was an insurance claim for joy? No one could afford those premiums, my friend. I’m pretty certain about that. But what if there was? And what if we could? What does happiness cost? I can’t even wrap my head around that concept, really.

I’m trying to take deep breaths. To dig deep and let go of so much heaviness right now. It’s hard. Processing things and making sense of so much senselessness.When and where does it end?

And just like that, I look up from the keyboard. At my feet, is my sweet baby girl, Sophie, curled up on top of an ice pack, bizarrely, sleeping peacefully. Over to the right, Ichabod is lying with his paws up over his eyes to shade them from the overhead light. To my immediate right is my unpacked suitcase — I feel like it has been sitting there for months, pack and unpack, travel, repeat, repeat — but snuggled up on my dirty clothes inside it is Baltic, knowing that he’s not supposed to be in there, but also knowing that I’m probably not going to make him move because he’s so adorable, so lovable. Each of them is precious to me. Especially in light of the sadness I’ve felt since Football left.

Tomorrow is another day. I’m not promised the opportunity to see it. But I think I will. And if I do, I’d like for it to be better than today. I’ve tried to make words tonight. To form thoughts and string them together into sentences and then to connect sentences into paragraphs. I’ve created some blogs. Not great ones, but still, I’ve created them. It’s the first thing I can measure that I have achieved in weeks. I need to keep breathing. Keep taking one step in front of another.

I look again at my fur-babies and I am reminded of my favorite song lyric by Keith Urban. “I’m alive and I’m free/Who wouldn’t want to be me?” And there is my one happy thing for now.