1. Listening to my gut

2. Sabine running toward me, arms outstretched, and I snap her up and she squeezes me so tight I know she loves me with all of her heart.

3. Being honest with myself about my grief, my fears, my confusion while all the while knowing, too, that I am one lucky person

4. My Blackberry

5. Video conferencing; I love being able to see my mom and dad while they winter in the south, especially the huge smiles on their faces when they talk with Sabine.

Be grateful.

The moment he said it was over, I didn’t have time to think of anything beyond the immediate future: Taking the ring off my finger, walking over and handing him a few things he’d forgotten to take when he moved out the month before. A flood of emotions swept over me in rapid succession, anger being at the top, followed by relief, sadness and regret just a trickle beneath them both.

Only when I’d had time to stand still, to sit on my bed and cry into my phone as my parents and brother busied themselves with details like how I was going to get O. off of my mortgage, did the gravity of what was happening hit me. I never wanted to be divorced. Divorce feels like personal failure, like I had one chance to get it right and simply watched dumbfounded as three balls sailed right past me, the ump screaming “You’re out!”

And then I thought of Sabine, and sighed deep aching exhales, lost in the feeling that I’d ruined her. Please forgive me little girl; I never meant for this to happen. Because for me, the divorce wasn’t our failure, it way my failure.

Even today I can’t get past the feeling that I’ve muddled my life so completely there’s no room for redemption. I’m standing in the middle of untamed territory, eyes frantically sweeping a landscape I don’t recognize and actively dislike, no way back, no eraser to wipe the slate clean. I’m tainted. I’m tarnished. I’m branded by a past that serves up more anguish than delight.

“I feel so unlucky,” I tell my mother. “Well, you have at least one piece of luck,” she responds, listening intently to Sabine’s conversation with her Papa in the other room. “She must be my lifetime’s worth,” I answer.

If Sabine is my lifetime’s worth of luck, I’ll take it. But what about her? Am I her lifetime of unluck? O.’s diagnosis of bipolar unhinged me a little; his illness made him unavailable, responsibility after responsibility being heaped upon my shoulders until cracks in my foundation started forming. Stoic, perfect mess who only wanted to get things right.

My voice would get shrill, my words shorter, clipped as I asked her, for sometimes the 100th time, to get her shoes on, get her coat on, we need to get going to school and to work. She resists, sometimes, and I raise my voice, sometimes, and in that high-whine plea is more personal pain than need for her to actually get done what I need her to do. She was 19 months when he left; she is three years old now and can’t possibly discern the subtleties of my emotions. She can’t possibly know that my weary annoyance has nothing at all to do with her, my bright spot, my north star.

After these moments, she often asks if she can give me a hug, pulling away to ask: “Are you happy now?” I smile and try to convey in this expression, my arms holding her tight, thumb caressing her back gently back and forth, a whole host of truths: Happiness is complicated, fragile. Happiness is sometimes elusive and dormant, but always part of my extraordinary fate, my privilege of calling her my daughter. Happiness can’t be bullied out of existence by sadness, trial and struggle. Most importantly, you, little girl, aren’t responsible for my happiness.

I want to take this burden from her, set it in the corner, watch her skip around it oblivious of its presence. I want to undo a lifetime of unluck, to give her all the happiness she can hold.

1. Breathing deeply

2. A friend that is willing to help me when I ask, no stings attached

3. Making decent if not altogether successful attempts at not taking some things personally; I’m awfully fragile right now, and knowing that, I can make an effort to account for this feeling in my interactions

4. Hearing Sabine spell her own name with care and an enormous sense of pride. Rote memorization? Probably. But still love that her own name is the first word she is able to visually recognize and spell. Speaks of a sense of self I hope she always possesses.

5. Being asked how I am by someone who really wants to know

Go on, be grateful.

1. A teacher standing at the door of Sabine’s school everyday, greeting the children, all by name, as they enter. A great way to start a day.

2. A forecast that predicts unseasonably warm weather for most of the week.

3. Polar bears—a rather random entry, but while sitting here thinking, this magnificent animal popped into my head and I thought, “Yes, polar bear, I am grateful for you!”

4. People responding positively to something I worked really hard on to put together.

5. National Geographic

You can do it, too, you know.

1. Being quiet, calming my worry and taking in what is around me instead of hopscotching into the future at a fevered pace.

2. Children’s birthday parties

3. Reminders of real value; my heart catches in my throat as Sabine, standing next to me, suddenly takes a step toward a busy street. Kneeling down to hug her tight, laughing over our dinner of pancakes, I know what matters.

4. Letting my mind wander; I’ve had some really good ideas while daydreaming.

5. Wit

Go, go, go and be grateful!

You would think, since it was me who did all of the work to get the divorce finalized, that the reality of the situation would not have been lost on me. Filling out paperwork, writing checks to a lawyer, appearing in court—all good indicators your marriage is over—were all somehow done on autopilot.

My brain was doing the work while my heart sat in the corner with its eyes tightly shut. Divorce? What’s that? I can’t hear you.

I’ve had moments since the start of this mess that have left me breathless. Sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, still undressed, defeated, as O. tells me for the second time that he thinks our marriage is finished.

It’s like K. dying all over again, and all I can think to do is move my body, never stop moving my body. I walk around the block three, four, countless times as I talk to my mother, thousands of miles away, telling her that I’m getting a divorce. The word tastes so bad in my mouth I nearly choke, but the more I say it, the easier it comes. The cool night air on my face, sneaking in my collar and racing down to my belly feels good. Right. Outside is the only place to be at the moment—being inside feels too much like I’m suffocating. I might die.

I’ve once again reached a breathless moment. Since Sara, the reality of my divorce  has once again crept up from behind, hammering me over the head. Like a cartoon character, stars dance around my head and I’m dizzy with the effort of looking straight down my life’s road and seeing only one set of footprints.

I see an older couple holding hands while I’m walking to work. His leather-gloved hand cupped tenderly around her bare hand, insulating and comfortable. My mind races headlong toward what was once my life; his hand always reaching for mine, hugs that would thaw the misery of a day or encourage the happiness. I smile at them, but really, what I want to do is push them down and shout, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

The ache spreads from my heart to my feet, webbing outward so I’m continually entangled. I know it’s temporary, but I sometimes see only the depths, the looking and looking for anything familiar. And I’m not sure why I’m here again. Why, after all of these months upon months upon months, I once more feel raw and useless.

But there it is, and here I am.

1. Meeting with Sabine’s teachers for conferences; watching their faces open up with smiles as they talk about her; reassurance, for me, that she is doing okay, loving her life

2. Looking in my mom’s eyes, her hands cupping my face as she tells me my life is okay

3. Not giving in to the despair I feel

4. Finding simple solutions to some small but annoying problems

5. Lake Michigan stretching to the horizon; the setting sun taking a bath in its cold, blue water. Calm, calm, calm, breathe in, breathe out

Being grateful is great. Go and give it a try.

1. A weekend with my folks before they head south for the winter

2. An afternoon cup of fresh coffee; sometimes I just need a little pick me up after lunch

3. Acceptance of what is, of what was, of what is to come. A brief, hopefully sustainable, realization that no matter, I will rise up.

4. The ability to hold my tongue when I know the words are born more from spite, anger and regret than honesty and decency

5. My daughter’s freedom from girlish pressure. She’s rough and tumble, tender and tough with an absolute devotion to her own taste. I want her to live her entire life with as much confidence and self-knowledge and love as she now possesses, shattering stereotypes with every sure step she takes.

Your turn.

1. Sabine finding the full moon in the sky last night, then declaring so only I could hear her, “Mr. Moon really does love me.”

2. Preparing for the winter, getting myself mentally ready for a season that seems always to slip me into sadness

3. Small changes that make big impacts

4. Cheese and crackers

5. The unknown; I’m scared, sometimes, of my future. But, it’s also chock full of potential.

Go ahead, give a little.

1. Cleaning the refrigerator, tossing old items with abandon and scrubbing the inside until it shined

2. Organizing the cupboards

3. Going into Sabine’s room to return the blankets she’s thrown off in her sleep and, as I bend down to kiss her cheek, she reaches for me in her sleep, pulling me into a nice embrace before turning on her side

4. Painful realizations that will help me heal

5. Hanging my child’s art

I’ve shared with you, now come tell me what you’re grateful for.