in group one patient replaces another.
it’s really hard to see someone you love backslide. and sometimes it’s really difficult to remember that there are so many more sides to someone than their illness.
witnessing the cycle of people coming and going in a treatment, the weight of loving someone who struggles — if God is not there, then where would God be?
I believe God is there — in the empty seats in between, in the counselors who help, in the patience offered, in the moments of hope and clarity and connection. God is in the persistence of love, even when it’s tested.
this week, I returned to the memory center where I help out — the first time this year. on Tuesday, I’ll step back into my job at the donut shop. these might seem like small things, just another week passing, but for me, they are big things. each step forward carries the weight of all the moments I wasn’t sure I could take it.
I also started making music again. that’s how I make sense of everything. when my mind feels tangled, when emotions swell beyond words, music gives them form. it’s a way to move through the heaviness instead of being trapped by it. my songs are a place to set things down, so I don’t have to carry them alone.
God is there, too — in the routine of work, in the quiet presence of the memory center, in the weight of each step forward.
God is in the music, in the space between the notes, in the act of turning struggle into sound. God is in the letting go, in the moment a song carries something heavy away.
and God is in the movement itself — the willingness to step forward, to create, to keep going even when it feels impossible.
cookie nieves 
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