Not Done, Yet.

Dear self,

I know you may not expect this letter from me. But I just want you to know that I’m proud of you. Extremely.

Words cannot describe how I truly feel.

Three and half years ago, when grandpa had passed, I was devastated. I really felt like I wasn’t going to make it. You knew it—you were there.

Get Nora’s stories in your inbox

Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.

Remember me for faster sign in

But, there was this tiniest voice within, whispering, “we’re not done, yet.”

So I counted one day at a time. “Let’s do one more day.” Then, it became one more week. One more month.

And look at you, no more counting. Still healing. Still processing. Still… not done, yet.

Thank you for proving that staying was worth it— when I couldn’t see, hope.

-from yourself, three and half years ago.