There is a hollow space beneath my left set of ribs. After they removed my body cast, I noticed it. I guess six weeks of the plaster wore it down.

Today I swim. Walk. Run. Exercise. All the things. The space remains. I don’t know why I saw it yesterday. In the mirror. Showering after my workout. I almost never think about it. I rarely even see it.

Maybe the universe thought I needed a little sign. A reminder, not of the pain, but of the living. I’m certain while I was in it, I thought it to be endless. Probably felt trapped. But I have no feeling of that now. Only a small hollow space that serves me well. A space, that if it had been immediately filled, I wouldn’t have it as the proof of strength, survival, of life itself.

Maybe that’s where we keep our most precious gifts, in those spaces. The tiny hollows left by life lessons, wayward paths, even love.

I miss my mother. But forever I keep a space open, just for her. Where memories have room to giggle and weep. To hug and wonder. To roam. And forever love.

I look in the mirror. I smile. Not weighed or worried by the hollows. I carry them with me, as light as joy.