It is my privileged to write to you each week and I hope my blog inspires you to question what is stirring in your heart. I encourage you to lean into your grief. And, to feel it to it's depth. This isn't easy, but it is the only way through this mess.
I believe that we are lead back towards life and living when we allow ourselves to be still, and sit in the "nothingness" where grief lives. Visiting this empty place is difficult, but it is necessary. This quiet place holds the blueprints of our new, changed life.
I know you are scared to go to the edge of this place; admittedly, I am too. But, we have to take a leap of faith. With time, I am gathering momentum, and I am going to leap and build my wings on the way down.
It has been over two years since Mike died and I realize that what I fear most about the future is not the risks and uncertainty. What I am afraid of is letting the opportunities for change pass me by. I am afraid that I will settle into an ordinary life when I want an extraordinary life.
I am worried that I will play small, when my potential is big. As I write to you each week I am challenging us both not to shrink. I am keeping us accountable. I do not want either of us to fall back into an easy comfortableness when we can leap forward, towards a bold life. I want you to manifest the best in yourself. Go on, begin to recreate a beautiful life for yourself.
From the Ledge with Wings in Hand,
It's Sunday again.
Right about now, I should hear you happily humming as you walk down the stairs to start the coffee.
As I lay in our bed, I should notice the familiar sound of the beans grinding.
Soon, the smell of coffee should be thick in the air.
There should be music playing in the kitchen.
And, any moment now, my phone should ding and the screen should light up with
- your name.
Right now, you should be sending me my "Good Morning Beautiful" text message.
The same familiar, heartfelt 3 word message you lovingly sent to me every single day.
You sent me this message to me every morning.
You sent this text on your way to work, or from home in our kitchen where you should be right now on this Sunday morning.
You should be making coffee and texting me from the kitchen table.
But, you're not here.
I'm spending another Sunday without you.
One of my goals is to become more present. I want to learn to live in the moment. I want to exist more consciously again. When Mike died I lost my ability to focus on the here and now. Looking back, maybe I never had this capability; but, when he was alive, at least I did not spend as much time lost in my thoughts. What has become my "new normal", is not normal at all.
I yearn to be ordinary again. I crave the simplicity of the old version of my life. But, again my heart is wishing for something that it can't have. I’m going to have to take what I’ve got and make the very best of it. And, really what I have is not too bad, all things considered.