My story did not write the way I planned it. I penned happily ever after. I penned the fairy tale ending with the same man I married at 24.
I penned one man, one love, and one life.
My pen stopped working at 32, and I was re-writing my story in the middle. My story being a best-selling novel of love, ended in a sad and tragic way.
Best sellers often do, I suppose.
You weren’t supposed to die when our babies could barely walk. You weren’t supposed to leave us alone on this earth to find our way without you.
But YOU did.
I know you didn’t want to go. I know you didn’t choose to go. I imagine your last thoughts would have been of us. The soul within me still thinks of you. I never wanted more. I never expected more. Continuing the story didn’t seem possible or even tolerable. I had my fairy tale – it just ended too soon.
After death, I found my true self. Grieving makes you stop and take stock of who you’ve been, who you are, and who you want to be. I slowed down; I listened to my voice, and I found my way. It’s quiet after death in the wee hours of the night when you can’t sleep and your heartaches from not being able to speak the words you desperately wish that you could. The shadows dance and your mind will begin to stretch as your spirit grows.
You can still live this life – was my inner voice.
The moment came where I felt ready to move forward towards the life I wanted for my remaining days. That didn’t have to include anyone other than my babies and myself – for the first time in a long time I was ready to write my story alone.
Enter you – YOU were not in the plan.
You stepped into my novel in a slow and gentle manner. You showed grace towards my grief. You were patient with my uncertainty. You showed a quiet understanding, ability to listen, and allowed for space where it was necessary.
You are your own amazing self and we are creating our own amazing story.
What was had is not what will be, and the fairy tale is not in the ending of the story but rather the journey of the story itself.
I want you to know I don’t wish things were different. I want you to know that I want you in my story. I want you to know that as difficult as life has been – every day with you tops my grateful list.
I want you to know that when you kiss me, I blush and when you text me to say, “I love you bubbles” my heart smiles.
The exchange between us, sappy as it is, speaks volumes of our relationship.
You aren’t in my life because he died. You are in my life because it is your place to be. You are in my life because I made room for you and you made room for me.
Your eyes are captivating and when we meet I find myself getting lost in your soft and welcoming glare. You make me laugh in the most understated and intelligent way. I laugh at your texts, I laugh when we speak on the phone. Laughing had become so profoundly important to me post loss. Life is painfully short, and my loss had taught me so much about what I was looking for in my future – laughter topped my list.
I’ve picked up the pen and continued to write with an intense fervor and fire. Life’s been a journey, I’ve seen joy, I’ve seen regret, but I know that as I continue to write my story, it will only be as beautiful as I allow it to be.
If I am asked today, whether being happy can happen post loss, and without even a seconds hesitation my answer will be a resounding – YES!
The human spirit is capable of immense love.
You don’t replace the man that came before with the man that came after. You absorb the love, the lessons, and you morph into a deeper soul capable of abundant love and a special perspective.
Love is not mutually exclusive and human beings are not replaceable. I’m not moving on – I’m moving forward. I’m writing beautiful new chapters with a man who has the emotional capacity and understanding.
No other place I’d rather be.
This is beautiful, I am trying to live the happiest life that I can. And the Thanks is to YOU, helping me realize that I deserve to be my best.
For the first time in a very long time I felt like the world was made up of just me and one other human being.
I am not sure in this moment why our paths had crossed, but I know deep in my gut you would be, in some capacity, part of my story.
To what extent, only time would tell………