It changes, it doesn’t end

Last night at the end of a complicated dream, I heard a voice whispering my name. I turned and there was my husband. Alive, healthy, face tanned and shining. He paused and we stared at one another. I gasped, he smiled and paused. In my dream, he wasn’t dead, and I was torn as to go up to him or continue where I was, as though I hadn’t seen him. We both knew I had.

That’s what my grief is like. Especially throughout July, when our final month was shredded with pain, fear and exhaustion. I have grown, I have flourished, drowned, love, hurt, laughed and worked incredibly hard, every single day.

There isn’t a moving on. There is a courageous acceptance, which is in fact, all that anyone needs to create a peaceful life. Exercising the mind, the heart as well as the body. Feeding it goodness, while we crave the opposite. We are like the children in the woods, drawn to a sweet, colorful, delicious house, though perhaps we would be better to find the fruit in the trees.

I ache for the opportunities to be a hundred percent me, and for it all to be worth it. I am so ready.