It’s been a while since I’ve written. I’ve been working through some painful feelings, grieving, reminiscing, reflecting, and praying. I need to let go of Jim. I do not want to. I feel his presence around me, as I said in an earlier post, his death has in a very strange way brought him back to me. I experienced many signs that he is okay, that he is free. Feeling his presence makes me selfish. I do not want to release him. I asked him to stay, and he did. I am not insane, I am not making this stuff up. I believe. But I know he has to go, and I know I need to let him go. This isn’t something I do well or gracefully. I want, I want, I want… and I have to be unselfish and set him free.
I drive down the road and memories come that I haven’t thought about in years, or ever. All positive. It is as if he is orchestrating our story, set out in front of me in memories and placing people, places, things in my path. It is really quite beautiful. My heart fills with joy and I laugh, and sometimes I talk to him.
A couple weeks back I was on my way home from Boston, postsurgery appointment. This was only days after I had found out about his passing. All the way home I was crying, and talking to him. The battle of denial and reality was still evident in my thoughts and actions. As I drove into Erving, MA to make the right turn over the mountain I realized my music wasn’t playing. Music is a vital part of my life. It can work better than a tranquilizer! I looked down at my stereo and watched my volume go up to 10 then down to 0, then up to 8, then down to 0. I kept looking at it, is this really happening? Is this you telling me you are okay? And then the song “Knocking on Heavens Door” came on. I pulled over and cried. The cynical part of me doubted, started to think about what would make my volume/lcd do that. I am like this. I have had profound spiritual experiences and I believe. But as time goes along they sometimes fade away, or I place them on the back burner because I’m AFRAID to believe. Jim of all people would know how to get my attention, he knew how important music is to me. I came home and meditated and that night my dreams of him were so surreal. I asked him, please hold me one more time…. just one more time, isn’t this something we all say when we have lost someone? Just one more glimpse, one more hand holding, one more hug, one more conversation…. That night when I finally got to sleep he was in my dreams, and he held me. The details of his eyes, the warmth and molding of how my body fit into his, the way he smelled, everything was layed out so perfectly, vividly. He did give me what I wanted. He held me again.
Be careful what you ask for, and if you have an addictive personality, or hell, maybe this is just normal, but waking up from the dream, to the reality that he has passed brought on more pain. Sighs. One more time, one more time, one more time…. But over a couple of hours (after forcing myself to get out of bed because I just wanted to fall back to sleep, to go back there with him) I was able to turn the pain over to gratitude . He DID hold me again, and he was so full of light, sunshine, he looked wonderful and he sounded so happy. This has helped me tremendously.
I have shared the experience with my stereo with a couple friends. A week and a half later while sharing it with another friend I stopped dead in my tracks. What is wrong she said? My eyes teared up, nothing…. but I walked over to my mother and said Mom, we started dating on 10/8. Replaying the stereo volume going up to 10, back to 0, up to 8, back to zero. It hadn’t occurred to me that the numbers had any significance. I haven’t wanted to share this in my blog because I didn’t want nonbelievers or critics to dirty or taint this for me. But today I feel stronger and feel it IS important to share this. To NOT put this on the back burner, to NOT allow the cynic in me to poopoo it, and to share this experience with others so that perhaps this will help them in some way.
Jim often joked with me about being a witch. Not like bitchy or ugly, but I sometimes possess a sixth sense, if you will. I sometimes would chalk it up to women’s intuition, or poopoo that too. At times it has really frightened me. It doesn’t anymore. But I do not practice this, nor have I worked on honing it. I just accepted that this is part of me. I honor that part of me. It is a very private part of me that by writing this blog I am sharing something that I hope I do not regret. But if I have learned only one thing in the past year it is to say what you need to say, and that I really do want to let people know who I am. I am shedding the shell and accepting myself for who I am, forgiving myself for stupid things I have done, and celebrating that today I am alive. This very moment as I write this blog my heart is celebrating this sunshiny day. A day that my plans changed early on, but played out just as it was supposed to.
My grief has taken its tole on my body. Rarely have I slept and my thought process is back down to one task at a time. But it is getting better. Each day I feel stronger, and each day I come closer to acceptance. When I do not accept reality as it is, my life becomes unmanagable, my peace and serenity disappear and anxiety rules. I have a choice to not allow this to happen. I have the ability to choose the easier healther path. I will do this, but as some very endearing friends have said to me… in your time, Donna, and god’s time.