A Huge Part of Who I Am

I’m just about finished packing up my stuff for my move in with Jonathan, who, by the way, I got engaged to two weeks ago.

Even though I love Jonathan, this major life change has not been an easy one to prepare for. There are things of Chris’ I had been holding onto for the past five-plus years, that had been buried in the crawl space of my current apartment. I sifted through the rubble of “used to be” and surprised myself with how much stuff no longer held meaning for me. On the flip side, I melted down again and again over the stuff that still does hold quite a bit of meaning for me, and placed it into a brand new waterproof storage box to store at Jonathan’s house. Everything I have left that once belonged to Chris now fits into one plastic box, a time capsule of a part of my life that held immense joy…followed by immense dread, anguish, and five years and eight months (and counting) of grief-induced loneliness for my lost love.

I often talk about the magical (and fictitious) “one year of firsts” that everyone seems to think follows the death of a loved one. The firsts never end, unless life ends. I’m about to move in with a man I love for the first time since Chris died, a fact I have been simultaneously celebrating and grieving. My apartment has become an asylum of sorts, a place for me to cry, laugh, fall, get back up and scream. I’m happy every time I think about Jonathan and depressed every time I think about Chris. I wear a brilliant diamond engagement ring on the ring finger of my left hand, the hand closest to my heart. I wear my engagement ring from Chris, and both of our wedding bands which I had soldered together on my right hand. I think about both rings and I sometimes feel handcuffed by them. I haven’t decided yet whether or not to keep my right-hand rings on. Jonathan is a very generous, supportive, sweet man who tells me I should keep both of my rings, since Chris was such a huge part of who I am, today. Then he tells me he loves me because of who I am, today. Brings tears, doesn’t it? That kind of patience and understanding is just what I need.

I’m ready, Jonathan. I’m ready for something. And I don’t have to be ready for a lifetime of love. I only have to be ready to step outside my door.