Letting Go

I believe there is a reason for everything. I believe there is a greater power and that greater power knows the master plan. I believe that love burns eternally and that where there is love, there is strength and courage. I believe that love conquers all, that it never dies and that lost loves find each other again.

Tonight was supposed to be my first night attending a young widow support group in Andover. I almost began attending a year ago and tonight, once again, I almost began attending.

I announced to my coworker, Diane, where I was going this evening and what followed was a most emotional conversation which began with her telling me I had to stop drudging up the past and move on, segued into an explosion of my venom-filled defenses aimed straight at her eyes and ended with a feeling of serenity, hope and enlightenment I thought I would never feel again.

She began by telling me that she knew what it was like to lose someone, to which I replied, “If you haven’t lost a spouse, you have no idea what I feel like.” She argued the point causing me to reiterate, slightly more incensed “If you haven’t lost a spouse, you have no idea what I feel like.” Diane kept talking.

I can’t remember our conversation in its entirety because I was so taken aback by what I had initially deemed an attack on my soul, that my body went numb with rage. Trembling, my mouth becoming more dry with each of her stinging, opinionated remarks, I sat trying to gain some ground and defend my stance that I would never, ever get over the loss of my sweet Creej and that she, having only been divorced, could never understand the magnitude of losing the one person in this entire world who meant the most to me, the love of my life. I wanted to cry. For a brief moment, I just wanted to cry. But then the wind changed. Diane calmly and quietly yelled at me and for the first time in a very long time, I began to listen.

I have said many times before that a person does not have to be loud to be yelling and I stand by that conviction. Diane’s eyes yelled at me. Her demeanor yelled at me. Her words cut, repelling me, and I wanted to catch every uninvited, unwelcome shred of unsolicited advice in my mouth and spit it right back into her face.

She, frustrated with me and a little incensed herself, continued to ask the question that many people have asked me over the course of the past year. Some have gingerly tiptoed around it, some have sweetly and lovingly queried, some have asked me simply as a means of opening my eyes and trying to point me in a direction more conducive to my own healing.

“What would Chris want you to do?”

Somehow, today I was ready to answer that question honestly. I know what Chris would want me to do. He would want me to be happy. He would want me to stop crying. He would want success and joy and good things for my future. He would want me to love again, even though it would mean letting him go and if he was watching me over the three days I spent curled up on my couch, hopelessly and uncontrollably sobbing, he would say, “What are ya doing, Shneed?! Get out there. Live your life!”

I believe that he is around me and that he has been waiting for me to let go of him, to begin living my life again and to begin tipping the balance of my laugh/cry ratio. Diane was right. She is right. It’s time.

Instead of attending the young widow support group this evening, I walked Carol’s dog with her and then we went out to dinner. Afterwards, she dropped me off at home.

When I got into my apartment, I felt strange. I could feel energy moving throughout my veins, up and down my arms and legs and in my chest.

I lit my Creejie-candle contained in the beautiful blown glass hurricane lamp Nancy bought us for our wedding. I muted the television, sat before the candle and placed my hands on both sides of the glass. I began caressing the vase just as I caressed my husband and I began to speak aloud.

I told Chris that I had something to say. I told him Diane was right today and I was going to be letting go of him and I told him how scary that is for me. I told him I’m doing it for both of us and that I need to stop crying so much and begin laughing more. I told him my love for him is eternal and that nothing will ever change that, that I know he wants good things for me and that I know he knows that I got the new job and that I know he played a hand in helping me find it.

I added that I need to be free to find love again and if I’m lucky to find love a second time in this lifetime, I know it will never be as strong or as beautiful as the love I have for him, but that I hope it comes close and that he will help me find the right person for me. I told him he is the love of my life and that I meant what I said when he was dying, that I will see him again. Once again, just as I did that day, I asked him to wait for me and meet me when it’s my time. Then I just asked him a few times to hold me. I know he did. He does when I need him to. He carries me when I’m not strong enough to carry myself and he coaxes me on when I’m feeling like I can take a step forward.

He’s not here, in body, with me now, but that doesn’t mean that I should remain in the past just to hold onto him in my white-knuckled horror death-grip. As frightened as that makes me, I cannot deny the truth.

I sat for as long as I needed to. I cried just a little bit, caressing my beautiful candlelit hurricane lamp, a symbol of my love burning eternally for the love of my life. My body trembled. It still does.