I Hope

Riding the redline to Cambridge, yesterday, I became fixated on two young ladies who were sitting across from me chatting. Each of them had luggage and they were conversing about their travels. Suddenly I found myself longing.

I remember what life felt like when nothing horrible had ever happened to me. I, too, sat talking with friends about topics that seemed so much more important than they do now. I walked around the city with a carefree skip in my step and a light mind. I could breathe in the air, then, without immediately spitting it out along with the survivor guilt-toxins that now contaminate my mind and body. I yearn to go back there and since I can’t go back in time, I must find a way to go forward into a new form of that soft and gentle state of being. And I must come to a place where I can believe that Chris’ feelings wouldn’t be hurt by such a brash move on my part. I don’t know why I can’t believe what others believe, that Chris only wants me to be happy. If he was alive, I would believe that. I did believe that when he was here. Somehow, I have never been able to let go of the responsibility of taking care of him. I still try to, even though it will never matter, again. I have become some sort of martyr-freak, overly concerned with the feelings of a dead person.

I know this spring is going to be wonderful. I know this spring is going to be followed by a wonderful summer and that both seasons are going to be filled with lots of physical activity for me. Running, biking, walking, hiking and just being out of doors. I can feel it, already in the way that the sun comes up earlier and sets later and in the way that I can shed my horrible winter coat that I bought when Chris was still alive. I’m going to donate it this year and rid myself of that coat of grief-armor. This year, the sun will come back into my life. I hope.