Is he a gift, Creej?

One year, four months and nine days ago, my sweet Chris Burrage left this earth. This evening, one year, four months and nine days later, I am going on my first date with another man. He is an “other” man.

In some ways, I feel as though I am committing adultery tonight, being unfaithful to my husband and unfaithful to myself, since my husband is still the only man I love.

Still, there is another side to the story.

I like this new man, so far. He found me on Match.com, but I have met him a couple of times before at various musical theater auditions in the area. He is a musical theater director and, as it turns out, I have auditioned for him in the past. This minor fact softens the blow a bit and makes me feel as though I am going to dinner with an old friend. He is very funny and seemingly jovial, quite silly and creative, a Sagittarian, just like Chris, which only means that if things work out, his indecision and constant wander lust will drive me right back into the throes of madness, just like Chris.

Events have occurred over the past year, four months and nine days that have affirmed my belief that our deceased loved ones have the ability and the inclination to guide and to steer us in seemingly fortuitous directions after their departure from this world. I believe that Chris is watching over me, helping me achieve peace and eventual happiness in my life after the crushing defeat I have experienced in the past couple of years since his diagnosis. I believe he still cares very deeply for me and I feel my life becoming easier than ever before.

I don’t know where this man came from, but my plan from the start was to NOT reply to anyone online. I was only there to look and get used to the idea of possibly going on a date. Then suddenly, a man who does what I do for a living loves what I love outside of work and shares my strange sense of humor and love for Broadway enters my scene. How did that happen? Did Chris do it? I don’t know the answer to that question, but I am interested in the fact that the thought enters my mind on a daily basis.

How else did I find the perfect apartment without even trying, find the perfect job, apply, interview and nab it without even trying and find a man who has peaked my curiosity enough to coax me into replying online when that was never in my plan?

I don’t need to believe these things to make myself feel better. I am quite adept at achieving happiness on my own. I have always been capable of survival without the aid of others (The exception, of course, is Chris’ death, and I remain ever-thankful to my friends for carrying me through it.)

Chris wants me to be happy. He is happy, now, and I believe that he is with me, holding my hand, comforting me, patiently urging me onward toward the remainder of my life, which I have not yet begun. He knows. He knows how sad the scheduling of tonight’s date has made me, but he also knows the potential happiness it could bring.

Or maybe it’s just me who knows that.

I want to believe Chris is helping me, but I feel invalidated when others minimize my beliefs into a coping mechanism. I may be confused about whether Chris is helping me or whether I am helping myself, but I am certainly not a person who needs to fool herself in order to move on.

I am happy for tonight for two reasons:

1) It will be nice to sit with a man who can make me laugh again.
2) It will, eventually, be over and I can go home.