This morning I was drinking my coffee and I realized I felt…normal.
It’s been weeks since I’ve broken down sobbing. Since some little thing reminded me of him and broke me inside. Since I felt the darkness of grief so deeply that I couldn’t breathe. I cry, sure, but not the guttural type of crying. Not the kind that brings me to my knees.
I don’t imagine I’ll ever move on. There’s no moving on from grief. Everyone tells me those stages are nonsense. But maybe I’m in a place where I have accepted it. I can make it a whole day without bouncing rapid fire from one emotion to the next. I don’t sob over the washing machine because it’s just my clothes in the laundry.
Now something can remind me of him and I can smile at the memory. It’s beginning to feel like I was blessed to have him, rather than robbed to have him taken away.