As a widowed woman who is ten years out and considers herself a ‘veteran’, I thought I knew all there was to grief.
How arrogant of me.
I had grieved my husband’s death, or so I thought.
I was there when he took his last breath.
I was there when his casket was lowered in the ground.
Settled his estate.
Packed away his clothes.
Sold his car.
Bought jewelry to symbolize my love for him.
Raised his children.
But yet I’d never said good-bye.
I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
And so I apologized for the things I did and said.
I asked for forgiveness.
I wrote letters telling him of new developments. Talked to him about our kids. Asked his advise on life.
I watched for signs and confirmations.
I did all of the above.
But never said good-bye….
And then it came time ten years later to go to grief counseling.
I’d avoided doing this like the plague.
It represented finality, as if his death wasn’t sufficient enough.
But as I sat with my grief counselor last friday afternoon and she asked me what I wanted to end our session with;
She asked me if I wanted to participate in a ritual called the ‘cosmic post’.
It was a place to write a letter to your loved one and ‘send it to them’.
A place to let go. Release. Express.
The ONE thing I had not done….
Was close the chapter of our time, our love, our marriage.
But Friday I was ready…
I cried as I sat in the chair writing.
I wrote. And paused. Cried. Released.
Wrote some more…
Tissue, pen, paper and tears.
I love you Ali,
I’ll always love you,
But it’s time.