Recently a friend asked me, not unkindly, whether I thought I could ever let go of Mike.
If it were asked by someone I did not know as well, I would have thought they were asking me "When do you think you will stop grieving?" But no, I am certain this was not what they meant.
Thinking on this question now, I realize I should have asked more questions. "Let go" can mean so many things.
Do I see myself letting go of my grief? I do not think I can let go of my grief, even if I wanted to. Grieving is simply my current state of being. I did not choose it, and it is not in my nature to deny it. And although it may not seem like it, I know that God is working on transforming my grief.
Can I let go of Mike's memory? No, certainly not.
Can I release my hold on our shared history? No, our shared history is part of who I am.
Can I ever stop thinking of myself as still being married to Mike? This one is tricky. I know that our marriage vows no longer hold, but Mike still has my heart.
I do not know how I will feel in the future. I have learned never to say "never". (When I was young, I swore I would never date a "Mike", but God has a sense of humor.)
So we will wait on God's plans for me.
Mike has been so very special to me. When I reflect back on our life together and the quality of our relationship, I can only call myself "blessed".
I knew Mike for most of my adult life. When he died, I had known him for exactly half my life. (I did the math.) He was my teacher, my friend, my helper, my lover, my partner, my co-parent. He fascinated, challenged, and supported me in all the ways that helped us both grow together.
Years from now, I doubt I will think any less of him. I doubt that I will love him any less.
I do think that I have room in my heart to love again. If God wills it and the stars align and Mercury is in retrograde... and I meet the right person. Ha ha.
I jest, but having two children has taught me that my heart is big enough. When I was pregnant with our second daughter, I worried that I wouldn't love her as much as her older sister.
At the time, I lamented, "I love her so much, I cannot imagine loving someone else in the same way!"
And yet, from the moment I met my younger daughter, I have loved her fiercely. Just as I love her sister.
Love does not get canceled out by loving another. By design.
And so I can expect the same for another man. Even if it seems unthinkable right now. Someday. When I am ready. If God wills it.
And if not? I am content. Because lightning struck when I met Mike, and the light of our love carries me forward, even after his death.
Truly, it feels too much to wish for lightning to strike a second time.
(I am not worthy!)
For now, I am leaning into my grief, trusting in its lessons to love myself, to be more gracious, to be grateful, no matter my circumstances. And to have hope in my future.
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