7 years widowed…

August 22, 2021, 11:11. 

Hello, seven years.  Whoa.

As I have come to learn, grief is a complex landscape - often spanning entire spectrums, or an alchemy of components seemingly at odds. 

Today is no different. Strangely, it comes with a twinge of betrayal that time continues to insert itself in meticulous increments between my last moment with Daniel, and the world that I inhabit now. Confusing too, because I also find comfort and a sense of stability - both of which have been scarce - from knowing that like it or not, ready or not, time does indeed march on. Life does keep rolling forward. Flowers do continue to bloom. And so do I. 

I remember being fascinated when I first heard that the cells in our bodies regenerate every 7 years. Every cell, anew. Imagining fresh, clean slates full of possibilities. But today, that fun fact makes me ache a bit with the realization that most of the cells in my body have not felt what it feels like to hum, and buzz, and twirl, and resonate with the energy of my mate. 

Last night I couldn’t sleep. Not a wink. Finally admitting to the sadness as the 7-year mark was about to tick by unceremoniously. So I lay there in my cozy bed, Chili Pepper snuggled in close, watching the almost-full moon…as my cells listened to all the sweet stories of love, life, grief, hopes, and dreams that still reside in the breast bones and the fascia of my heart. 

And I renewed my pact with the universe, that I will continue to whole-heartedly cast myself out into this beautiful life. Heart wide open. Staying curious. New cells and all. 

Because I can. Because I am here and life truly is glorious and precious.

But also because I will forever be inspired by the indomitable spirit of a certain Honey Monkey Boy; Daddy Fish; Warrior of Love, Fire & Shnacks; Rockstar-to-my-heart. And the depths by which he squeezed every last adventuresome drop out of this experience of being human. 

But also, still, FUCK.

💗💗💗