“We grow neither better nor worse as we get old, but more like ourselves” May Lamberton Becker
Life after death is a funny thing.
It starts with the aching wanting to die.
Equates, in some cases, to accepting that you won't right away, but you accept that you will do nothing more than merely exist.
Then it may warp into you getting a taste of life through the eyes a friend or fellow widow, through a laugh or a twinkle you see that you thought would never return.
Then you start to step into the world of the living.
Then you step out.
Then you say fuck it and find that you can be happy, again.
You can stop cursing the gods for leaving you in a world without your love,
And start thanking them for giving you the ability to live and flourish after such pain.
But after you decide to live, you start to think what the heck is next.
And you realize that it's not so much that it is difficult to figure out, as it is to imagine.
Fear can jump in. Doubt. All of those buddies that were MIA in the first months of your loss, but came to say hello when they saw you decided to join the human race.
But I've realized that if you wave hello as you walk by those evil little buddies, and walk towards what could be...it becomes a pretty awesome journey.
Freedom. Not giving a heck. The ability to create your future instead of letting others (and their opinions) feel the need to create your blue print....and I could go on.
Basically, the ability to grow up through one's grief.
To learn, make mistakes, get back on the bike, feel lost, but ultimately know that it's all going to be pretty darn awesome.
Maybe it's not growing up through the premature birth of grief that entered unwillingly. Maybe it's becoming the us that we were meant to be all along that just had a long and shitty detour before it's destination.