Courage

In year one, it was all about surviving. Getting up out of bed, remembering to rest and feed myself… you know, the basic necessities of life. It was all I could do to make sure I made it to the next day, still breathing. There was only space for feeling what came, in the moment it arrived, and thinking the thoughts I was given. There wasn’t energy for creating thoughts, or space for feeling anything extra, which turned out to be really good for me.

As the 2 year mark of John’s death day was approaching there were many thoughts and emotions, most created by me as I forgot all I learned in the first year.

I read about a death day train. The train comes in quick and loud. It wants you to jump on and ride it for the day. On the train there is a heaviness you can’t escape. Needing to run away, but not being able to move. Wanting to be still, but needing to keep moving. I don’t regret having jumped on the train last year, the first year. Hearing it and seeing it, feeling its rumble… This year there was a train and a boat. I wanted nothing to do with the train. Maybe year one there was only the train, or maybe I didn’t see the boat, but now, the boat was definitely there. It was calling my name, begging me to come float. The boat can move fast, it can slow down; it can be quiet or loud. I can ride it for a while then jump into the water, if I desire. Sounds pleasant, doesn’t it?

This day is not something I want to look at and commemorate each year as the day of John’s death. Yes, on June 10, 2016, John took his last breath, but I don’t want to relive the agony of that day, every year, as if his death takes place every year on that day. It doesn’t; you die only once.

Unless of course you’re a super human and in that case you may get a couple shots at death…

I couldn’t treat it as any other day either. It needed purpose… I came to realize (for the 765th time) there is no timeline I must follow. Every feeling known can be felt at any time. Grieving, remembering, loving… are not confined to individual days. The truth is in honoring your heart and feeling what comes as it comes, experiencing every bit of the life you’re given. So came the decision to commemorate John’s life, by living mine. I am still here.

Two years ago, my John died; taking with him the person I knew how to be, the life I had dreamed of living, the person I wanted to love. June 10th, 2016 is the day my life changed course drastically. Suddenly.

I have been carrying her with me, the old me, afraid to let go completely and lose more of what I knew.

I’m new to this still, only 2 years old… Two years of courageous, fearless living. Of pouring love into myself to learn how to walk and talk and breathe… How to sleep again.

John’s death a catalyst; a shove off the cliff, leaving behind the person I was. He shoved me, but I learned how to fly. I walked to this place. I did the climbing, and the falling, and the getting back up to get me here today, to who I am now.

Two years ago, I was born. Did the universe drag me to it and through it? Yes. But here I am. A human being changed by the earth and its cataclysmic events.

In year 2…

I’ve worked hard to piece together my life, with all the new pieces. I’ve spoken truths. I’ve taken risks. I’ve learned how to breathe as this person now. I’ve conquered fears. I’ve reduced the amount of shits I give. I have begun the journey of letting go of the life I dreamed of having, with John. The biggest hurdle has been acceptance; that he is gone, he isn’t coming back, that I don’t get to have a life with him. It’s dreadful, but it’s truth. It’s a mountain I’ll climb daily, until the end of time. It’s a truth I’ll stare into day in and day out. It’s my truth. I had John. I lost John. I’m still here. My heart is still beating. My mind still having thoughts. My soul still reaching for another.

I know, in my bones, I have to keep living and dreaming big dreams. Missing John hasn’t gotten any easier, but I’ve grown accustomed to climbing that mountain. And I choose to keep climbing because at the top, I am rewarded with a beautiful scene of the life I’m living. All these days I have now, are worth every ache of missing him.

 

I’ve awakened each day, breathed every second, remembered every minute. I’ve taken steps daily, laughing every hour. Here I am. I am here. Honoring my heart. Showing it grace. I’ve stepped boldly into this life I have now. Going all in for whatever it has to give me. Whatever I can give to others. Fear has no home here, for I have gained courage and strength. Courage to rise, strength to climb.

I am thankful for my beating heart. For this rock beneath me. For the people who have climbed with me, who stay when I fall, and encourage me to rise again. The ones who see the ache and the joy in my heart and carry no judgement. For John; all that he gave me, all he taught me… For all the love he shared with me. I have all of it within me. All of it to give to others. To keep spreading the love my John gave to me. An infinite supply.

When I woke on the morning of the 10th this year, there was no heaviness. No ache in my gut. No need to cry or run away. I felt certainty. I felt peace. I felt the lightness in my soul. The day closed with no grand event, no miracle; just me, here alive. Breathing, living, and loving.   

Year three, my hope is to take all that I’ve learned about surviving and living and begin to thrive. I hope to continue to feel this peace, and more. To continue to laugh and take risks. To open my heart. To make connections everywhere I look. In this year, I hope to speak loud and clear. That I use my voice to spread love. To be love. I hope that I am present in every moment. That I wake up with courage and go to sleep with love overflowing. That I keep hope in love, breathing deeply into it, and giving of my love freely and passionately. No bounds. No rules. Leaning into the ebbs and flows of life. This is it.

 

Loving courageously,

Olivia🖤