Two Years

Earlier this week marked the second anniversary of my husband’s passing. I wondered for days around the date if I should write about it or not – I finally decided to just let it be and gave myself permission to feel it without sharing it.

I’ve shared a lot about this journey over the past two years – I’ve set my emotions loose on the page.  Perhaps this second anniversary is the time for me to sit in acceptance for a moment.  Maybe it’s time to let grief settle, a person can’t rail against it forever.  It’s taken me two years to realize that grief has become as much a part of me as the man I am grieving.

I spent the first few weeks of March working on the collection of blogs which have become the backbone of my manuscript ‘Writing from the Wound’.  I relived an entire year over the course of those days.  I revisited the fear, the anger, the stabbing grief that became my life over those months.  I witnessed my story from the vantage of two years hence and realized that story is now written in past tense.

Two years isn’t that long in the ever after I’m living without him but perhaps it’s far enough that I can look beyond grief when I remember the story of us.  Maybe two years is the bridge to the memories behind the grief.