Last week, sitting in front of a class of first graders, I silently pleaded with the document camera to focus. Focus so that no more sticky 6 year old hands would shoot into the air so the innocent eyed owner could declare that the words were blurry again, and again, and again..... It didn't focus. Up shot 24 anxious little hands.
Fast forward to today where I am trying to push the focus button on my life....and on the thoughts coming out of my head. Instead of crisp, detailed words, I'm battling a blur of unkept emotion streaming from an unclear series of events.
Pre Sabrina, didn't believe in signs. Post, I believe strongly in signs. Some may view it as a stretch to find connection with those who have moved beyond our human existence. Perhaps that's true. Perhaps it's a way for the psyche to deal with empty and new. Many know of a moment I woke up in the midst of some extraordinarily trying times, 'hearing' Chris' voice. Urging me to listen. I didn't. I. Did. Not. I did not understand how imperative listening could be. Back tracking....after Chris died I felt him, his being, in my house for days after. I felt him on my skin, in my heart, holding onto my spirit. Until one morning, I woke and he had slipped away-again. It wasn't that I let go. Surely it wouldn't be because he wanted to go. Absolutely, it was time for me to begin taking steps forward, toward the life I needed to create. As long as he held me I wouldn't have moved. I would have stood motionless in those moments, afraid his spirit would be shaken free by sudden movements. He helped me begin my road toward the immense crevasse of grief which would eventually lead toward my own healing. And, yes, once again, I hesitate to realize the involvement of my own psyche here. Yet, now, I listen. Intently. Often my signs are found on the radio, a commercial, the music playing in the background of a busy bar. Sure, it could be coincidence. However, in my heart, I hear his affirmation and guidance in these moments. Most recently, I heard a song playing on Maya's IPad as she sat at the kitchen counter. My heart had been heavy as I sorted through some of life's....life-i-ess. I hadn't heard the song in years and as it played the tears stung behind my eyes and my heart was heavy. In that moment, in those tears, I found my footing. Perhaps the whole encounter sounds religious. For me, it's spiritual and just plain human. In the past 6 months, I've opened my eyes more to these moments, savored the affirmation on my heart and smiled more got many reasons...
What's amusing to me is that, despite all off this, often, I find myself adding a disclaimer to Chris' death. We were 'only' married 5 1/2 years. We were 'only' together for 8 years. Only. Meaning that his death meant less than had I lost him after 10 or 20 or 50 years. There in is the catch. Fifty years was what I had intended. In the balance of life I've fought the idea of the loss as a failure. Despite this, I would choose that path every time. I would choose that loss every time. I would choose my life, as chaotic and heavy, full and rewarding, every damn time. Even the tears. Who knew I'd become such a crier. It's seriously a bit silly at times.
At the crux, easily I could see myself walking through life focused on how I was screwed, how I didn't react fast enough, how I doubt I'll ever quite be enough for my kids, how I've dealt with horribly narcissistic people the past 5 years. In order to grow and allow space for happiness, I have to let go of the negative, of what's causing drag and leaving the taste of failure on my palate. Truly, living is an awfully big adventure. Focusing....
