Year Three

Hotel Cecil - Rome, Italy

I realized this weekend that I no longer measure my years from January 1, but rather from June 1. June 1, 2023 was the first day of my life after Cecil died. That first year was so much about getting through all the firsts, with the incredible, irrational belief that somehow after all the firsts were over, it would somehow be easier.

Year Two taught me that easier is not guaranteed, nor does it last. Easy day, hard day, empty day, happy day, sad day; with very little way to anticipate what twist or emotional turn will be next. Year Two also taught me that Cecil will always be with me. Whether it is a sign in a restaurant in New Orleans,

High Hat Cafe, New Orleans, Louisiana

Or a hotel on a random street in Rome, there will be a reminder, feeling like a gift from the cosmos telling me he will never really be gone.

But Year Two also taught me that memories can be a comfort or a scourge. That grief will not be denied, and if I don't allow myself to feel all the feelings my body will rebel.

I stepped out of my comfort zone in so many ways, and had wonderful new life experiences, and made beautiful new memories.

I learned to live around the pain and the sadness. I accepted that the trying is the important part. I continue to struggle with incredible loneliness, I don't think I will ever like coming home and finding no one to share my experiences with other than my dogs. But I can't imagine embarking on a new relationship either.

I fill my days as best I can with volunteer work and chores and hobbies. My daughter and son-in-law spend a lot of time with me, and that is a gift. The busier I stay, the less I struggle.

But I still feel like I have dropped into a foreign country with no map. I go places and do things and none of it feels right. But I keep trying. Because as I said earlier, the trying is important.

The window of time from March to June is heavy. I feel the weight of all the sad things that happened in this window in 2023. I thought it would be better this year, but it was just the same. A suffocating sorrow, day after day.

And then it is June. And just like in 2023, there is relief. I physically feel different than I have felt for the past three months. I don't understand it. But I know what I feel.

I don't know if next year will bring the same darkness, but I will prepare for it, just in case. Trying to act like I was okay wasn't a good strategy. So at least I can avoid the physical complications of suppressing all that emotion.

But for today, I am doing better. And that is enough to be grateful for.