These last 18 months I have fallen backwards in a sense, being more dependent on others in my grief. Today I feel older, wiser, more independent, more of the old me. Sundays - particularly Sunday nights - are hard for me. It was a Sunday night when we went to bed anticipating the next day and the joy it would bring when the world changed forever.
Tonight marks 80 weeks.
But I think I feel a small change.
I feel some of the fight in me returning. The old spark. The determination to stick up for myself. The Joy that John loved and admired.
I think part of it is a returning sense of independence, a refusal to let others see my vulnerability and my grief to mean that I am to be told what to do, to be considered less than an adult fully capable of making decisions.
When John was here, he was my buffer. Now I need to stand on my own. And I will. One of the gifts he gives to me.
Thank you, Sweetheart.
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