Reflections on the fifth deathiversary

My Favourite Husband's final resting place.

And just like that: five years. Where did the time go? Cliche and true. 

If someone had told me five years ago that my shattered world would be anything less than pain- filled, I would’ve scoffed. Scoffed in blinding anger. I would’ve said there’s no way this broken woman would be full of life and energy. No way she would be anything less than numb and hollow. No way life would ever again hold the joy of colour, of movement, of love. 

I would’ve said I didn’t want to heal. I didn’t want to feel. I wanted nothing except to remain numb, cold and empty. Angry. Bitter. Wronged by God.

Even then, though, I’m not sure I was completely any of those things. I still felt emotions. I still bled inside. I think I wanted to be all of those things —  angry, bitter, numb — however, I would’ve had to work at not feeling. Work hard at staying angry. I wasn’t prepared to do the work that came from existing and not living. 

And so, these last five years have been about living and moving forward. Slowly at times and with steps both forward and back. It’s been about the mundane — finances and running my household completely on my own. It’s been about looking around for a responsible adult and muttering “damn it” because it turns out I’m the responsible adult. It’s been about not listening for the sound of My Favourite Husband’s (MFH's) footsteps or his deep, rumbling voice or looking for his uber-short responses via text to my epic novel messages. Is “k” even a legit response?

It’s been about deciding I’m worth it, that the shift from "we" to "me" was going to be messy and beautiful. And it was about figuring out what I like and pushing my boundaries. It was about being scared, so fucking scared that I almost chickened out of so many adventures. If I had, though, I never would’ve been a flight attendant. I never would’ve laid on a sand dune in the Sahara desert looking up at a sky full of stars and wishing upon them all. I never would’ve travelled to other places on my own or taken all the courses and classes I’ve taken. I never would be this comfortable doing everything I want to do solo and I never would’ve allowed a pretty incredible man the opportunity to come into my life, sneak a little ways into my heart and do some of those adventures with me. 

All of what I’ve done and more because I was brave enough to say yes to me. Yes to living fully.

The day of MFH’s deathiversary has always been one of reflection. The first few years, the reflection held a lot of pain that was still sharp and raw. So I forced myself into doing random acts of kindness to put love back into the world in his name. The last few years have been softer and gentler. The ache is still there; however, much like a river rock whose edges have been smoothed, so, too, has the sharp pain. Its replacement? Gratitude. 

Gratitude for the years filled with memories that I had. Gratitude for the life lessons I experienced, lessons that have made me a better woman, a better human being. Gratitude for the love that has surrounded me, the care and support I’ve had and continue to have. Love I don’t take for granted. Gratitude for the blessings I’ve given and the blessings I’ve received. 

The flip side to working at being grateful is releasing regret. Regret for things that were never done because I always thought there would be a “some day.” Regret for running out of time. Stopping the longing and the ache for what might’ve been, for time stopping and knowing there would be no more birthdays, no more anniversaries. The only years that could be counted were the years that MFH was gone. And it sucks counting deathiversaries. 

What can never be, though, can never be and so, years ago, I stopped wishing and longing and reframed our time together with gratitude. 

Today my energy was restless so I kept my morning quiet. I heard from some beautiful people who sent me extra love. I heard from the Beautiful Human Being both from the thoughtful gifts he left at my back door and through the loving, kind messages he sent. And the space he gave me. 

I sat in reflection with a calm, deep sense of peace. I wasn’t sad, just called in the gratitude. 

Even though that restless energy kept my mind busy, it was a peaceful busy. Perhaps it was the collective energy from the night in the park during the Lions Gate Portal. Perhaps it was the angel reading I had yesterday, the one where I asked for and received messages from MFH and my Dad. Maybe it’s been because I feel like I’m at a place in my life where I’m being called to expand my world even more, to release the people and the experiences that no longer work in my life and focus my energy on who and what does. And, in all honesty, it’s probably all of this and more. 

So my busy brain, my humming energy and my tired ass decided to continue my tradition of a cemetery visit with a Starbucks. It’s something a Heart Sister suggested when I said I struggled with cemetery visits finding them more upsetting rather than calming. It works. 

I kicked off my Birks, settled onto the grass and chatted. I told him everything and nothing. I think he knows what I’m going to say and I say it anyway. I ask for signs — clear signs — if I need help with anything. Mostly, I soak up the love and the comfort that comes from knowing while this is his final resting place, he’s not there. He’s everywhere. 

I verbalized my gratitude today, like other days. And today I told him about the remarkable man who has come into my life. Someone who I’m ready to let in because of what we had together and what I’ve built on my own. Today I reminded him that I will always love him and that this man is not a replacement for love lost. He is a man who is learning the woman I’ve become now. A woman who is thriving because of the foundation built and lessons learned in our time together. I listened as he spoke into my heart — a reminder of the messages that he sent through my angel reading. The reminder to stop and take a deep breath when life gets too busy. A reminder that I’m worth it all. A reminder the love I have for him, he has for me. And that it’s more than OK to love someone else because my heart has so much love to give. 

I usually go out into the world and do random acts of kindness for the remainder of the day; however, today there was nothing that called me. Instead I came home and decided that I simply needed to keep my heart and eyes open for opportunities to always put love into the world in his memory. I also think maybe my random act of kindness was for me — to allow myself the grace to give and receive freely. To allow myself to learn and grow as I need to. To put out into the world what I want to receive every day and not just on certain days. To embrace opportunities to tell people nice things, to smile freely, to connect and to do my part in making the world a better place. 

Five years is both a lifetime and a blink of an eye. I’m glad no one told me, five years ago, that my life would continue to be beautiful — different and beautiful. I’m glad I got to discover it on my own and through the gifts of love — self-love and love from others — past, present and future. 

Blessed.