Permission

I was paging through Vision Magazine this morning, half-watching Ada play on the computer, reading article after article on gratitude, when a story told by Marla Brucker made me pause. (pertinent bits below)

I had a grandmother who lived past the age of 100….One morning while I was in my room getting dressed, I heard my grandmother from the adjoining bedroom sending kisses and talking to herself. I thought, okay, she’s old. So I peered inside her room and noticed that she was still lying in bed, gently rubbing her ring finger, kissing it while saying, “I love you, don’t hurt.”…She proceeded to tell me that…she has arthritis in her finger and it really hurt. She could either be angry that it hurt or kiss it and love it in the hopes that it would go away; and within three weeks, her arthritic pain left her.

There was an almost audible click in my brain. While I feel immense gratitude for my body’s recovery and the physical strength I do have, I certainly don’t send it love regularly – never mind out loud, accompanied by kisses. Recently I’ve been gifted with messages of love and reminders that my body is grieving too. I know this but I still expect much of myself, so much that I constantly fail to live up to. I keep working to simplify my life. I still can’t keep up.

So – deep breath – until the move is complete, I am giving myself permission to not post every day. I’m giving myself permission to write whatever comes up without needing to edit for public consumption. My meditations are non-negotiable now due to my 1000 day practice so something has to give if I’m going to pack my house up and not crumple into a sobbing, broken heap on an hourly basis.

I know the expectations to write here daily are mine. When I began writing about life after Benjamin, I wanted to capture the dailiness of grief, all the little moments we are quick to forget alongside those big overwhelming ones. My intention still holds, and I have to give myself room to breathe. As much as I want the necklace, I am, unfortunately, not a superhero.

To all of you who have sent me words of encouragement and support lately, thank you. They help me breathe.

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3 Responses to Permission

  1. oh, sugar, you’re right: you’re not a superhero. you’re a superSHEro, necklace or no.

  2. Mo says:

    Hello lady. Sending healing love. Shit sure does happen. ………………………, I can’t say anything at all that could possibly help, but sending healing love anyways.

  3. Jessica M. says:

    (((hugs))) Much love to you… I moved shortly after losing Riley – it wasn’t easy.

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