Permission

I like the visual of a log jam in a river to describe how grief can feel sometimes. I’ve talked about feeling frozen about certain tasks and chores. And then the movement of one or two stubborn trees, a log changing angle, a tiny shift can equate to major change and things begin to flow again. The inside of my home is starting to take on some changes. These changes have been tangible, visible, physical, beautiful. They’re also internal.

There’s an internal battle of what is the right way to do this–live without Bryan, live with grief, live with a love and heartbreak so big sometimes I can’t breathe right. I want to honor him, us, Mary. I want to be loyal to his memory and to the life we deliberately built. Slowly, I’m giving myself permission to explore what that means without aggressively “shoulding” on myself. I’m giving myself permission to laugh, joke, smile, create, share, and love alone. It’s not linear and I do it better some days than others.

This weekend, I had friends over for a potluck and held a “happy” party. The garden was resplendent. The food my sister and all the guests cooked was delicious. The conversation was warm and lively. I have friends and family who continue to show up in all the ways that matter.

I’ve said a few times this week “I may be sad, but I’m not dead.” So I continue to live. I continue to hope. I continue to love. And I give myself permission to be happy again.