I’ve been having a number of small epiphanies lately.
The first started with my counselor. Oh. I forgot to mention (or really, have just been too fricken busy to blog) that I finally got in to see a counselor. Lovely lady. Just who I need. Doesn’t sugar coat. Doesn’t have that soft gentle let’s be nice crap that a lot of counselors do. She’s kind… but blunt and to the point.
So the first epiphany.
I GET TO BE PICKY.
Seems like common knowledge doesn’t it? I get to be picky.
If I want a redhead who wears glasses, laughs like the “Navigator” and is passionate about fishing…. well… I’d mostly be trying to replace my husband.
But if one of my deal breakers is that he’s shorter than me…THAT’S OK. Because I get to be picky.
if I expect that whomever I’m involved with will be living caring and supportive on my wedding anniversary when I’m crying over a dead guy…. THAT’S OK. Because I get to be picky.
If I want to wear my pendant with my husband’s ashes in it on a date and I expect my date to be ok with that, THAT’S OK. Because I get to be picky.
You see…. I’m who I am. I love deeply. I love strongly. And I love to a depth that will affect me for the rest of my life.
I have family, friends who cringe when I post things about my husband’s death. They grieve in their own way. For me… the memories don’t go away if I don’t share them. They fester. They infect and inflame and I end up laying on my bed again wondering why I bother.
They can grieve how they want. I will grieve in a way that I need to. As hard as I need to. As long as I need to.
And anyone I’m involved with will have to accept that.
Because I’m allowed to be picky.
I got lucky with my dead guy. He was amazing. I wasn’t picky…. it was happenstance.
This time…. I am going to be picky. Because there are other men/women out there who are just amazing as my dead guy.
And he or she is looking for me.