I can feel Rett slipping away from me, and I have to say my feelings are ambiguous. I know that you probably don't understand this, but that is how it feels. I still miss him and what he brought to my life, or more specifically what he represented in my life. When something has been around you, pretty much 24/7 for nine (just realized the significance of that) months, you'd miss it too.
On the positive side - he is not occupying my thoughts all the time, it just comes in short waves now, unlike two months ago when it was tsunami-like. They still are overwhelming, but they don't knock me down. It is the oddest thing, because there is no warning, no provocation, they are just there. But they are fewer and farther between.
The co-incidences are still happening, but I am able to embrace them now. On Tuesday night, I was out Christmas shopping with a friend, and I needed Christmas cards. I saw that they were 50% off, so I went over to investigate. There right in front of me amongst all the choices was a box with a cardinal on the front - first one I saw. I had to buy them because...it was meant to be.
On the negative side - he is slipping away, and I will be alone again with my memories, and that makes me sad. It always feels better when you have someone to share your memories. I know my friends are growing weary of my stories and soon I will have to stop, and it is a conscious act, not sub-conscious one. Your mind starts to think of something you want to share and you think "No, that's enough...they have heard it all before."
A friend of mine recently told me that you have to share (with people you feel safe) your story of great grief, at least ten thousand times. She was of course exaggerating, but she meant you have to tell it as many times, as you have to, until you feel better. The greater the grief, the greater number of times you need to share.
Ten thousand sounds about right.
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Never weary of being a friend. I'm here for you.
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