Two years ago today my life was very different than today. Two years ago today I lived in the suburbs outside of Seattle and had no pets (except for a few recalcitrant fish). Two years ago, I watched one of the brightest lights in this universe fade and quietly extinguish. Two years ago today, I was possibly the unhappiest girl in the world... an unhappy girl burdened with a deep, heavy love and promises that I had no idea how to fulfil. Breathing in and out took all my concentration.
That was two years ago. This is now.
Today I live in an idyllic woodland setting, a place that feels more like home to me than anywhere else I've lived (except maybe a small Hungarian village). Today I have two amazingly loving dogs, Nino and Smoke, and a sweet cat, Midnight (yes, she's back - more on that later), and a guy who brings a different, though brilliant light to my life. Today breathing feels natural. Today, despite tribulation, I'm happy.
There is still this horrible ache, an ache of absolute longing, and there are still promises to keep (and miles to go before I sleep). The biggest difference is that I can appreciate the journey, if not fully understand it.
I couldn't have made it through without a great deal of love and support from all camps, with out my very own brand of somewhat passively gritty determination, and and especially not without the words of the man who taught me to not only be myself, but love myself. "Be a woman of honor," he said. "Become the woman I've seen and loved best all along." They are words that gave birth in the midst of death.
Here's to you, John. You may not be here to hold my hand, but you will always hold my heart. I love you always in all ways.
Here's to The Journey. Wherever we go, there we are... together.