It’s been six and a half years, and not a minute has gone by that I haven’t missed him. I still get the wind knocked out of me when I see his photos. I still want to scream with all my might when I recall that he’s gone from this dream I’m still living; from this canvas we were creating. Now the colors run a little; everything that appears in the story in the present, future and even past memories, is undeniably hued by his absence – as it was by his love.

On days when I miss him the most, meditation and prayer hurts. The moment I am in touch with my spirit, in the way that a limb aches when the blood flows after it’s fallen asleep, my soul is sore. I feel all of my life and energy flowing through me like a beam of light on a powerful wind, and I feel the length where he was torn away from me. And it hurts there, where so much love is pouring out of his absence. It makes me cry. The rest of the world now receives this love, meant for him, sent out to every corner of the galaxy, seeking his beloved face.

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And that’s a really beautiful thing that’s come out of this. I often wish that this better version of Amelia I’ve become could have been available to Manny when he was alive.  I’m a little more patient, much more understanding and supportive, and warmer and more available than before. I’m also more intuitive, and I hope better at finding the words, when someone else needs help. My priorities have shifted so dramatically, and from where I sit, the whole world is transformed. I still screw up all the time, and I’m combative this year, as I found my anger for the first time in my grieving journey – but I’m trying hard, and mostly I hope I’ve become a better person. I have realized that being really engaged is important, every choice counts. I throw away the stray trash that a stranger left out, I’m careful to try to be considerate and go further than I’m comfortable to be, as much as I can. I used to use that “push” energy toward fame and fortune as a professional singer, which doesn’t matter to me at all anymore. My ego has dried out quite a bit.  What I’m driven to do now is to make things better where I can help, because that’s what my sweet Manny did, and now there are shoes to fill.

And the more I look, the more I find survivors pulsing out that same message:

I am healing. Overwhelmed with love, I want to help.

The way I see it, we can either choose to entertain the negativity that occurs with grieving, or we can use the pain as a variety of tools to build up; to build others, society, ourselves. Negative occurrences are an undeniable part of life, but we don’t have to dwell on them. We feel them, instead, and we keep marching. And when the pain is so great that you can’t march, you crawl along. If you can’t crawl, you just breathe. And when you can’t breathe, you love yourself by giving yourself time to be.

Namaste, my dear ones. I know a little of what you’re going through. I send out my love to lift you up. I want you to feel better.

 

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