The first anniversary of my partner's death was March 26, 2025. As the day approached, I felt sadness visiting me more frequently. I've thought about how much I missed his smile and laughter, his hugs and kisses, his presence. The night before the anniversary I was in my room, wondering how I could have possibly survived a whole year without seeing him. And did I want to survive another? Honestly, right after he passed away, I told myself that if I really didn't want to feel the pain anymore, I could go out the same way he did. I could choose to end the pain. It brought me comfort to know I could end my suffering whenever I wanted to, even if I didn't actually want to go through with it.
Over this past year though, I realized that I can end my own suffering without ending my life. When I feel sadness over losing my loved ones, I lean into that pain. I cry as hard and as much as I need to. I feel it. I let it loose. I honor my pain because that pain is a reminder of how deeply I loved and was loved in return. It doesn't matter that that love didn't manifest "perfectly" while he was alive. We did our best with what we had and what we knew at the time. When I honor my sadness and pain by acknowledging them, and not resisting them, they feel just as important and beautiful as my joy. Because they are just as deeply connected to the love I shared with someone.
The night before the anniversary, as I was hurting and wondering if I could go on, I sensed a very clear statement. It said, "You don't have to be sad about this just because you expect it to be sad." And that sudden, clear statement stopped me. I had to pause to wonder where it came from and what it meant. And in that pause, my sadness lifted enough for me to find peace in it. It reminded me of something my partner told me a long time ago when we moved into our first place on our own together. He'd said "Only you can make yourself happy." At the time, I didn't agree with him. But eventually I realized how true it was. I'd learned the lesson Dennis wanted me to learn. So, I decided to put it into action. I decided to do a creative ritual of sorts to honor him on the anniversary. Dennis was a creative person. His favorite way to express his creativity was music. He even had a short song he made inspired by his feelings for me. It sounded a little bit like "Over the Hills and Far Away" by Led Zeppelin. It was beautiful. Thankfully, I have a video clip saved of him playing it, because I miss hearing him play it for me in person.
My preferred creative outlets are painting and writing and crafting. I had been wanting to do a specific painting to honor Dennis for a while now, and the anniversary of his departure was the perfect time to do this. I wanted to paint him as The Green Man, because I like to imagine that Dennis, or at least part of him, has become a forest entity in the afterlife. He loved the woods so much. It was a huge part of his life and identity.
I did this painting while listening to a playlist of some of the songs he showed me over the years.
After finishing the painting, I felt great. Still inspired, I felt like writing. Dennis sometimes asked me why I didn't write more. He knew I loved to write stories. But I was often paralyzed by a desire for my writing to be perfect. I realize there is no such thing. Perfection lies in how well and to what extent we embrace and apply our own imperfections. The result is then received and measured by imperfect others and takes on new life we cannot control anyway. The process of creating something is sacred, regardless of what comes of it. But I find that as I partner with the universe and my inner voice, I end up creating out of love. Everything that comes from that union is something I love as well.
After I finished writing, I sat in silence, sort of meditating. I sensed a presence again, and this presence was guiding me towards focusing on something, but I'm not sure what. I didn't know what was happening until I found where my focus was being pulled. I blinked rapidly and suddenly felt VERY present in my own body. "There you are," I heard from within. It was incredible. It was just like that sense of oneness, that state of awakening I've written about before, only with my eyes and my mind alert. Colors and forms around me suddenly seemed brighter, more alive. And the best part was that presence of something "other" stayed with me and was part of me. It felt like my ancestors and everyone I've ever loved were near, including people I didn't even know in this life. It felt like heaven on Earth.
I turn 33 tomorrow. It's supposed to be a significant birthday, the "Jesus Year" or the beginning of the "midlife crisis". 33 is also associated with rebirth, transformation, and spiritual guidance. So another major anniversary for me coming up. My family has been asking me what I want to do for my birthday. Honestly though, I just want to exist. I'm content to see what gifts the universe brings me that day.
Add comment
Comments