I hear so many voices advising thankfulness, mindfulness, appreciation, grace. I used to be one of these people. I used to be happy.
I don’t know how to make peace with my life today. I don’t feel excitement. I look forward to nothing but solitude.
In yoga nidra this evening, we were asked to picture a man in our mind with which to share our practice, to connect. My mind pictured you.
I will never see you walk, or smile, or know the color of your eyes. I will never know the man you would have grown to be. In practice, I could only see the back of your head, your short but messy dirty blonde hair.
When I think of thankfulness, all I can think of is the time I had with you. The whispered conversations. The whoosh of your first movements. The tactile knowledge of your hands, and your face, and your very active feet. The moments I sat overflowing with love at the very thought of you. Happiness. Peace. I’m thankful the most that I was so very present for every moment of my life with you.
If my life were a book, it was written in reverse, with a happy beginning, and nothing at the end. This is nothing. This is the ache of holding the emptiness where you should be.
This is where I live now.
My new therapist said I might be depressed. It’s definitely a possibility.
I love you.