In a recent discussion with my physiatrist (because I am proudly taking care of my mental health by taking necessary medication), she remarked how much more stable I’ve been doing over the past few months.
And this is true—I am feeling stronger and more organized in general; more focused and happy in my life than when I first moved here.
And while I can attribute some of the clarity and ability to focus to the meds I’m taking, I also realize how much comes from finding a sense of meaning in my life.
I started this website and blog just months after Adrian’s death, and I think this was one of the main reasons I was able to function throughout that first year. Because when I felt angriest and weakest, I wanted to write about it. I wanted to write about him, and my feelings, and the pieces of that immeasurable experience that sometimes even now rip into my heart as if his death is happening all over again.
And I value those feelings. As much as I hurt, and as much as it can be painful to revisit those experiences, they are also part of me. They are part of him. And I refuse to ignore the hard parts when those parts are so inextricably tied to his life and my love for him.
And because of this love, I create for him. I write for and about him. I share things for other people. I start new projects and don’t get tired of them. (And some of the best projects are still yet to come.)
And in this way, I find meaning in my life without him. Not meaning in his death, because there isn’t any meaning to be found there. But meaning in how I honor him.
And I find meaning, especially, in the worlds of meaning inherent in making that distinction.
Shareable graphics:
