Sometimes We Lose Our Grip on Hope
When doubt creeps in we turn to faith
I’ve been anticipating this date since the beginning of the month for two reasons.
First, October 24 would have been my soulmate’s 85th birthday.
Second, it marks exactly 9 months since he departed into the spiritual realm.
The symbolism of 9 months does not escape me — the gestation period for a soul to enter a physical body and begin the magical journey of life and spiritual evolution and expression of who we are.
I was aware of how such a significant date could make or break me. Let me rephrase: how I might allow it to break me, or I could choose to embrace it and herald a rebirth within myself.
This morning I awoke feeling resilient and at peace — the same space I’ve occupied for the past 2 weeks. The mourning over, the tears of loss have been replaced by drops of joy at remembering our life together.
Today the clouds had gathered above me as if to honor his memory. The red-eyed dove sang to me as if to say he knows and sends me peace and love. Two grey loeries lingered in the olive tree outside my lounge window, calling kweh-h-h, kweh-h-h, making me laugh because they sound like a child’s squeaky toy saying go-way-y-y — hence their alternate name of the Go-Away bird.
