I have to

I make people uncomfortable. 

As honest and open as I am here, I'm the same in person and that makes people cringe. Not everyone but I have a pretty good knack at reading people, observing their behavior and mannerisms, noting when they are queasy after they've digested a bit of my reality. 
This habit (gift) especially picked up after Christopher died. The majority of people I have encountered in the past 8 months have been strangers, acquaintances, people I haven't seen or spoken to in years beyond the realms of social media. In these meetings, it goes one of two ways, we are an instant connection or we aren't. 

To the ones that I have made uncomfortable or uneasy, I'm sorry. 
I know I'm intense. 

My life is intense.

I say things without regret, and I try to live my life this way now. I'm sorry my pain and hurt is worn with ease. I've grown accustom to this hurt and instead of wearing it as a hooded cloak, I wear it as a cape. 
You see, I want my two children to know that their pain, their agony is not to be determined by your comfort level. I want you to know that one day you're going to experience this level of pain and that you can still live a beautiful life. Side by side. Pain and joy. They can exist together. 
That one day you may be just as intense as I am. It can happen in an instant. I don't say these things out of malice or ill will. 
I was abruptly reminded of how quickly life can turn a corner and want to share my journey so if you ever go down this path, you'll meet a kind, friendly face. 
Actually, you'll meet multiple friendly faces. 

This is what I do know to be true. 

Our paths won't be the same, similar but never identical. The hurt, the pain, the longing, the intense, overwhelming sadness that you thought you were immune to. That will be the same. 
It comes, it goes but it will always be there. The quotes, the mantras, the books, the glimpses of grief that have been shared, it is all true. 

Wear it proudly. 

No shame or regret, after all "where there is deep grief, there was deep love" and as uncomfortable as that makes some, I will never stop speaking or sharing my deep love. It is vast and wide and we've only skimmed the surface. 

Groundhog Day

This is it. 

I feel it in my bones. 

The rebirth has begun. If you aren't sure about what I'm speaking about, it's the awakening. 
That moment where everything clicks. I can see things for what they are and the bull shit doesn't matter anymore. 

I'm alive. 

I haven't felt this way, ever. I didn't know I could feel this way. I had no clue that feeling this way, after everything I've been through, was even possible. 

It is. 

If you don't believe me, let's sit down, have a conversation and you'll start to. 

The whole 

"Life is possible after death." 

guru, mantra,cat swinging from a tree on a motivational poster. 

It's real. 

There is deep, deep grief. There is pain. There is a heartache. 
Heartbreak. 
That I'll never be able to put into words, but it's there. I'm just owning it. I've "leaned into the struggle" as my therapist calls it and it is working. 

I'm realizing the more I lean in, the more I pay attention and respond to those responding to me, the better I'm getting. This is what my life is now. I can't change that. The old Lindsey is gone, dead, nada. And that's okay. 

I like

I love 

this version MUCH MUCH better. 
Even with the pain, even with the struggle. It's real and I'm real. 

I'm alive. 

THAT is what matters.

I didn't always feel this way, I also realize that the pain, it's going to return. Death, sadness, heartache, disappointment. Those all come along with the territory. 
Love, imagination, devotion, sincerity, honesty, mindfulness, giving and receiving those feelings. 
Even if for just a brief moment.
Those are all worth the struggle. 
If it takes walking through hell to come back, feeling this way, and getting to live and love as much as I have and have been in return. I'd do it all again. Just like Bill.

So watch out now, we're about to change the world.