It was 8 months into my grief counseling when the eyes of my heart saw him. I sat on the couch, the french doors opening to a small patio with leaves swaying in the breeze and the sounds of the city trickling in.
I stopped. Looked outside, and then to the empty space beside me.
He was there where he was not.
I sat, hand open and outstretched, towards the open patio. His hand rested atop mine.
Our fingers were not interlocked. In fact, we weren’t holding hands at all. His palm was gently resting on mine.
As I breathed in, his hand slowly left mine. And he slipped away.
I didn’t try to grasp his hand. Nor did I try to stop him from leaving.
I let him go. Peacefully and without resistance.
As he left, he spoke with no words. He left me knowing I would be okay. He slipped away knowing our children would thrive without him.
And he knew that I knew.
His hand slid across mine. Our fingertips touched, and he disappeared.
Like a father holding onto his little one’s hands as she learns to walk, he let go of me that day.
I walked out of the office knowing I walked tall, strong, with full faith that the rest of this life was mine to live.
And live fully. đź’™
#laughterafterdeath ##lookingintherearviewmirror #itsme #lifebeginsnow