You may have to bear with me, I think this is going to be a little more disjointed than usual.
I feel like I should put one of those "viewer discretion advisories" at the top... "the following may contain graphic depictions of grief."
When I first received the heart-shaped relic of Joanne, I stumbled a bit with what to call it. "Joanne's heart?" "Joanne's relic?" "Joanne's memorial?" Recently I've noticed I've settled into calling it my heart. She is, literally, inside "my heart" forever, as she should be. It also feels right that "my heart" is not inside my chest; symbolically, it has been torn out. (Does that mean that when I am missing Jo and press "my heart" against my chest, I am symbolically trying to put it back in?)
[Unzip my body, take my heart out]
I have this innate sense that all life is sacred, even my own, and interconnected in the sense that we are all, in the end, pieces of God. Within the interconnectedness, I also have Joanne's idea that everything happens for a reason, even if we don't know the reason and even if the reason isn't about us. The net result of this is that I don't believe in "ending it all" myself.
But that doesn't mean I'm not ready for this to be over so I can be with my sweetie again.
It's oddly freeing, if I think about it right. I don't need to be afraid of anything anymore. So what if something kills me? Then it kills me. Death can take me the same place it took Joanne. I don't need to worry about death, if it comes then it does.
I don't need to be afraid of pain, of suffering--in a sense that's real enough to me, I'm walking around carrying my heart in my hand. What pain can the world possibly show me that is worse than the pain I already have? I don't need to worry about pain. I've already survived the unsurvivable, three times now by my count.
I don't need to worry about anything anymore. There's nothing left for me to worry about.
I get off into this mood, and then it feels silly to me that I am all fixated on building our retirement funds, when I'm sort of hoping I don't have to be here that long.
But I might be. We never know these things. I was reading something this morning, a quote from an atheist writer, that uncertainty was a beautiful thing, because where there was certainty, there was no more possibility.
My life still has possibilities. All I can do is see where all it takes me before it gets to the end.