I have noticed that I can listen to music quite a bit now. I've gone from total music abstinence to relying on it for solace. I am not always able to listen to songs that meant something to Rick and me, but I can listen to others, even if they are sad or full of emotion. Nothing is really off the table anymore. It feels good to kind of let the music carry me. Especially when I feel like crying but don't want to use the energy to make tears.
I'm also still sick, but I'm sleeping a bit better. It feels good to get out of PA even for only a night.
So many thoughts go through my head in a day... It seems like so many more than before Rick died. It's like my brain has decided it must perform at a higher level. It must function at a rate that attempts to make up for the pain.
I have this pressing thought that surfaces every time I have a free moment: Which way do I go from here?
There are so many ways, paths, roads, and forks that present themselves. I guess I'll trust that my feet will know which way to go.
"Look both ways before you cross the street," my mind seems to say. Grief is like a highway full of traffic, debris, accidents, and fast moving vehicles. I have to look both ways. I have to keep my eyes wide open. I have to pay attention. I have to be deliberate in my actions. I have to stop to ensure safety.
I realized recently that part of grieving is about staying safe. Just as I have the Grief Zone, I also have Safe Zones. Blueprints for grief can be found, filed away in my mind and heart, the different zones mapped out and labeled so I know where my footing is most sure. I am learning this as I go.
I am learning. And I am leading. Onward through grief and so, onward through life.