They ask in hushed tones if I’m OK, standing still, afraid to open the dusty curtains in case the sunlight is too happy, too much, too bright. They whisper phrases like “I hope you can heal,” and fuss about the room unsure where to put the cards and flowers.
I laugh, sending a ripple of energy through the room, unexpectedly scattering the brittle petals of the long-dead roses. Stepping to the window, I fling open the curtains and raise the window to let in the fresh air. “Don’t you see?” I gleefully ask. “The illness is gone. I am free of that which held me back and weighed me down. There is no need to tiptoe about as if I were inflicted.”
I breathe deeply of the coming-spring air and feel myself eager to touch the earth with my bare feet. He is long gone, and so is the drama, the emotional drain, the suffering. Here in my home is my forever family, and there, outside, is the bold and vibrant world.
I laugh again, letting it ripple through my body, my body so alive and awake and well.