Freedom. They were right.

“Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.”
― Jim Morrison

“They” told me it gets harder before it gets easier. Unfortunately, they were right.

Grief is widespread in its manifestation. There are those clinical stages, such as denial. Denial can seem like relief. There’s that rush of adrenaline leading to a sense of  great escape. Freedom from the endless hospital rooms. Freedom to make plans. Freedom to travel wherever, whenever. Freedom to eat what you want, when you want.

While we were going through it all, the fear was so strong. During it all, I would have given up anything in my entire life to make it just go away. Most of the time, nothing else really mattered. If we could just get through this next step. If we could just finish this last treatment. The bargaining to get to freedom.

There were times of wishing for freedom. Wishing you were healthy. Wishing we could jump in the ocean together, allowing you to not worry about catheters and germs. Wishing we were off traveling somewhere foreign. Wishing we could plan a future. I almost felt guilty for wishing away part of who you were; for wishing for freedom. I could have been the sick one. Would you have wished for something other than us? No way. Without a doubt, I knew that you’d always be by my side. And, oh how soon my confidence in us was restored. How quickly I realized that we were so compatible, so in love and so each other. These negative thoughts only lasted minutes; maybe just seconds. The overwhelming mutual respect and compassion instantly overpowered doubts.

But, as with everything, what is the price of freedom.

As they said, the novelty and “relief” of freedom wears off.  The true cost of it smacks you upside the head. It’s gradual, but yet so striking. Strikingly empty. Because what is freedom really. Realistically, freedom just means you have nothing left to lose, so no fear.

You are gone. For good.  No longer a loss to fear.

• I will never be able to race you to put pajamas on first.
• I will never be able to hear your laughter again (I can’t remember it right now).
• I will never have more of that incredible indescribable  love and appreciation you had, specifically for me. I felt that so strongly. I knew every day how much you loved me.  You told me. More than that, you showed me.
• I will never have such a reliable, caring everything.
• I will never be able to eat breakfast with you. The other day I tried to brave it. I ate alone at a place we had frequented. It was painful. It was not the same. I have to find new places now.
• I will never have new hidden lil notes, cards, book inscriptions, polaroids and voicemails from you.

Just a few, among many things that are lost.

I now have freedom from the fear of losing you. But, will I ever have freedom from the pain of losing you. You left behind so many reminders of why I feared losing you. So much for which I am grateful. But, so much for which I fear I’ll never have again. Fear you’ll be forgotten by others. Fear that my memories will fade. Even though I have nothing left to lose, I still fear, so there is no freedom.

Freedom.

Found these lil gems cleaning out a bag the other day. Oh the meaning your words have now for me. 

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