LIST 45 | List the situations in which your imagination serves you well.
I have found my recent grief has been somewhat relieved by my forging my neopagan beliefs to the beliefs Bill held, the Irish-Catholic-induced-guilt he slogged through, and finding the kernels of hope.
I like to imagine him here with me every day in small things: his breath on the back of my neck as I wake in the morning; his arms around me as I wash the dishes; his explanation of this or that Bruce Springsteen or Jackson Browne song just before they come on my Spotify; how much he laughs and would have loved Brandi Carlile (I only introduced him to a fraction of her work); the endless rainbows, dimes and white feathers I find everywhere; his unsubtle help with the purchase of the big yellow house and the sale of what I call (to myself – and him) the cottage; his loving cheerleading support when I hold tight to his desires as hard as it is with him gone and me fighting for his wishes alone; Tucker (his baby) looking over my shoulder at “nothing” with such love and expectation; and, countless more other indicators that my imagination has run wild keeping Bill here with us.
Often I’m not even the one who notices. One of my friends or children will bring the connection to Bill to my attention. He was a beautiful man, my dearest friend, I’m glad a part of him is with me every day.
Is this all my imagination? I don’t know.
Whatever it is, it serves me well.