Oof. Even George has moved on.

When George first died, I was mostly sad for him, mostly sad for Nova.  I was angry at him too, I remember (an irrational displacement of anger), but mostly, I was sad because he would never get to hold his little girl, revel in the family he created, bask in our love.  He was so excited and proud to be a father.  And it was snatched away from him in his last moments of joyful anticipation.

I was sad for Nova just the same.  She would never get to meet the amazing man that created her, she would grow up without a father, she would not be as joyful and sparkly and happy without him in her life.  He would be just a story to her.  He would never be the warm cozy body, the soft kisses, the playful man to chase her and tickle her and throw her over his shoulder.  She had been robbed of one-half of her life before she was born.  And the fun half, too.

Now, I am sad for me.  A year later, my heart cries and my mind rambles on about how much I miss George, how I (still !!) can't believe he's gone, how I lost my perfect charmed life and all the questions I have about what happens next.  To me.  On the one hand, I am totally self-absorbed.  Me me me me me, this thing happened to me, and nobody else but me (not true, I know, but it feels distinctively lonely in here).  My egotism makes me sick, and I don't know how to turn it off.  

On the other hand, George, who was once the beneficiary of my sadness, has himself moved on.  He has moved on like everyone else.  He is at peace, he has accepted our fate, he is no longer attached to this life or his body or his merely mortal dreams.  He even told me, two months ago, that this was part of a greater plan that he and I (he and I!) had devised and signed off on many lifetimes ago.  I listened for a bit, then told him to hush.  I am still grieving, can't you see?  I am not ready to embrace this as our quest for infinite eternal love.   Thank you, but can you please come back later?  
I am no longer sad for George.

And I am no longer sad for Nova, because look how happy she is!  She got George's happy genes, and I inherited his goofy antics and sound effects and I've learned to make her laugh.  She is not sad.  She has George in a way that nobody else does.

But me, I am still me, and I am still sad, and I have not fully accepted that this is how things are supposed to be.  I still mourn my dead husband.  I still dream of what could have been.  I still torture myself with thoughts of his warm body next to mine, his eyes pouring all this love into me, so vivid and so real I want to die, knowing it is just one heart's beat out of reach.

​Maybe it is time to call George back.  Maybe I've taken this grief to the end, and it's time to make some magic happen.