Grief is inexplicable. It hits at its own timing. And, to be honest, it never goes away. We learn to navigate it. We learn to miss without the intense pain. We learn to live in a different manner.

When I was 23 years old I met a young man my age. We worked in the industrial power transmission field. The first day he came for an interview, right out of college, we shook hands and the electricity that passed through our hands was like nothing else I’ve ever experienced, or have felt since.

Before I could even figure out what was happening we had a tremendous love affair. I was in and out of a relationship with someone much older who was married. This young man and I connected in a way that was out of this world.

At 25 years old, after a long break up because of my other relationship, he asked me to marry him one night. I said yes. That was March 11, 1993. He was dating someone else, and I was still in that relationship. We both broke it off that weekend. On the way back from breaking up with his girlfriend he hit a wall on I95 on March 14th. They found him with a small English/Spanish book in his hands.

This loss shut me down. It took my light with it. It would take years to understand. But, something happened shortly after his death. He began to show up in dreams. I wasn’t as spiritually aware as I am now, but I would feel him all the time.

Whenever I am struggling I find a dime and a penny. $.11 was something we would find together. Those close to me marvel at the fact that this happens often. There will be a dime and then a few inches later, a penny. He has been around for almost 30 years and has guided me in ways I cannot explain.

But grief, that old friend that reminds us of love, can sometimes get the best of us. This morning I opened up my kitchen cabinet to get my coffee mug and in a cup I rarely use was a dime and a penny. I don’t even ask anymore how this happens. Maybe the kids did it long ago. I don’t know. I know I was supposed to find it at 4:44 this morning. That’s how guidance works.

We are always held by deceased loved ones. ALWAYS. I often forget to call out to ancestors. Rarely do I forget to call out for him. He has been my steady companion for decades. And, I know we will one day be reunited.

Your grief is not meant to be suppressed. It isn’t meant to be bulldozed. It’s a reminder that you loved. That you were loved. That you lived. That you had someone who loved you. It doesn’t matter if it’s a parent, a child, a lover, a fur baby, or whatever. Sometimes we mourn places and things.

You are loved. You are here. And, I promise you that you will always come out with grace on the other side.

I love you!
Millie

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