I realize I stopped journaling and actively trying to find you. I am more in reality each day, sorting out loose ends, trying to build income, and hold the house together. In my free time at home, I’ve renewed my interest in connecting with you. It’s been a while, but I remember how to ask to see a door. This time, it was an attic door, that pressed open to reveal the stars above. Once in the stars, I could see flashes of you, memories of us on a trip to California in our 20s, before we had any kids, and it made me smile. You looked young, handsome, and happy, like the photos in our album. You wore the blue sweatshirt with the white collar and donned a full head of hair. A moment later, I saw you in your final days, much older and thinner, but still smiling. I receive your presence in angel numbers, feathers, coins, cool breezes, songs in my mind, and peripheral shadows. I’m trying to make sense of our new relationship. I wish you were here. In some ways, you are.
I’ve been tuning into more widows support from authors and interviews, and find it interesting that some of them see their departed loved ones in dreams or have become empaths or mediums by accident. I don’t remember my dreams, but at least I have restful sleep. I saw my father in a dream, once, just standing there, smiling, shrouded in light. Maybe one day I’ll see you like that, too. My mom claims to have had a visitation from you on the day you died. Part of me believes it’s true!