Little Red Bird

I have to remember that only I am responsible for my mood. It doesn't do me any good to let other's moods turn my bright spirit dark. The fact that I haven't figured out how to do this yet is frustrating. It was one of my goals when I started out in my bereavement counseling months ago. Now nine months into it, I feel that I'm further behind than when I started. And it's irritating, because I know better. Sometimes, it's just easier to give in. I'm so tired.

Twice this week I've found myself outside in the middle of the night, longing to feel closer to Grey. I find myself begging him to remind me how strong I can be when I need to be. I try to remind myself of all the things he's taught me; unconditional love, patience, compassion, hope. But in the coolness of Fall's midnight hours, tears run down my face and I wonder how I'll get through the night, much less this season, this lifetime.

I long to be the family we once were, before we knew what true loss was. By no means were we the perfect family, but we were not broken. Maybe it's just me that's broken.

As I walked out the door this morning, angered by it's start, I again found myself reaching out to Grey, talking in my head as to not be heard by little ears ahead of me. Then out from our shrub flew my little red bird. I thought he had long since headed south. Instead it looks as though he has made a home.

I see you. Please don't go.