There was a time when I wondered if I would ever be happy again. I am…but it’s a different kind of happy. There’s always an undercurrent of sadness…like the rivers that flow on the bed of the ocean. I’ve always been a happy person. But now it’s like waking up and speaking your native tongue with a heavy accent that you never had before. There’s a new definition of happy. Happiness doesn’t come as naturally as it used to. Grief did that. It changed me. Sometimes I have to choose to be happy. And when I put that choice into action, those that know and love me see a chameleon. I can change right in front of them. I carry myself differently. My voice changes. My facial expressions change.

I was raised to put my best foot forward. It’s ingrained from childhood. The child of an alcoholic is the peacekeeper, the comedian. I learned at a very early age to create a diversion when things started heading south. I do it when I’m sad. I do it when I’m angry. I do it when I meet new people. I was taught that “First impressions are lasting impressions.” Since Mr. Virgo died, I’ve been getting to know who I am…what I like…what I care about…what I want. I get down on myself when I put on the perky persona. But, at least I recognize it. I’m a work in progress. I’m learning. I’m growing. I’m healing. I am becoming a new version of me. And it’s only been two and a half years since Mr. Virgo died. I have to remind myself of that fact. Two and a half years is not very long in the grand scheme of the grief process. I give myself permission to be human, to make mistakes…to just be. That, in itself, is a relief.

❤️

“Know that the Lord is God. It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.”

Psalm 100:3