Me being me, I find myself waiting for permission.
I feel it deep inside of me – the need to change my mind, my life.
The need to take a break and just do nothing for a while.
The need to change direction.
The need to ask a question that isn’t going to lead into an argument.
The need to acknowledge my feelings.
I wait for permission.
I wait one more day.
I wait for someone to say something first.
I wait for someone to notice the ache of my heart, the emptiness that is tangible in my life.
I wait for things to get better . . . or worse.
I wait.
The person’s permission that I wait for – is Rick’s.
He was understanding, caring, and sensitive to me.
He seemed to know instinctively when I needed permission.
Permission to cry, or to rest.
Permission to play, to laugh.
Permission to be broken and imperfect.
Permission to voice my needs, and wants – no matter how big or small. No matter how serious or silly.
Permission to be who I am – just me being me.
Permission.
He can’t give me that permission – and learning to give it to myself is a challenge.
Widow lesson #9856321245787532698415923458
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