No regrets there. None. It was, in some ways, a hard day at first. I was worried about how it was going to go. If the memories would be too much.
But they weren’t. The memories were good. Welcome. Sweet. And I made new ones, which felt like the right thing to do. It felt like something Jeanie would approve of. For that, I am especially glad.
I am also glad for realizing that I need to move forward and there’s nothing wrong with that. Getting on with my life does not disrespect Jeanie’s memory. In fact, the way I see it now, it honors her. It’s what she’d want me to do.
I know that without any reservations. She loved life. She’d want me to keep on living in the best possible way. So that’s what I’m going to do. I am going to actively choose happiness.
Which sounds like New Age nonsense, if you say it out loud. The very kind of thing I would have rolled my eyes at and ignored just a couple of weeks ago. But now, I see things differently.
I owe much of that to Harper. She’s made me think about things in a new way. More than that, she’s made me process my feelings. I’d been avoiding that, subconsciously, I believe, but it was so easy to sink into the status quo of grieving that I forgot what life could be like.
What it had been like.
Funny, isn’t it? I spent all that time mourning Jeanie, missing the life we’d had together, that I lost sight of what that life was really like. The happiness we shared. Somehow, I believed that without her, I could no longer be happy. That I shouldn’t be happy.
Jeanie would not want that. I know it like I knew her. And so, for her sake, and for the sake of my mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual health, I am going to change.
Yesterday was a good beginning. I hope to continue in that manner. I know it will be a day-by-day thing. I know there will still be bad days. But I am going to do my best to deal with them in a way that would make Jeanie proud.
I owe her that.
Rain tapped at the window, soft pit-pats against the glass. The sky had turned a light, steely gray as he’d been writing.
He clicked the pen and closed the journal. He could hear Joyce in the kitchen. He grabbed his coffee cup and went to say good morning.
She was stirring batter in a bowl. Next to her were two muffin tins lined with paper cups. The smell of citrus perfumed the air. “Morning. How was the boating yesterday?”
“It was great. A really good day. How was your day? Are you excited about your sister arriving?”
She took a deep breath. “There’s going to be a lot of crying today. Good tears. I can’t wait to see her. It’s been too long. Thank you again for bringing her here.”
“You’re welcome.” He refilled his cup. “Are you making muffins?”
“I am. Orange. I thought Beryl would be expecting something appropriately Floridian.”
He nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be great.”
“They’re delicious. You’ve had them before.” She ladled batter into the waiting paper cups.
“Have I?” He laughed. “Sorry I don’t remember. In a lot of ways, I feel like I’m waking up from a long sleep.”
She glanced at him. “Maybe you are. What would you like for breakfast?”
He was hungrier than he’d been in a while. “A big cheese omelet. And toast with jam.”
“You want anything else in the omelet besides cheese?”
He shrugged. “Surprise me.”
She tipped her head to the side, a slight smile bending her mouth. “You might be sorry.” She put both trays into the oven, then set the timer.
“Not when you’re the cook. I’ll be in my office.” He started toward it, then stopped. “Do I get one of those muffins?”
“Of course. You want one with your breakfast? Instead of toast?”
“Yes. Maybe two.”
She chuckled. “Two it is. I’ll call you when your plate is ready.”
