“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
Rumi
Many people warned me about the year of “firsts” long before I actually had to face any of their potential damage. “Firsts” are all of those days you celebrated with someone you love; birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, vacations. They bring feelings of joy and appreciation for most, but when you are dealing with the first year after loss, they take on an entirely different meaning. From the moment after Darin transitioned, the calendar became a progress bar, a means to the end of pain. I counted days, then weeks, and finally months. They became milestones toward some perceived promise of “normalcy.” When I would make it through one month, I would check that off my list knowing I paid my grief dues for the month and hoped the cost would decrease next month.
March 16, 2019 marked the one-year anniversary of Darin’s death. When I envisioned that day, I was pushing myself right into a head-of-the-table seat for a perfect pity party. I expected to start with a morning walk and maybe lunch. I would return to my apartment for some introspective time. I would put on the music that Darin loved, open up a good book and a bottle of wine, and probably cry until I had drained both the emotion and the bottle of wine. Why did I have the expectation to make that day darker than any other day? Why did I think that was what was expected of me? In the midst of all of this sorrow planning, I had completely thrown out my responsibility to choose the day I wanted. Instead, I looked at what I saw others do as my guide. It finally took an invite from a relative stranger and a phone call with my sister to remind me that I had the power and responsibility to myself to create the day I wanted to experience.
The week before the anniversary, I received an invite to go to Bologna and be there for the anniversary of Darin’s death. The invite was certainly appreciated and generous, I mean, who volunteers for that kind of hazard duty? This, however, was not what I had planned. Virgos really like planning events, and I had orchestrated the perfect emotional apocalypse in the comfort of my own apartment. “You want me to go to Bologna?”, that’s not how the “Widower Lombardo” should spend the day. I’m supposed to feel horrible that day, right? Isn’t that what widowed people do on this day of “firsts?”
After I sat with these feelings for a bit, I chose to call someone I knew could help. Even at 48-years old, I still need my big sister. If I have a voice of consciousness outside of my own, it would be hers. I think she is a far “older-soul” than me, and her life experience is one that I have come to appreciate and rely upon greatly this past year. When I am conflicted, our conversations lead to a different perspective and a better alternative.
When I told her about my options, she locked in on the true question far more clearly than I could. She said something to the effect of, “How do you want to feel on the anniversary of Darin’s death, and if you can’t see clearly now through your pain, how do you think Darin would want you to spend that day?” I was taken aback. I’m fairly certain she meant that I actually have a choice in how good or bad that day will be. She also reminded me that there is no guide book or instruction manual for mourning. You write it as you go, and it’s 100% yours. Nobody has lived your life and nobody will. You create the rules you follow, and no matter what others do, you are the final arbiter of your decision.
As you might have guessed, I chose what was behind “Door #2” and went to Bologna! I had an incredible day celebrating Darin’s life and mine. I honored the people, past and present, who shaped and helped me arrive at this point in life. I opened up the door to new friends and a new life. I climbed nearly 500 steps to the top of the tallest tower in Bologna, and just as the sun was setting on day 365, I said goodbye to the last day of the “year of firsts” and welcomed tomorrow.
I think Darin had a hand in orchestrating that day in Bologna and the subsequent days that followed. I remember a spiritual teacher of mine telling me months ago, “You won’t understand this now, but Darin can help you a lot more now from where he is and his presence will be felt when doing so.” She was right, I was too caught up in my personal loss at the time for it to make sense. After my own personal progress, I think I do understand it and I feel Darin’s love at work for me. Our paths are our own to create, and every person we bring into our life with true authentic love is there to help us get to where we are going. When they leave this place, they still have the same authentic love and desire to see us through our journey, but now they can contribute to our journey with limitless possibility. We are never alone, but we always remain responsible for choosing our emotions and defining how we wish to participate in each day.
In conclusion, let me explain the significance of “Sono sulla mia strada” in the title of this post. When I boarded the train to Bologna, I sent a text to my friend in Bologna to let him know I was on my way. I doubted my Italian and used Google Translate. When I hit send on the text, I received an “LOL” response back. It turns out my words actually meant, “I am on my road.” I felt a bit embarrassed. We joked about it, and then it left my mind. A few days later, I was once again reminded of that translation, and then something became clear about its literal meaning. I know that I have my feet planted on my road where I want life to lead me. I may not know the destination, but I have a vision for somewhere great. Sono sulla mia strada!