My usual post is for The Red Dress Club but as I read the prompt my mind was blank. My amazing and very talented writer of a friend, The Crayon Wrangler (if you have never read her words you must go now), suggested we write about what takes us to our “Happy Place.”
In theory I love this idea. I mean I am surrounded by things that make me truly, smiling from ear-to-ear, happy and I have learned to live life appreciating every ounce of them….
My children, my husband, my family and friends, my love of writing, I soak it all up.
But my true happy place?
That place within yourself of pure bliss?
That feeling you get when you are alone in your car and your favorite song comes on and you can’t help but crank it up and sing while your heartbeat dances?
I can’t find it anymore.
When I’m in my car, alone with my thoughts, I cry.
I sound like a blast, huh?
My blissful, happy, not-a-care-in-the-world feeling left with my daughter three years ago.
Apparently there is a catch to happiness once your child has died.
You can be happy.
But you can’t.
You can smile and laugh and cry tears of joy.
But not too hard or too loud or too many.
Because grief gives you limits.
It can rock you to your core and keep you rocking even when you think you should have your balance back.
It can leave a hole in your chest, right where your child lived, a hole nothing can fill, or patch over, or trace around.
It can take your happy place and hold it over your head, letting your hands skim its possibilities but never quite rest there.
But it can also send you a friend or two to remind you that you need to return to that place again…
Allow yourself guilt-free giggles and unmanageable smiles and an excited heart.
Because what is life without a passport full of all the happy places you have been?
Pouring my heart out this week with Shell, in honor of her one year anniversary. Take a few minutes to read the many other heartfelt posts…
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