I find myself adopting traits that Charles had.
Ones I did not possess before his death, I now have. Like they were somehow passed on to me.
I am able to spot a fake a mile away. I can tell, like he could, when someone is suffering inside even if they are smiling on the outside. I can see something written on social media that everyone else takes one way and know immediately that person is either in trouble and needs help or just needs someone to reach out.
Like my son that died by suicide, I’ve always been passionate but now I’m driven by it. I have always been intuitive but now I’m hyper intuitive. I’ve always written but now I can’t live without writing. My soul is not satisfied unless I reach out and give back.
Were we that much alike before? I don’t remember me back then, my former self. But I know she didn’t see the things I see now. Why not? Why couldn’t I have these lenses before he died. Was that because I wouldn’t let it? Wasn’t capable? Not mindful enough?
It’s like there was a glass wall I could not penetrate and now I can walk right through it.
I must have looked so clueless to him. He could see on this other side and I couldn’t yet and he must have wondered why.
There is no one like Charles. And I am not Charles. But maybe by embracing these changes in myself I have arrived at a new dimension in my grief journey that signifies emotional healing.