I think it has finally happened.
I’ve written here previously about my experiences of grieving for my best mate, who died suddenly ten years ago.
There have been a few false starts, when I have thought to myself I’ve moved on only to be confronted by another wave of grief.
A couple of years ago I told him, out loud, I’ve let you go, I’m ready for new friendships now, which felt somewhat liberating, but again, grief didn’t quite release me from its grip.
This time, however, it feels real.
Without any effort, I’ve noticed that I haven’t been thinking about him as much, which isn’t to say I’ve forgotten him (I haven’t and never will) but I do feel different now.
I feel more like the old me, or perhaps an older, wiser version of me, instead of the walking wounded.
Of course, this could be another false start, or the optimism of a new year just beginning, but I don’t think so.
It could also be jetlag talking; I am sitting here writing this at four in the morning, having had flown home from America the day before yesterday. It always gets me like this; I am fine the day after returning, then boom the second night it hits me.
Sorry, I digress.
Dare I say it? I think I have finally let him go.