Why do I always hide from my feelings? Who am I afraid of offending? And why am I afraid to offend in the first place?
I should not feel shame for my emotions. I loved my husband with every fiber of my being. I was utterly faithful and true to him, even after his death. I love him still. I miss him every day and every night.
Hearts do not care for logic. They do not stop and ask for our permission before flooding us with a torrent of passion or rage or loneliness or longing or confusion or joy.
Life has moved on. The world moves with it. The sun rises and sets, and the seasons roll from one to the next. Summer is a time of healing. Warm and mellow, full of color and song and the exuberance of simply being alive. Why my darling had to leave me in the cold dark of winter, I will never understand. But now the sun's rays flood over Bree-land again, and the birds serenade in the garden, and the air is sweet with the scent of flowers. And my heart is no longer a locked door.
The world is still full of its troubles. Won't it always be? That is no reason not to love. Love is the comfort and strength that gives me the will to fight on in spite of the shadow that they say is looming far to the east. I did not look for it. I thought at first that I would die. That I would lay down beside his cairn and simply sink into the earth and cease to be, so great was my sorrow. And then I thought that I might live, though I did not know how or why I would do it. And I hoped that my life would not be one, long, endless line of grim days and anguished nights, thinking of nothing but how horribly awful it was to try and be without him. When Firithain told me that I would always miss Conrob, I wanted to die all over again. I thought it impossible to endure such an existence.
I am still a long way from what I would call "happy". The wound upon a widow's soul is one that fester and bleeds, long after she has learned to smile and be polite and go about her daily tasks again. I do not know if there is ever true healing. Or if there will always be this rankling ache deep within me. Sometimes I am unaware of it now. Sometimes I don't feel it. Sometimes I think "Perhaps I am all right after all". Yet I am not all right. Not yet.
I say all of these things, yet have not mentioned the one person who has become most important to me. Who are you afraid of upsetting, Brynleigh?
