Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Love in the Third Degree.
I’ve hardly slept at all in the past week, and only then with some assistance. It’s fits and starts and then I wake and for a split second, all is well and then I remember what’s happened and the big hole that burns in my heart chakra right now.
Last night, I took half a sleeping pill and slept in Shannon’s bed. It knocked me out for a good four or five hours, where everything was numbed a bit. Before I took it, I’d sent out some questions into the Universe, things I needed answers to.
I woke in the darkness of early morning, the effects of the pill having worn off, and he was there close by, his energy all around me. He was comforting me.
I won’t say I’m at peace today, but there were things shown to me that do help a bit.
He showed me timelines, past relationships, all the things he’d wanted. He showed me what hadn’t worked with others and why not. He showed me what had worked between us but the timing had been all wrong then and external forces interfered. It had become a sense of “What else can possibly go wrong now?” of roadblocks. He showed me the hope he’d had, the sorrow and the conflict at not being able to live up to what he wanted to give me. He showed me what he’d wanted more than anything but he’d been too full of fear to act on it then, fear that something would change and everything would be lost, either he’d change or I’d change and everything would be ruined and I’d be hurt.
He reminded me of all the things he’d said to me on the physical plane and in our energetic connections. He reminded of all the things he’s shown me.
He showed me that last letter I wrote him, when I’d had something to say recently that I really couldn’t say any other way but in writing. I’d wanted to tell him the impact he’d had on me, on my life, and how transformational our relationship had been. I knew he was in a place of turmoil, so I’d talked about how I’d finally reached a place where I felt content and happy and blessed him that he would soon be happy again. The letter had seemed a release to him, and he’d thought I was moving on, content to live my life without him in it.
Of all the relationships in my life, this one was truly the rarest—one where two people liked and respected each other for who they were and were content to allow each other to be as they were without forcing them into a mold or trying to remake them in their own image. People often talk about loving someone just the way they are and unconditional love, but for the most part, it’s just talk.