Dear John

I had the oddest dream last night.  I went to confession.  (I'm not Catholic; I've never been Catholic.)  It was in the cathedral where, in real life, I was confirmed, back when I was trying to believe in God.  A lovely Episcopal lady priest and I had a conversation and I said "I'm sinning, according to the Bible, but I don't believe this is sin, nor would my parents believe this is sin . But I know the church says pre-marital sex is sin."  And she said "I'm not really sure what to say.  Let me talk to some other people, but if you don't believe it is sin, I don't know that you need to confess this."

Ever since John's funeral, I have worn the ring he borrowed when we were talking about getting married.  I wasn't sure what I would do with it, before I got it.  I was so stunned about his death (and, honestly, before his death I felt this weird sense that he kept pulling me to him and I couldn't let go of him).  But the second I received my ring, I felt this wave of realization that John had loved me.  Yes, things were weird, but he had absolutely loved me with all he his capacity of loving.

For the last year and a half, I've worn this ring as an affirmation that I am lovable.  And, truth be told, I've asked John's advice.  I've asked him to keep an eye on me and help me a little.  He wanted to watch me emerge from my shell, which hurt me at the time--what do you mean you think I'll be amazing if I can turn into a butterfly?  Why can't I be amazing now?  But he was right.  For the last year and a half, I've often turned my ring around on my finger and asked what John would think. "Would John think this is a risk worth taking?"   He would have been delighted I went to Iceland.  "Would John think he is good enough for me?"  I've been scared of that question, because John didn't think John was good enough for me.  And, in a way, he was right.  He couldn't give me what he thought I needed and deserved.

A year after John died, I bought another ring to wear on that finger, and I couldn't do it.  After a couple of days, I felt naked.  I missed that talisman so much.

This morning I took off the old ring slowly, circling it around my finger many times, and said something like this:

Dear John,

If you exist in any form any more...

Thank you for keeping such a loving eye on me for so long.  I am going to be good.  I release you.  If there is some other realm that spirits get to explore when their ties on earth are loosened, explore.  I'm going to be good.  I may call on you again someday, but there are no obligations.

I want you to know that I loved you.  I hope you have found the sense of being loved and lovable and loving.  But any responsibility you may feel towards me is complete.

I don't know how Maxearnest found me.  But if you had anything to do with sending him in my direction, well, that is nothing short of miraculous, so I think there's a chance that some being was pulling for us. 

I'm happy.  I am loved.  I love.  I hope you find happiness and love.

And, with that, I took off John's my ring and put on another one that has no emotional ties for me.  I may want it again some day.  But for the moment, I want to let Maxearnest into those spaces of my life.