We filed our paper work yesterday.
How many more things will I be able to say, “We” about?
We signed all the forms.
My palms were sweaty and I sort of felt like I forgot how to sign my own signature.
I thought I would cry, that it would feel more like an ending. But it sort of just felt like that moment when you get to the last page of a book and you’re already prepared for it to be over, so when you close the back cover it just sort of feels like an exhale.
Maybe it was because it was the first day of spring, and it was so nice outside. Or maybe it’s because the courthouse is so unsentimental. I felt almost giddy.
I wrote a poem in a cemetery last spring and there was a line about wishing to die, not in a morbid way, more like the conclusion to a story. And that’s what this feels like. The conclusion to a story. The last weird chapter.
And I know it’s not. I know grief isn’t linear, that I will have days that throw me into the pit of doubt again. But for now it feels enough like an ending to be an exhale.