There is only the dimmest pinpoint of light from the candle now. I expect that anynight, I will go into Jersey's room and the little electric candle flame will be dark. It's barely there now. The light from the streetlamp and moonlight shining through the window make it almost impossible to see if is is still burning. It doesn't shine in the darkness anymore. Actually, what's left is more like the glowing wick of a candle after it has been blown out. If it was an actual flame, there wouldn't be enough light to do anything except ponder the darkness.
The practice of talking to Jersey while contemplating her light has had a strange effect on me. I kind of look forward to it going out but will miss its comforting flame.
I look forward to it going out because I have a feeling that symbolically, it marks the end of something. My heart tells me that when I can't see it anymore and when it is out, this intial period of mourning will be complete. There is a part of me that wants to hang onto it. I don't want to feel further and further away from her. I don't want to let her go.
The truth is, I realize I have.
Though I'm still sad and think of her everyday, I think I've arrived at a place where I've come to accept what has happened. I don't feel like I'm hanging onto her. She has been released. I feel like I've arrived at a place where my life is not being measured by how long she's been gone.
I'm now watching Skylar grow into a dog instead of being a puppy; I'm experiencing the joy Tellie brings us everyday. Alexa and I are making each other laugh and it's OK.
I think the carousel has stopped and the calliope has stopped "rooting-tooting." Maybe I'll go find the fortune teller and she can tell me what's next. Nah, I think I'll get a hot dog instead.
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