Either before or after that, someone brought my breakfast tray. Sleep won over eggs. Next, I heard my lunch tray being set on the table. Someone said in an insistent voice, "Ms. Thompson, are you going to eat your lunch?"
I think I replied something like, "unhk" and went back to sleep. But before I did, I could feel her eyes on me, zapping me with disapproval rays. I finally woke up around 3 p.m. I was back to my normal sleep rhythm. I am definitely losing this battle.
My ex, Jeff, showed up with goodies and supper. Then we looked at lolcat pictures and funny videos and laughed like loons, as usual. We always have a fun time when he visits. They are the best part of my days.
Meanwhile, I'm a little confused. I've been in a good mood for weeks now. It feels alien, like I've been possessed by a cheerful demon. So little has changed for the better in my life that being happy feels wrong, somehow, like I woke up and everything was a mirror-image of what it was when I went to sleep. I feel like I should be waiting for the final swing of Poe's pendulum. But I'm not. I certainly can't compare myself to Pollyanna, but my dark tunnel doesn't seem so dark anymore.
And I can't understand exactly why. I'm not complaining, mind you. I'm greatly relieved that the ton of darkness is lifting from my shoulders. I was nearly bent double with emotional misery. Thank heavens that's lifted considerably.
Part of it is that I was greatly empowered when I fought to get my therapist back and succeeded. Part of it is writing, after being stuck in a hole where I couldn't. Writing has been, throughout my life, my favorite, most happy-making thing to do. Part of it is laughing, sometimes until tears roll down my cheeks, with Jeff when he visits. A big part of it is being able to have sessions with my therapist again.
Things aren't really getting better in my life. They're about the same. But I feel, finally, as if they COULD.
A lot of today's happiness has come from thinking about Lyra. I participated in a "comments" conversation about a greatly beloved medium who has, unsurprisingly, made a fortune by charging several hundred dollars per hour session. One lady said she wanted to have a session because her son, her only child, had died.
So I sympathized and told her about Lyra's death; how crushingly sad I was when I lost her and how much I missed her, and still do. But I let the lady know how much better I feel since I realized that Lyra is safe in a place of infinite love, peace and joy where she's no longer in pain. And I told the lady that her son is still with her in spirit; that their bond is unbreakable. I told her I knew all this to be true without forking over several hundred dollars to a medium, no matter how beloved. Then I told her to watch for her son in her dreams because that's his way of letting her know he's still near. Then I wished her peace.
Maybe I overstepped my boundaries. Maybe she'll never read it or she'll just brush it off. But just maybe she'll find some comfort there. I hope so.
I also realized, just today, that finding peace about Lyra's passing has allowed me to think of her with joy, and that joy is breaking down the walls around the memories of her that I've been afraid to let through. One of them just popped into my brain today, taking me by surprise and making me laugh with delight.
Well, the sun set while I wrote this. And I'm wide awake as is normal for me at night. Goodnight, y'all. Have sweet dreams. I'm going to watch more episodes of The Mentalist now.
This is a photo of Lyra, age 5, not long after she inexplicably cut one of her ponytails off, leaving her with a buzz cut on one side and shoulder-length hair on the other. Thank heavens for our wonderful, talented beautician who saved the day.
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