Unexplained giddiness

I've been feeling good the past couple of days, almost giddy. It's surprising because I'm PMSing, and that's usually when my grief is the deepest, when I feel most despairing. I don't know why I haven't posted here except that I'm afraid of jinxing my happiness and discovering that it was a facade all along.

As I finished writing this post, I asked what photo I should
use, and this is the one that popped up on the screensaver.
She posed with flowers that were growing against the wall
at the Alcazar in Sevilla, Spain, in 1999.

Part of my delight certainly stems from the strong presence of Sandy the past several days. I feel her frequently, almost constantly, and her presence is also joyful. Now, of course, some of that sense is doubtless due to Obama's finally supporting marriage equality publicly and all the commotion that's erupted from his simple sentence. But I felt good even before that, when I should have been upset about North Carolina's amendment vote, about the shenanigans in Colorado that prevented the passage of a civil unions bill, about anniversaries and memories of what was going on a year ago (a year ago yesterday, we saw the MRI that showed an additional lesion in her brain, and we struggled to understand just what brain radiation would mean) and two years ago (tests, tests, and more tests on the road to a certain metastatic cancer diagnosis).

I'm not complaining about feeling good. But I'd love to identify a cause, something I can replicate. I'm sure our newfound sunshine has something to do with it, and the biking I've been doing. I've had wonderful outings and meals with friends — both close friends and those I've not seen in years. I'm feeling intellectually alert and alive, as if I've shaken off a fog. I'm seeing a path (in fact, multiple paths) for myself, and I'm enjoying support and encouragement in those ventures from people I don't know well as well as from friends. I'm enjoying a sense of potential, a kind of hope that overrides the weight of never.

Mostly, I'm filled with gratitude almost every time I think about Sandy. At night, I despair and beg her to return to me. But during the day, I'm learning that being in love can produce a rush of endorphins even when the object of that love has died. It's both exciting and comforting that I get to be in love with Sandy for as long as this life lasts, and, apparently, beyond. Maybe that would make anyone giddy.