I turned off the light again last night. Since losing Mike, I've slept with the bathroom light on and the door mostly shut so there is only a small crack that the light shines through. Initally it made me feel safer. Then it was sort of like that David Cook song about leaving the light on.

...Try to leave the light on when I'm gone
Something to rely on to get home...

Every night when I would go to shut it off, that would just bounce back into my head and I thought just incase he needs a guiding light to get back here and rest his head with me...

Even when I travel, or stay at my parents, or with friends (ha, you know!) I find a light, somewhere in the room, and I leave it on. Sometimes it's annoying, because everyone isn't prepared for this situation, so it's not alwasy a little light I can control, but it always seems worth it.

Saturday night as I was getting ready for bed with way, way, WAY too much on my mind I inadvertantly shut off the bathroom light, after which I stood in the threashold between bathroom and bedroom trying to decide if I should turn it back on. "Come on Stacey, you're not afraid of the big bad wolf..." I stood still, arguing with myself, Lily slightly confused. And I decided the light from the Ihome was enough. I sat down on the bed and turned the glow-in-the-dark numbers to the brightest they could go, and I kinda took a deep breath that that stupid yellow light wasn't haunting me from the bathroom, begging for something I couldn't give it. So I did it again last night, with a little less hesitation. I'm not completely sold, but somehow changing this routine that I adopted out of such pain is giving me some fresh air.

Does that even make sense? Who knows anymore :)