The last few Wednesday’s left of Texas winter have been nice. I have been able to work from home. It has been cold and after shopping for the day I am able to build a fire , get in a nice walk and work without interruption for quiet peaceful hours I could not have at the building. I am reclaiming my home again. The timing is perfect.
I could say it is because of Valentine’s day but I am not sure if that is it . I think it started after seeing a post from Delanie earlier today. Delanie is Tom’s daughter from another Mother. A few times I have checked out her profile to see if she has pictures and if she looks like her Dad. Maybe I had seen them before but suddenly two pictures of Tom, from the early seventies were on the screen. One I remember him showing me at the house on Willow and the other I knew because it was a favorite of mine. Pure Tom, being honest and vulnerable, probably loaded, or on his way. I sat looking at him, not a thought of how much time was passing or things I needed to get done. I was lost in memories, which have been finding their way through my thoughts quite frequently of late.
One of the things I do like about the place I live in now, is the kitchen. It is a small, good for nothing, no counter space or storage, galley kitchen, but I am no cook and it is not important to me. What is important is I stand at the sink washing dishes, I look towards the door and it reminds me of the apartment at Dutch Village where we first lived together. I see you sitting in the living room,
someone is visiting and you are talking and being sociable, but we share a look, and we are grinning. We were still locked in that world that was just “us.” Actually, we stayed there throughout most of our marriage .
I get the feeling you are with me for a reason. I have felt you in times of great sorrow, ever since you left this world, as if you were there to comfort me through it. This is a difficult, but healing time. I am coming back . I checked out sometime before Christmas. I told my boss I needed to go and seek some psychiatric care because I was broken. I was not kidding. I tried to get that care too but it did not work. I was “not sick enough” . I was just burnt out….fried…crisp…or the new term compassion fatigued. Shit! I was beat down, had nothing left for me or anyone else, and at the end of my rope. I could not go back to the hell I had been through the past few years but I saw it staring me in the face if I did not do something different. Cycling through the same behaviors and expecting a different outcome after all IS crazy.
I did take a different road though and now I adjust to that. After so many years, it all comes down to the adjustment following decisions.
*note to self – ARIZONA