Waiting

After evaluation, I can note that I have made two significant mistakes with this move.

1) Underestimating the time it would take to process the shifting of the plates of my life.

2) Getting a new job so quickly. 

I have been winging each day, continuing to hope that the horizon of happiness is coming closer to me.  It would seem this is not the proper way for mental health. I have put myself smack in the middle of a full blown life without allowing for my two faithful companions to first fulfill their roles.  These two follow me all the days of my life; grief and joy. 

I am struggling in no small way to push forward. I believe I have cried every single day this week.  The worst part is that the tears are always just behind my eyes.  I feel like I will cry at any moment.  And then I do. And then I'm mad about it. 

Grief, my old friend, I recognize your creased face. Etched lines; pain filled eyes; small, sad mouth; your face is as familiar as my own. Come, old friend, I think you know the way.  Down the hall and maybe to the right....here we go, here is the room we want.  The hippocampus.  Look in there, isn't it something? Look at all those memories. Pathways upon pathways, mixed, jumbled, severed, dangling, and growing.  You know the places you have been prominent. It still smarts. You can see the memory, dark and then splintered gray.  Without you, friend, this room might be brighter, but it would not be richer. Your part in this journey is so significant.  It hurts when you are here, but you define and shape me. You develop compassion and empathy within me, right in this room.  Sometimes, like now, I need to sit with you and feel loss, fear, unhappiness, anxiety. I need to hold your hand and feel it. I need to know, outside this room, that it's okay to do just that. I need to invite you to come and visit for awhile each day. 

Right now, we're going to drive to 6 Temple Hills.  Doesn't the roof look great? Can you believe you did that? (Nope.) Weren't those boys so small as they ran off the school bus? (So very small and precious. Why is it over?) Wasn't it amazing that you welcomed friends through that door? (Yes, it was God appointed.) 

Wait, are we heading toward Orem? Those are some pretty swell rocks up that canyon. (Bittersweet. I can't take that one tonight.) Look at that adorable and quirky house. (It was so strange and wonderful.)  Grief, you have been here in many capacities; yet...   Hello, Joy. There you are. It took me awhile to find you, but here you are.  Your face is content; eyes, soft; lips, parted in a smile. Already I feel the shift in the atmosphere, I feel calm. You color the gray memories with peace.  You always visit us eventually. 

It's a long journey through this room, this life.  I'm not as young as once I was. I am more set in my ways than the last times I traveled this road; the experience is different. I really feel I probably can't do it again. Tennessee might now forever remain a dream in my heart.  

Grief must remain with me until I am spent of it. I hope I'll see Joy soon.  I hope the horizon comes to meet me. 

I hope I can do this.  

I hope. 

Small Seems Good

 I am bumbling my way through change, one day at a time, as you well know.  Today I couldn't help but remember at last year's Christmas party, Austin came up in conversation and 3/5 people (plus their families) at that table now live here.  I couldn't have imagined then where I would now be.

My constant struggle is feeling safe, secure and home. Literally every hour still feels full of stress and claustrophobia. I am not comfortable in my house, in my car, or anywhere I go. I don't remember feeling quite this much trouble last time.  I didn't like it, but I don't remember feeling like I couldn't get rest. Unfortunately, I wasn't blogging then so I can't check. 

Tonight, I decided I would try out my new-to-me bathtub.  After I worked all day followed by more cleaning and organization, I felt I deserved a few minutes to be a girl. 

Let me preface the rest of this story and/or posting by saying this: I am merely expressing my feelings and experiences. I fully understand that I am experiencing blessings, but I'm a bit at a loss for some of it. 

For example, the bathtub. 

I figured out how to get the plug working, got the water going; I prepared restful music, I stacked up some towels for drying and added a few for the luxury of pillowing my head against the surround. It's pretty exciting. A tub with surround for candles, perfume, flowers, whatever all the girls want these days.  I realized one must be careful when stepping into the full tub, it's actually pretty slippery (I don't remember this part from Pretty Woman... just saying) and I have PTSD from falling down the basement stairs earlier this year. My shoulder/arm still doesn't work right. Tubs might not be for senior citizens....  I'll keep that in mind. 

The water is perfect for Goldilocks, not too hot and not too cold. I get all settled and lay back. Halfway down I realize Houston has a problem. I'm not going to make it because my legs are already going up in the air. I hit the porcelain and slide right down the side and float in the water. Hum. This isn't how it looks in the movies for sure. I have to kick my legs to get back up to a sitting position. Let's try it again.  Take two.  I slide further back so I'm closer to the back edge. The shower is right behind me so I feel I can leverage it a bit if I can reach the glass and hold myself in the water. I stretch out my "bad" arm over my head and fwoomp...hit the porcelain, slide down and float. I literally cannot keep my body on the floor of the tub without pushing up the water with my hands like you would in a pool. Am I treading water in my bathtub? Is that....ermm.... becoming? I mean I don't see it in the movies.  Did Julia Roberts have an issue like this?  I can't turn on the relaxing music because I can't tough my phone now that I'm completely drenched and not just leisurely damp. I could probably swim around a bit but that defeats the purpose of relaxing my nerves.  Sigh. It's not in the cards today. I'm going to need to apply an apparatus to the tub so I can ground myself with my feet. You know. Like all beautiful, poised adult starlets. For the love. 

I'm not sure I'm cut out for some of this.  I'm kind of a simple person. You know hobbits, good earth and growing things, good food, good friends, a small life.  My Texas life does not feel small; I don't think it's going to be small.  

I'm standing on the edge, so timid to go farther, so afraid of a big life.  I don't know how to embrace it; I stand in Lowe's and cry for the comfort of my old home that already has the perfect colors of my life. I can't even visualize what paints this new season. 

Change is so hard. Being brave is so hard. A new life is so hard. 

One day at a time. One more cannon ball into the bathtub.  Humor finds its way through the tears. 

A phone call came today. A voice on the other end of the line telling me that I am loved. Someone cheering me on from the sidelines.  Oh, dear one, you know who you are.  Your voice touched all the wounded places in my heart.  

Remember encouragement, friends.  Remember the ones drowning in the bathtub. We are not okay.  Among other things, we need stilts, Snickers (no, wait, Butterfingers, because no one else in this house likes those), and a word from you.  

We need help to launch. We can't do it alone.