I just watched a “soldiers coming home” meme on Facebook, meant to draw a few tears, a sad smile, a thank goodness. I cried, not over those soldiers and their families, but because I felt what they felt, once. In a dream. I was sitting at my kitchen counter, and I felt him walk in. I turned, and there he was, standing in the doorway. There he smiled. There he held out his arms for me to launch myself into. Watching that stupid meme, I remembered the mindbending joy of those people in it. And I remembered how empty my arms remained as I launched.
It’s been hard to post in here, lately, ever since my weighted house and bear dream. My days are full of so much happiness, so much happening. It’s not all fucking rays of sunshine, but who can let the heaviness devour when your son and his lovely girlfriend come home to visit, when you see your family more than usual, when your grandkids are adorable, and your oldest daughter makes you tea, and your youngest one has a new puppy and a one-eyed cat? When all your literary aspirations are, daily, happening and happening and happening? And so I don’t leave any of myself here, because there’s just too much to contain, or set loose.
The weight of this house still presses on my shoulders, but I’m better at bearing it now. Deciding I’m okay leaving has built up some sort of muscle, or muscle memory, that keeps me from going down on my knees. Bear is gone north, without even a glance over his shoulder. He can’t. I know he couldn’t. But still it skewers me, a kebab on the fire roasting low and slow and inexorable. Maybe he’ll be back. Maybe he won’t. I never did like kebabs all that much.
I want to be done here, to be in the new, to leave behind (only a safe distance) this dream of life I’ve led all these years. Turn the corner, the page, the bend in the road, the wheel of the year. I’ll be patient, faithful that things will work out in a way I’ll be able to work with. It’s what Tiggers do best, after all–roll with the punches, make lemonade out of lemons, always look on the bright side of life.
7 responses to “Homecoming”
Beautiful, hopeful and ready! Love and hugs!
Back atcha, love. XX
I went to the funeral of a 14 month today. They put her to bed as usual and she did not wake up. I don’t think there is anything harder in life than for a parent to lose a child. I hope with all the selfishness in my body that never happens to me. I hate hate hate it that it has happened to people I love.
Having a lot of happiness doesn’t balance the see saw on the loss. It is just good to have happiness amidst the pain. Enjoy your living children, grieve your other. They are separate events.
I will hope for you that there are more moments of happiness than sorrow. I think that is a fair request of the winds and fairies and gods and muses.
You are amazing. Thank you, my Bea.
This was so beautiful, Terri! Wish I could give you a hug in person. Wait! I can! 36 hours and counting…
Thank you. And eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!