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All right, -18 degrees?  Ridiculous.  Yes, I am planning on moving to the Caribbean.  It is time to start focusing on what to do for the rest of my life, and the first thing is where to do it — and that is somewhere warm.

Last night was the second anniversary of my Mother’s death.  As with her death itself, the days leading up to it were filled with a welter of emotions.  I feel as if I relived those ten days second by second in some shadow realm where my body stores its’ physical memories.  The moment of her passing two years ago, I was stroking her hair, with my hand on her heart.  Tender, painful, beautiful, a pure Southern death.

Yesterday, tears spilled over from time to time.  Last night, Russ called to tell me he would try to stay awake to send his spiritual self 90 miles north to comfort me, since he could not be there with me.  And comfort me he did. Pat did not even call me.  So I went home, lay on the floor in the little hallway and sobbed for about 15 minutes (that seems to be the spot for me to do my sobbing), then got up, drank some bubbly water, snuggled in on the couch (highly recommend the fuzzy blankets from Bed Bath and Beyond), and watched The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, which spoke to me in new ways upon this viewing. 

In the course of the evening, I spoke with Drew, who told me that Pat has been gambling and hiding winnings, squirrelling household monies away, at least 3 days a week for over 5 years, since Kelsea has been in school.  Could this be true?  Pat denies it, of course, but what reason would Drew have to lie to me?  At any rate, contemplating this final betrayal as I crawled into bed last night, I felt a mixture of sadness, anger, disappointment and that I was at a turning point.  Waking this morning, I feel stronger than I have felt in weeks, certain of my course.  The iron has perhaps entered my heart and soul – not a good thing, but perhaps needed.  I see the road ahead being bumpy, but I am choosing to be thankful for this strength today, even if tomorrow it has faded with today’s sun.

And what the soul cannot see as well.  It is difficult to have faith.  In a dream, in a person, in oneself.  Where does it come from?  Every so often, I feel like I can tap into that depth in which faith lives, touch it, and believe it.  But it is so often elusive.  And patience plays into it.  Like most of us, I want it now, and remind myself of the Captain’s words: “Good things are worth working for, worth waiting for.”  I need to believe that I am a good thing, that my dreams are a good thing.  That whether or not I have a partner in this life, I can realize my dreams.  I do not have to be one of the millions of people who have a life half-lived.  I think I need to reread Isabella Bird’s biography. Now there was a woman who followed her heart and her dreams.

I moved out, when I think about it, partly because of the noise.  I find I like still places, places where it is easier to access peace and natural rhythms.  The constant noise of the TV just jangled my nerves so much.  It was on when I woke up, on when I went to sleep.  In my cottage, it is quiet, unless I want noise, and if I do, I can choose TV or music.  But there are many kinds of silence.  The still kind in which one has space to breathe and the empty, anticipatory kind that is reflected in contacts awaited but not received.  I long for a text, a phone call, a letter, anything to let me know that nothing has changed since Sunday. But I get silence.  The rational me says, “Sunday? That was less than 3 days ago! Get over yourself! Have a little confidence!”  The neurotic part of me says, “He knows I am scared.  If things hadn’t changed, he’d have contacted me.  He’s got to have gotten ten minutes away from her where he could, hasn’t he?  He changed things every other day last week, so what am I supposed to think?”  I do not know which part of me to listen to.  It is very difficult to trust and have faith today (and yesterday and tomorrow.)

I keep asking myself, “What is the lesson I am supposed to learn here?” I know there is one, but I’m hornswaggled as to what it is.  Is it that I don’t need a man to complete myself?  Is it that I am destined to follow my own path alone?  Is it that I should settle for a comfortable love instead of one that fulfulls my soul and crosses the planes of time?  Is it that no other person is worth this pain?  My instinct tells me that it has some sort of Bhuddist/Taoist/spiritual character to it, about being alone and comfortable and unattached to the world and others.  But at the same time, that feels as if I am doing a diservice to being alive in this body on this planet.  Sigh…..

We all know that theoretically, but it is a different thing to experience it.   After the suicidal pain of last week, and the prospect of losing Russ, he came to say goodbye on Saturday.  And I was reconcilled to it, at least on the surface.  But he couldn’t.  We couldn’t.  He left at the end of the day with a resolve for our future, and the recognition that we would not be happy without each other – ever.  And so I am scared, yet flying.  Hopeful, optomistic, hesitant, cannot hurt like I hurt last week.  We are planning on being together sooner rather than later. But there’s still a lot to work through.  I can only hope that the carnival ride has at least slowed for a while.

When I wake in the night, or the morning, I can tell what is happening by the song that is in my head.  This has never happened to me before.  Why is music so suddenly speaking to me? 

And my connection is mirroring his feelings – good/bad, high/low – physically.  I cannot understand how this can be and yet we must part.

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