As I start this, I just know it will end up on Shell’s “Pour Your Heart Out” Page. I’m thankful for her keeping that weekly link up open so I can spill my emotional vomit and not be the only one doing it. Misery loves company, right?
Okay, so it’s not all miserable. But it’s a lot of what I can’t, or won’t, normally write. Today’s post is about life. And death. And a few things in between.
The last week has been a mixture of endurance, sorrow, mourning, and sickness. The details don’t really matter. My Blog friend, Jenn, nailed it when she said this is “vague blogging”. Not so much a fan of teasing y’all… but there really are some things I just can’t say. Ever.
Except today I’m sad. I’m just utterly sad and tired and worn out… and, of course, hopeful. Because regardless of how bad things are (and I thought they were bad a month ago… boy was that just a prelude!), nevertheless, I’m still loved. And sheltered. And cared for. And breathing. So it’s okay.
That’s the part I’m choosing to remember. The parts that turn the bad stuff into Something Good. That even my worst is someone else’s best. I’m blessed, I’m rich, I’m healthy. Even when it doesn’t seem like it.
And I could sit here giving myself a Pity Party. I choose not to. That doesn’t mean I’m not tired or worn out or feeling down. It just means I can still smile about it. And if all I know is only that, it’s still enough.
I can’t even say life goes on… for some, it doesn’t.
It’s completely strange yet comforting that most of my tears fell at the end of FLASHPOINT. It wasn’t just the end of this wonderful series that got me. It was the catalyst that allowed me to face the pains inside. It gave me permission to cry. It was a bit confusing… and a bit cathartic.
It was symbolic of so much. The highs and lows of the last week. The beginning of some things… and the end of others.
And then there are the stories I can’t tell, because they’re not mine to tell. The stories that leave a pain in my soul that isn’t easily healed. So I hold on to hope that this, too, shall pass.
Dot is under the weather tonight. I’m hoping she just needs a good night’s sleep. We’ve been house-hopping to Mom’s for a few days because the furnace is out. Again. The fifth time since Christmas. And it’s finally been given its last legs, a new one has been ordered. It was suggested that we get a carbon monoxide detector “just in case”. While it hasn’t sounded an alarm yet, there’s that keyword yet. I’ll be sleeping less peacefully until the new one is installed on Saturday.
We’ve been intermittently staying at home in the cold, staying at mom’s in the warmth, and thankfully, the furnace is working just enough tonight for us to stay home comfortably. I expect it to go out again tomorrow, as that seems to be its pattern. At least the cats are happy to have us home. But the turmoil hasn’t been good for Dot, and now she’s feeling ill. I hope it’s not the flu. She has so much on her plate, that’s the last thing she needs.
And a Momma never stops worrying about her babies, no matter how old they are. My mom and I are evidence enough of that!
I’m waiting to exhale when the Cookbook Project is finished. I don’t understand how I could believe in something so completely and not be successful at it. But that glimmer teases me. It’s not over yet. One more week. I have one more week. And, as the last week has evidenced, anything can happen. Even the unexpected. Be it good or bad. I believe it will be Good. But getting there is terribly stressful.
Mostly, tonight, I can’t shake the feeling of sadness over one small thing:
I never hugged Grandpa Jack.
He’s not my Grandpa. He’s the father-in-law of my dear friend. She’s been a motherly-mentor to me for nearly two decades. We were at their house for Thanksgiving, and the whole family was around. And when it came time to leave, I was selective in my affections. And I awkwardly never hugged him. Because after knowing the man for 18 years, I still didn’t know him. And I was embarrassed by my shyness. So we left. It was the best time we’d ever had together at the Great Turkey Shoot. I told myself I’d hug him at Christmas.
But I didn’t see him again.
And now he’s gone.
I never hugged Grandpa Jack. And that horrible thought haunts me. Because now I never will.
I don’t know what to do with all this pain… except sleep on it and know that tomorrow I’ll wake a bit more refreshed. A bit more warm. A bit more optimistic.
Because Shell let me get it out of my system. Sometimes, all we need is a friend to say, “How are you, really?” and mean it. Even if it’s just on a Blog.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote.