Today I feel like I am in a holding pattern, waiting for my new life to begin. I am surrounded by poignant and painful memories of my mother and sister, Debra's, death, in this house, in spite of my efforts to cleanse the rooms of them. I have smudged the house with sage and played classical music and hidden pictures that reminded me of them. Yet their spirits linger. At night they sometimes infiltrate my dreams. During the day I fluctuate between missing them and stifling my anger at them for leaving me with all this emotional and physical baggage. I have been unable to interact with mother's and Debra's things. It is hard to even look at them.
There are people I need to see, relationships I need to heal, closures I need to make, but I lack the energy and the will to do so. It is an effort to even get out of the house. I am comforted by the seclusion of my bed and books and television and internet. It seems to be as much as I can handle right now. Phone calls and visits with others require emotional energy that I don't have enough of to expend. I am so tired.
So, I wait. I pour over atlases and research England sites and dream of my new adventure abroad. I avoid phone calls and limit my visits with folks to one or two a day. And I try not to feel guilty about all of this, to let myself grieve for a minute, to not fill my mind and heart with a list of shoulds. And slowly I heal. I have been going to concerts and movies lately. I have talked to a few people on the phone. I have managed to make it to work most days, to read newspapers and magazine articles, even some pages in a book. These are the first words I have written in months. Every step is a big one, and I celebrate each one. It means I am coming out of myself, and getting ready to move on.
This blog is written primarily for me. But I will share the link with others as my preparations grow and my writing gets more interesting.