I don’t know where the excitement went, the feeling in the pit of my stomach that puts the zest into life. Is that maturity? Or is it because the reality of growing old scares me and fear follows my days infecting each minute.
I am not brave. I cannot pretend to be. I fall apart and cry and sometimes, like yesterday, give in to it. And that is more than OK, it is necessary. To let it out. I realize as I write that bravery and tears DO go together. To cry when one is taught not to, shows spirit, casting away should’s and falsities and allowing oneself to feel what is there. To be how one is.
One can always compare their status to another and come up better off. There is always another who has it worse. So the tears are stuffed. Until the melt down. What a relief. To let it come up and allow real feelings.
It’s only then that the internal pep talks begin helping again, the little reminders of what is worthy, the little things that make me happy; butterflies on the wall that sparkle at night in the glow of the tree lights, Cindy’s cut out tree ornaments that glitter in the dark by candle flame, that man I married, who aggravates me to distraction at times, then does or says something quite contradictory to the usual dumb arguments we’ve had for 35 years… now saying words that show understanding and kindness without the passive aggressive path he usually seems to walk.
Those are the little things that brighten my day. Oh, and COFFEE….
Bubble baths, or any baths may be a thing of the past. Boo Hoo. I will find new pleasures in simple joys, the spice of life. Like friends in flesh and blood. I let many friendships cool off as I immersed myself into the blogging world. Yet during this past year of blogs and posts I have met beautiful women who suffered so much yet get up every day and try again. Not all make it, but I understand that too. What we each do is enough. It has been one of the most satisfying years of my life because I found others that relate on a deep level, sad as that is because there is still so much needless suffering of our children.
I need both, the connection to souls who truly understand the challenges of trauma, especially one that is still taboo, and I need to be with a person one to one, see their face, feel them, laugh and cry together.
Today my friend and I will attend the church where all the choirs gather and each sing a carol. At the end all the choirs converge together to sing Hallelujah. The church vibrates with their song and thrills me to my toes with tingles.
I called another friend and made a date to visit her for tea and see her grand-baby daughter who she baby-sits. I have not yet seen the baby. It is time to repair my connections before I lose them altogether. Friends really are the SPICE of life. And they take some work and care to sustain.
We continue to enjoy frequent over-nights with our own grand-children; the laughter, the running of padded feet as they chase each other, their delight in the simple innocent things that make Samuel and I smile at each other. Life is good and I don’t need to bound around like Tigger to show it. I can be me, serious, sometimes funny, and peacefully happy.