Samuel leaves for work, I am alone. I remind myself that I’m not lonely, I’m alone. And not alone really because now I have myself. I am the one with me from birth to death. I still deal with feelings such a sadness, like the loss of my Mother seven years ago this same season, the Spring of May.
And the loss of my friend, Sue. Returning to my computer, after re-filling my coffee, its slide-show flashed a photo of her. She died three years ago at only 68 after five years of remission from breast cancer. Seeing her happy smile with her dog and grand-son shining through the window made me remember and smile. Her husband had died from an accident only nine months prior to her death.
My friend Mary, who lives down the road, introduced me to her. I organized a group of women who meet monthly rotating whose house to meet at each month. That has been going on for for well over ten years. We do crafts, or play cards, munch on snacks, of course chat and catch up, and the hostess serves dessert at the end.
The hours fly by. Mary encouraged me to invite Sue, but I wouldn’t, hesitant to upset the working balance of personalities that got along. And for many months I resisted until finally relenting.
What took me so long? Sue suffered a rape in childhood which I didn’t know until she joined. Unlike me, she was very upfront about it. Hers occurred by the stranger off the street, not the usual way as statistics support, a family member or friend of the family.
It is easier to talk about it if it’s a stranger; easier and more acceptable. And it shouldn’t be. Being hit by a Mack Truck is being hit by a Mack Truck. But her family handled it very much the same; they provided no support. You tough it out. She was expected to NOT mention it and go on as if nothing had ever happened.
I noticed in our gatherings, until she became more comfortable, how groups of people made her highly anxious and she wanted escape. I noticed many similarities that made me feel deeply connected to her. And her to me.
She lived in the neighboring town, emailed me chatty news regularly, called on occasion just to talk and we often met outside of the monthly gatherings. Over a period of five years a friendship developed unlike all others. Then?
Gone. Just like that.
That is why to cherish each day.
Cherish that I have a home, a husband, two sons I am close and connected to, two grand-children I adore, and maybe most cherished of all is that I have found home inside me. I feel settled even amidst those times in-between when I’m not because I come back ‘home.’
For most of my life I lived in upset, disconnected to my source, or center. Flying parts couldn’t be contained. I felt scorching loneliness clawing from the inside out, desperate for a family who wouldn’t have me as I am. I had to pretend, so I did.
And as long as I pretended to be what they were able to live with so the truth didn’t upset them, I did not have me. I found myself hiding deep. I went deep to find those parts that made me me, connecting the flying parts; here is home. I am so grateful to feel wholeness. Because since age 8, I never did feel whole again until I found and owned all of me.