This is What I do
This is what I do
This is what I do now. In comparison to before, when I was going to live until old age. Preferably in a mud/adobe hut on farm land in India…. I’ll be wearing a white sari. Apparently in this dream my husband is dead because that is what you wear once your husband has passed in India. Although there is no sadness in this romantic fantasy I see. I love my husband. I worry about his heart- in all its facets.
Now I get cards and I put them up. Around my house. Before, cards were nice tokens that took up space. And my space was filled with carefully crafted things that I have very carefully curated. Or created myself. I am an artist, hence the incessant interest in how my space feels and looks. The cards. Now I read these cards over and over. By the way, I let my house get dusty now too. What a relief! I don’t why I made such a fuss all this time. The cards. I keep them in carefully picked spots where I will see them often. They make me smile. They make me cry. They make me happy.
Now, when I am done looking at them or I’m just tired of seeing the same thing, I put them in drawers, I do not put them in the recycling. I put them in the drawers of special things. These drawers holds my kids’ teeth, other cards, pouches of dried herbs made by my children in pre-school, and other small, novel, and sentimental knick-knacks. I think as I place them with a little more care now,” Hmm I wonder if they (my girls) will read these?” “They might like having them to look at.” I get teary for a moment and somehow, I move on.
Now that is.
That’s the new part here. I am able to take a breath, a mini step forward without getting stuck in the sadness. I have struggled to get here. Shedding so many tears I wonder if my husband will go mad listening to my grief. And, I haven’t, until now, been able to contain it. It has leaked, seeped, jumped, and creeped out over many months. Unable to smile or have fun. Everything riddled with- “will this be the last time?” I don’t know how many times I have said this to myself over this winter. I don’t know how people could bear to be with me. Yet, I do know I am loved and that’s the primary reason anyone around me has put up with my bullshit. I feel that love. I am letting that love in…slowly. Slowly…I am learning to let the love in, feel it completely, and let it go…. unafraid. Somehow, I know now there will be more love. I trust there are those that will show up. I believe. I trust. I have become the love I so wanted.
Now I keep everything. Though I am still very organized. I still like neat piles that make sense, look pretty, and serve a function. I have many drawers now, ready to put the next feather, stone, seat # for a recent trip, or a few bucks just in case.
My dreams. Will fall into the hands of my children.