All require patience.
I am a nester by choice, by birth, I strive to create a home, a place where people want to congregate and like, learn to love each other. I like to cook, bake, feed the hungry. I like the light of the candles on vibrant walls, the feel of wood beneath my feet. I like the sound of an ambient melody, of fingers on paper, a warm mug. I like the idea of impromptu sleepovers. Of friends, family, lovers lingering. I like the discovery of sand in winter, pine needles in summer shaking out rugs from the seasons before. I like open windows and knowing my neighbors. I liked, loved where I lived and now for the first time in a very long time I feel trapped.
After spending the majority of the last 2 years renovating the garden apartment in my father’s house…on my own. Ripping out the old, replacing with the new. Adding modern-day comforts to make my life easier; to make the life I had made for myself outside this house less stressful when I came home. Paint chips, granite, stainless steel, bargains and steals, investments in color and warmth, investments in me. I had finally paid off the contractor, it seemed nothing more was needed to make it feel like home, and it was home, finally, but it didn’t last very long.
Not nearly more than a month.
That’s when the stroke came.
And now no place is my own, no place is private, no place is mine.
I thought in moving most of his ancillary belongings downstairs, by adding cable and a spanking new television he might adapt and adjust at an easier (potentially quicker pace). Instead he lives in limbo, walking stairs against instruction, sitting at tables encroaching on gray space.
I just came home from work, I don’t want to see you. I don’t want you in my part of the house. Go away. Stop reading to me, pushing the cereal box onto my keyboard, stop making crumbs on my floor.
I have a lot of patience, but I wonder if the well ever goes dry.
How long until I snap, go mad?
How long before he realizes I am losing myself in every day that he regains his strenghth?
How many daughters move out when their parents age? Reverse assertion.
An ultimatum, a decision, an offering, a piece. What will be my peace? Where will be my peace?
Will I have to force myself to make a decision, to finally leave?
Where will I live? Where do I want to live? I was supposed to be married by now, wasn’t I?
Perhaps like someone suggested today, the time has finally come for me to selfishly flee.
Each today, well-lived makes yesterday a dream of happiness and each tomorrow a vision of hope. Look, therefore to this one day for it alone is life.
I thank my lucky stars that before this all happened I decided to splurge on a luxury vacation. It is a small light at the end of a long tunnel.
Sometimes what you need is to stop, stand still, and listen.
Listen to your breath, the wind in the air, the heel toe tap of running shoes on asphalt, the whir of cyclists behind you, the splash of the bay against the rocks, the murmuring voices of in a language not your own.
Feel the sun on your skin, feel its warmth on your clothes. Smell the sea, admire the soft and gentle current. Remember all that which you have forgot.
Breathe it all in, deeply. Allow it to fill your lungs, clear your head, cleanse your aura, and set yourself free.
Embrace this moment.
numb, stoic, empty
that’s how i feel. lost, confused
trying to make sense
every day chaos times two.
foolish, i believed
caring for my mom
would prepare me for right now.
back then dad and i
had to learn to be close, friends.
i didn’t count on that
so drastically where it hurts
my heart so deeply.