I haven't been able to find the right words lately and, I must admit, my desire to write has packed its bags and headed south. I see it sitting comfortably by the sea, sipping margaritas, reading Jerome K. Jerome and thinking that all the good things have already been said before. Yet, here I am once again, trying to subdue my own ego that demands I write something, anything, to prove that I still exist... So here I go. Forgive me for repeating things you may have heard or lived before, but I'm only human and I am the only subject I think I know well...
It's been an interesting couple of weeks for us at the B&B. The Man and I finally saw our parents for the first time since everything exploded and I think we both were relieved that no one got punched or screamed at. Actually, we are both blessed with good people to guide us, good people to love us unconditionally, and good people to hug us until our backs hurt and our eyes water. I thank God for these people who have not judged.
The Man took my parents back to the airport yesterday morning and he told me that just as my dad was about to disappear on the other side of security, he turned back to The Man and said something about how "it's working... we're working" which, knowing my father, is huge.
Our martial troubles may have been ours alone but the waves created a tsunami that hit all kinds of shores.
We're clearing out the debris now, both physically and mentally. We've starting getting rid of furniture that we don't use, toys that are broken, clothes that don't fit. We're seeing our friends again, travelling, playing chess with the kids. Life feels lighter, simpler, and overall easier to clean.
The Man is singing again. A lot. I'm laughing again. A lot.
I find I don't need the words so much when I'm living the emotion.
Yes, my wonderful father, it is working.