When we moved back to the subburbs in November of ’09 our reentry, blessed though it was, was not without bumps. Chief among these was the heartache/heartbreak caused by the dissolution of a relationship that was incredibly important to me. In fact, it’s only now that I can even write about it without crying, so shocking was the ending and so bereft was I without the woman I had become (I thought) very closely bonded to.
This friendship break-up sent me into a year of hermetic living. I sought no friends, trusted few, lived my life quietly and alone except for my immediate and beautiful family. It was a year spent watching life like a black and white television show–removed, seeing clearly but never becoming involved with the action, uninvested. These are not normal states for me, though my husband seems to have enjoyed it.
It was a year of processing, hiding, introversion honed to it’s most silent extreme. Sitting in my living room or folding laundry in the laundry room or washing dishes in the kitchen, there has been one constant thing to ground me, to keep my wounded soul from drying up: the water.
Somehow my ties to this place, to this body of water have kept me sane through this healing process which has left me scarred, more quiet of soul, less trusting yet more filled with love than ever for those true and honest hearts who, like the river, can be vivid and wild but remain always constant, always true, even when fog hides them from view.
Now though, now I can write. I can think of the pain and acknowledge it without descending into it, with no anger or animosity and, perhaps, with only the slightest wonder still of, ‘Why?’
This started out to be a post about suburban homesteading and turned, instead, into this.
Talking about the changes we plan to make to our home and acreage can’t be done without addressing the emotions that have brought us here and the emotions involved in looking at my Grandfather’s land while thinking of altering it to suit our needs. And finding that I have the ability to move beyond (memory, pain, tradition, question) is simply the beginning.