I just love these tulips. It seems as though they come up every year prettier than ever. I believe they are called Angelique. Double blooms start out almost white. Then they gradually evolve into a luscious pink. I photograph them every year. I think it’s time to show them off.
Monday, May 8, 2023
I’m sitting in front of my firepit tonight, and I am realizing that I have been hiding my feelings behind whatever I am reading or TV shows that I’m watching. I turned everything off tonight and had a fire and had a real good cry.
I’ve been listening to the Wicked books in order. I just finished Out of Oz. Those books are so much about politics, of course, and war, but also about the turbulence of relationships, the acquisition of love and friendships. Loneliness, resilience. And the fantastic imagination and vocabulary of Gregory Mcguire. I can’t leave that out. I wonder why I am drawn to those books now? I am wondering if they have a message for me about loneliness and how to deal with separation from family and such. Although he gives no answers. Only questions. Which, of course any good author would do.
I know that I have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life. And I know that I have to deal with the real world. And sitting here listening to Simon and Garfunkel on Pandora and enjoying this glorious fire I know I have to deal with my feelings and not hide behind a good book or a glass of wine or whatever opportunity presents itself to interfere with me getting a handle on this grief. I have to begin turning everything off and figure out where I’m going. To figure out what I need. Figure out how I’m going to move ahead. And not pretend like everything is OK and a year is past and whatever.
And I realize that I’m not sorry for Jim anymore. Jim is in a better place. God help him. He’s not in pain, not looking forward to chemo, not watching his body deteriorate in front of his eyes. I have to come to grips with that. And I know I haven’t yet. And I know I must. That’s a lie. I am sorry for Jim. So very sorry.
I had a great cry tonight; a weeping, wailing cry. But was I crying for Jim, who’s past crying for, although I do cry for him? I know I do. I’m so sorry for him. He didn’t deserve that. Or crying for the life we might have had things gone differently? Or crying for our children who are still grieving as I am? Am I crying for this whole cancer nation that we’re living in? Seriously this whole cancer nation! What have we done to our air and the water that made us so cancerous? It shouldn’t be like this. It just shouldn’t be so much, so wrong. I don’t know and I know I can’t help fix it. So I have to decide what I can do, that is very little. I am a very small pebble in this very large ocean that is cancer.
But I know for sure I have to get out of this fog. I have to come to reality. I have to decide how to live my life for the good.
