Yesterday was restful and we topped off the day with Chad driving us down to a restaurant (famous for its onion rings) where we had a delicious dinner. When we got home, he built a fire in the pit and we bundled up and sat around and admired the almost full moon as it rose over the mountains. The mountains are far away enough for me to feel their majesty and power but not close enough to make me feel trapped.
It is cool this morning and very quiet. I feel rested today and the shatteringly nervous feeling I've had since leaving Macon has abated some. I still carry an emptiness in my gut, but I expect that to be with me forever in some form. I didn't come here to get well. I came here to get better, to escape the heat of Macon and put some distance between me and the house where Clint died. I'm nervous and at war with my knitting. Curious for me to be writing about feeling better in one sentence and writing about feeling nervous at the same time. I worry when I can't knit.
Today we went to town, a bumpy, curvy, sometimes unpaved ride of about 30 minutes. The Stisters (my new name for Kristy an Gretchen since they are more like sisters to me than stepdaughters) know all the good places to shop, and I joined in, buying new jackets and socks at TJ Maxx. But the best thing I found was a nest of 4 ceramic bowls, brightly colored and about the size for soup. As soon as I paid for them, I began making plans in my head for when I get home. I'm going to take down ever chipped bowl in my cupboard and line them up in the driveway and beat the shit out of them with a hammer. It makes me feel good even thinking about it.
I haven't cried except for a few episode on the drive from Macon. NO. That's not true. I have had weepy moments here. Gretchen is not judging me, but she is having a hard time understanding why I can't feel Poppy's presence in the same way she does. Her grief is so much healthier than mind, and I envy her that. Jesus. I would give anything to hear Poppy speak to be through the song of the wind chimes. I think it may be the difference in losing a parent and losing a spouse. The hole in my heart hasn't begun to heal, and I don't think real healing will start until I get ride of this anger. I still feel so cheated, and I am beginning to resent growing up without a father even more than I have in the past. That's another blog altogether. As much as I dread dredging up those old feelings and starting to remember more about my childhood, I know it is something I must do. Writing down all that shit may kill me, or so it feels. Not in the literal sense, of course, but in the sense of all the pain and resentment it will bring to the surface. I have to be strong, whether I want to or not. For now, though, I'm leaving those memories hidden wherever they are. Months ago, before Clint died, I began remembering things and writing them down under the heading "Unwanted Memories" in my journal. I will deal with them in time, but for now, I miss Clint in ways that are impossible to describe.
Later: 10 PM The afternoon of shopping left me bone tired, cranky, head-achy and when we got home I wanted to climb up into this wonderful bed and sleep for couple of days. But I didn't. I had drinks and dinner - Chad grilled the burgers and Kristy made the corn chowder - and then I came to bed. Honey is asleep, and I soon will be.