We've been in our house for a little over 3 months and trends are developing - while I appreciate the bend toward our new normal, I have to acknowledge the bending has exposed another layer of grief - one that I sort of expected, but not really. Today's a tender day - following a tender weekend - one in which I have come to accept there are some realities to which I must simply acquiesce. While I never intend to sound whiney, I do seek to be authentic and honest about what life's twists and turns mean for well-being.
In case you're curious, grief is REAL and part of it's MO is its unpredictable, sneaky ways. It has this way of inserting itself into a conversation to which it was never invited and attempting to take over. All the while those who are talking simply look at each other and roll their eyes while simultaneously thinking I really wish this a--hole would see themselves out of our chat... Grief doesn't give a care - just keeps right on throwing the wet blanket of heartache on top of whatever it is we're doing to try to build new life. I'm pretty irritated with Grief - we are not friends - but I've grown to understand that until I allow myself to really feel the weight of her wet blanket and swim in the heartache she ushers in, Grief will continue to come with some frequency. By allowing this intruder bits and pieces of time and staring her right in the face, somehow I may not have to entertain her quite as often. But the swimming in her feelings bit is unpleasant and exacerbated by every day life - needing new car tires, school supply lists, more bills than we were used to (who pays for garbage pickup? And damn! That trash chute was a gift), one more car, having to bellow for family to come to dinner because we're more spread out, parenting growing children - you get the picture. What are normal, everyday energy needs now drain more dramatically because the inner, personal pool of emotions is swirling more rapidly and viciously than typical, everyday normal. In short, these are tender times.
Enter irony - my life is great! Seriously - I have accepted a great opportunity to teach preschool this fall, our children are happy, Philip's work is great, we have a lovely home and we are surrounded by wonderful people and are so very much closer to our families. Frankly, there's not one single thing for me to complain about - not one! It's actually arguable that I'm being a brat. Yet here I am, publicly naming my funk because I miss the people who are still home to me in a place that's 3000 miles away. I miss walking everywhere and seeing snow on mountains and water everywhere and hearing dozens of languages as I walk down the street. I miss running into neighbours in the lobby or on the elevator after dropping the kids at school. I miss "our" places - granted we're auditioning a few potentials here. I miss city life. And the flower carts - ahhh - I rarely bought from them but so enjoyed walking past them. I miss the weather - sweatshirts in July were dreamy. I really miss my best friend.
All this to say - I'm reaching down to grab my big girl britches by the seams and pull them up and try to move on. But it seems I'm not as quick to adjust these days - I'm choosing to claim my snail's pace acclimation as a reflection of how deeply I fell in love with Vancouver. And that was a complete accident. I landed in that place intent to keep her at an arm's length since I knew it wasn't our forever home; what actually happened was she has forever claimed a piece of my heart that I'll never be able to surrender to another. At some point in the future I'll be able to honestly say I'm grateful for her claim on me, but today, today I'm just sad. I'm sad that Kirsten and I can't got to Delany's for coffee twice a week or meet for lunch at earl's or hit happy hour at Black & Blue or sit at a window table at Nordstrom and enjoy a half and half iced tea. So, Grief, I'm swimming under your wet blanket, but you won't make me drown. In fact, I'm putting you on notice - we've landed in a place that is becoming our new home in its own right and I'll one day (soonish) be merely waving at you as you pass by on the opposite side of the street. You've been warned.
