I am not as stoic as I sometimes pretend to be.
This morning caught me by surprise; not the fact that it was morning, just that I somehow wasn't quite ready for it.
I went outside to look at the soffitts at the side of my house. They need repair. They weren't put in correctly to begin with and now it is a bit of an expensive issue. Not that I ever really believed a new house was that much more maintenance free than an older house.
Then I was tired, my left leg was numb, and I was lying down, looking out my small window at the dry patchy grass on the hill behind my house, thinking about the landscaping that hadn't been done this spring. And I remembered the view I used to have.
I started thinking about my former house, and the open flow of the space, and the deck. I thought about how we would go out on a summer morning and take an early dip in the pool before settling down with our cups of coffee. I thought about the fig tree that would sit on the deck all summer (you can see it in the photo below). The first crop of figs would be getting ripe about now.
I would think about all the good things and the good times. And I started to cry and cry and I couldn't stop. I wasn't really missing the place you see, although that was part of it. But the place is only important because of the people I shared it with, most importantly the person whose presence made that place my home. I wanted my old life back, my life with George. I wanted to go back to a time when I didn't have to deal with everything by myself. I wanted to go back to the safety of that deep voice and those strong arms.
George was the one who was good at playing hard-ball. Arguing with the builder or the homeowner's association or a lawyer was sport to him, and he liked to win. Me? I just want to silently fix the problem and avoid all the arguments and politics and bickering over who is to blame and who should do what. I can do what I have to do, but I surely don't enjoy it.
But that time is gone. I have wonderful memories. I also have family here, and wonderful friends, and much to be happy about. I even have friends on the HOA board. Oh wait, I'm on the HOA board. Piece of cake. As I said, I can do what needs to be done.
But that doesn't mean I'm not lonely sometimes. It doesn't mean that I don't cry. Actually it is good to cry. There was during the last year of George's life that I had stopped crying and I worried that I had stopped feeling. I worried that I would never really care about anything again. I was wrong. And that is a very good thing.
I'm having surgery tomorrow, a discectomy to remove the piece of disk material that is compressing my sciatic nerve. It is an outpatient procedure and I should be home tomorrow night. I am both excited and nervous, and I am sure all the anticipation contributed to my teary breakdown. I am eager to walk and sit again. Even so, I've decided to give myself a brief blog break on Thursday, so you won't hear from me again before Saturday.
The pictures all appeared previously on either this blog or one of my other blogs. The last one was taken from the master bedroom window.