Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Little Brown Feet

So I'm sitting on the couch and look up to see a little brown foot hanging over the stairs, and I call out, "I see a little brown foot." My godson replies, "No, there are two little brown feet." Guard my heart, Goddess, I'm falling in love with a three-year-old. Bittersweet thought, that.

Four hours from home are two children that I've only seen a few times. They don't know I'm their grandmother. My heart breaks for the loss. I dream of the day my younger son has children, and I have the funds to see them on a regular basis.


Yesterday The Fiber Geek called and told me her daughter has experienced trauma. She's in New Jersey on a job, and won't be flying back to Atlanta until really late Thursday. The sound of the concern in her voice was enough. I took three days off and I'm in Atlanta. I type this from the basement bedroom of her condo. Her daughter and Little Raven, age three, are upstairs taking a nap.

It's strange to occupy this space. It's time to revisit the past and heal old wounds. The new few days will be an interesting journey. I think I'll use the time to put some old things away that I've carried for many, many years.

It's strange walking around the house. So much has changed. But that's still my Disney plates on the walls. That's still Cameron's mural in the corner. This was the place I came when my life imploded. When neither son would speak to me. When I lost my home, my grove, my life as I knew it. When the world of technical writing and steady pay checks ended and all I could find for work was nannying for $20 an hour.

I read a book once called The Winnowed Woman. She talked about the same things happening, and her life was separated like the wheat from the chaff.  It's been nine years since my life imploded. When I traded dreams for survival. When I had to accept I would never be a part of the boys' lives the way I wanted to. When I realized that I cannot choose a good man, and before I realized I could choose a good relationship with Cameron. When I learned that spirituality is breath, not a grove, not a priest and not a priestess. And that they, too, can be fooled by illusion. It was a time of bitterness, pain, and loss. I still grieve. Perhaps I always will.

And yet, like the Phoenix, I live.  We have an extraordinarily modest home in desperate need of repair. But we have a home. And we, Cameron and I, share a miraculous relationship of joy, appreciation, depth. I have become a priestess, a therapist, a partner, and a better friend. Not such a bad outcome...

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Where I am Now....

I seem to be waiting...change creeps along, promising transformation. But life happens while we wait. I continue to work as a substance abuse counselor. I never stop marveling at the stories, the lies, the illusions and the surprises my client present on a daily basis.

I'm also working with Safe Homes Rape Crisis as a therapist. My hours of service pay for my supervision to complete my licensure requirements.

I miss blogging. I miss the words, the keyboard yielding thoughts, ideas, and moments of transformation. But exhaustion dogs my steps, and the most I seem to manage is pushing a mouse around Facebook games. Maybe this weekend, for a few moments, I can find my voice. My best friend called saying her daughter was experiencing life in high gear, and the results were not good. The Fiber Geek is New Jersey for a couple days more, so tomorrow I drive to Atlanta to spend some time with her adult daughter and grandson.

The next few days promise to be interesting.