“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.”
— Henri J.M. Nouwen (Out of Solitude: Three Meditations on the Christian Life)
I’ve talked about how I’ve pulled away from my friends.
I’ve been a crappy friend.
Mostly, because its hard to be a good friend when you’re afraid to leave the house.
But I feel like I want to try again…at least a little…
Typically, once I hit fall, I feel open, like its as new school year, new possibilities, a brand new me.
This fall…I feel much like I want it to be a funeral. The funeral of an enemy, who did terrible things and had a death much deserved. I want to delivery a eulogy to the summer that betrayed me. That instead of fun in the sun, was hidden torment and hidden pain.
Fall. Fall means that this terrible summer will die. That I can box up all the terrible parts of it and bury it deep in the ground.
I’m toying with coming up with some kind of ritual to say goodbye to that part of summer. It may or may not involve fire. I find fire very cleansing.
Its what I need to say “This is over.”
I think I’ll wait til the sale of our house is finally full. Then take part of a packing box and packing paper. Take the newspaper article with the picture of our destroyed, stolen vehicle. Take photocopies of unemployment checks and print outs of broken hearted emails. Pour some bourbon on it. Add a cupcake that I didn’t eat while hiding under the table. And burn it. And stomp on the ashes.
I’m so ready for it to be done and over. So ready to start whatever this next part of my life IS. Ready to not be afraid any more.
Ready for Thanksgiving and finding reasons to be thankful. Ready for Christmas and carols and mistletoe.
Ready for New Years and new beginnings.
Ready to be ME again.
Ready to be strong and confident.
But its not time yet, and I am impatient. I am impatient as the flower waiting for spring. As impatient as the geese, flying north or south at their appointed time. I know where I am supposed to be.
But its not time yet.