8 months ago
It's always been a dream of mine to move to a tiny mountain town where I don't know a single person. Where I can have a little house with big windows and a large garden, and the pace of life is slow, and I can walk to a quaint tea shop and listen to cardinals chirp in the trees while I read a book, peacefully.
It's weird to get what I want and still feel so sad.
I think about my mom, and everyone else who has died too young. I think about the people who are sick in hospital beds; I think of my nanny who is now to frail to walk. I think of refugees, and single mothers, and those who are poverty stricken, those who don't have options. Those who might have had dreams but can no longer make them a reality, or never had a chance in the first place.
There have been days this summer that I have to remind myself I'm still here; I'm still alive. I've got to keep living. Not because I feel like dying but because grief feels so much like a sinking pit, a heavy dark blanket, an endless, anxious bad dream I can't wake up from. Time feels stagnant and sometimes I look at my face and I don't even realize there are tears coming down it.
Today I let myself howl as I unpacked some of my mom's things. I haven't fully had the space to do so (sorry new neighbors), but beyond that, I haven't LET myself. I've always said that this area in North Carolina feels sacred to me, and nature has been a respite from the chaos.... So I'm hoping so desperately to heal the sadness in my heart, so that I can continue on with my dreams and do something good for the world.
I'm still here. I'm still here. I'm still here.
And I know I'll shine bright again. ⛅