.
I have been sick this week with a stomach bug, nausea, diarrhea, fever--nasty stuff. I stayed home from work yesterday and it was a MISERABLE day, I couldn't get warm, my insides were distinctly unhappy-- I haven't eaten hardly anything in two days. Not hungry yet, either.
I need my back sink to be fixed before the refinance loan will go through, it's something I could do myself, but I'm still weak and ill enough to not want to deal with it. I've called a plumber and I need them to come this morning and fix it. For the appraiser will have to come back out here to say that it's been done. It's aggravating. That bathroom is slated to be refurbished anyway--why would they hold up a loan for faucet replacement? Sigh.
I need to get out and get some things this morning, but the idea of getting dressed and moving around is more than I can stand.
Friday, November 11
Thursday, November 3
Grief
.
I'm a long way from my childhood and have been for awhile. Realistically I was probably a long way from my childhood when I was in it. Nonetheless, I am grieving a loss from what security and childhood I had. My mother is going to move into a retirement community. She is really going to do it. And in the process, the home I grew up in will be no more. I have my own house and home that I love. But Mama and Daddy's house and my Home was always there, always available when I wanted to be there. My home and family were imperfect and there are many things that were painful. But these days, when I am so conscious of my aloneness in life, I remember living with Mama and Daddy and my sisters. I remember noise and laughter. I remember cooking and working with my sisters (not always peacefully), turning the music on and singing together until we were finished. I remember long summer days spent sitting on the porch shelling peas and butterbeans, snapping string beans. Working under the shade trees shucking and silking sweet corn. Fighting over who got the wishbone at Sunday lunch. Driving the car to and from church before I had my drivers license. Watching tv together, having favorite shows we waited for every week. Taking turns sleeping in the same bed with my sisters, knowing that Jeannie would steal the covers and Linda would talk in her sleep. Standing outside in the complete darkness of a moonless night and seeing the yellow light spill from the windows of my house onto the ground. The sound of my family's voices carried on the night air through the window screens until someone would finally ask, "Where's Lisa?" Knowing that if I didn't go in, Mama would send Jeannie or Linda to find me.
I'm afraid I won't ever know those kinds of simple joys again. The joys of a family.
When Mama closes up the house I won't be able to go Home again, either. Even now tears of loss well up in my eyes and my grief is a hard lump in my throat.
On Sunday Joel and I are singing a duet and I've been thinking about the words of our song this week.
I'm a long way from my childhood and have been for awhile. Realistically I was probably a long way from my childhood when I was in it. Nonetheless, I am grieving a loss from what security and childhood I had. My mother is going to move into a retirement community. She is really going to do it. And in the process, the home I grew up in will be no more. I have my own house and home that I love. But Mama and Daddy's house and my Home was always there, always available when I wanted to be there. My home and family were imperfect and there are many things that were painful. But these days, when I am so conscious of my aloneness in life, I remember living with Mama and Daddy and my sisters. I remember noise and laughter. I remember cooking and working with my sisters (not always peacefully), turning the music on and singing together until we were finished. I remember long summer days spent sitting on the porch shelling peas and butterbeans, snapping string beans. Working under the shade trees shucking and silking sweet corn. Fighting over who got the wishbone at Sunday lunch. Driving the car to and from church before I had my drivers license. Watching tv together, having favorite shows we waited for every week. Taking turns sleeping in the same bed with my sisters, knowing that Jeannie would steal the covers and Linda would talk in her sleep. Standing outside in the complete darkness of a moonless night and seeing the yellow light spill from the windows of my house onto the ground. The sound of my family's voices carried on the night air through the window screens until someone would finally ask, "Where's Lisa?" Knowing that if I didn't go in, Mama would send Jeannie or Linda to find me.
I'm afraid I won't ever know those kinds of simple joys again. The joys of a family.
When Mama closes up the house I won't be able to go Home again, either. Even now tears of loss well up in my eyes and my grief is a hard lump in my throat.
On Sunday Joel and I are singing a duet and I've been thinking about the words of our song this week.
"Dear refuge of my weary soul, on Thee my sorrows roll..."
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