couldn't drag me away ...
One of these days, I'll get around to uploading the approximately 9 million pictures I have taken of Scully over the past month. But it's been here, in Greece, that she has completely come alive. There is something about how she looks here, in this world of pale stones that hold ancient history that makes me believe that she is truly a Goddess given to the world.
There's a sad understanding in the realization that next week, life returns to Earth. We've been floating above it, dreaming, and even when Scully's nose is bleeding or her head is aching, we find a way to pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary. Nothing is different. We dance, we drink coffee in outdoor cafes, we talk about the future and the past and we've shed tears but they have been tears of healing. She was right when she said we needed this trip - not just to get away but to finally put the past behind us. When you are always running, there is no way to stop and gather yourself. You can let the wounds scab over, but there is never any real healing because there is always an itch, always something to start the bleeding again.
When I have to help a deep wound heal, I want it to heal from the inside out, she said last night, the starlight reflecting in her eyes. Maybe it was the lights from the cafe. I was feeling romantic. We put medication and gauze into the wound. It folds over and over again and every day, we change the dressing, packing it less and less because the skin is growing back. There is always a scar, but the wound is healthier. She smiled then and I kissed her hands and in that moment, somehow, something else was let go.
We'll be home next week. Back to the house that needs painting and the promise of a new leather couch. Back to doctor's appointments and treatments and my incessant worrying if she is even two minutes late. Back to painful memories of a life that was stripped from us and even though we have made a new life, there is always a question of what might have been. Healing while on vacation is much different than mending the wounds at home.
My dreams at night have shifted. No longer are Scully and I faced with the impossible decision of choosing between her health and the health of a child she is carrying, but I am powerless to stop the pull of a small chip in the back of her neck. She leaves me in the middle of the night and I cannot be angry because it isn't her fault but I wake up awash in the memory of her scorched skin and the fact that she barely escaped the last time. What if they come back.
When I tell her these dreams, she kisses me and calls me paranoid. But I see the look in her eyes and I know she is also frightened of the possibility. But what I fear most is that it is these dreams that drives me to want her to remove the chip. I know it has to happen. I know we have to see if it helps at all. But the what ifs are killing me.
But until then, we will dance to soft music and drink Greek coffee, and at night I will hold her and never let her go.
There's a sad understanding in the realization that next week, life returns to Earth. We've been floating above it, dreaming, and even when Scully's nose is bleeding or her head is aching, we find a way to pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary. Nothing is different. We dance, we drink coffee in outdoor cafes, we talk about the future and the past and we've shed tears but they have been tears of healing. She was right when she said we needed this trip - not just to get away but to finally put the past behind us. When you are always running, there is no way to stop and gather yourself. You can let the wounds scab over, but there is never any real healing because there is always an itch, always something to start the bleeding again.
When I have to help a deep wound heal, I want it to heal from the inside out, she said last night, the starlight reflecting in her eyes. Maybe it was the lights from the cafe. I was feeling romantic. We put medication and gauze into the wound. It folds over and over again and every day, we change the dressing, packing it less and less because the skin is growing back. There is always a scar, but the wound is healthier. She smiled then and I kissed her hands and in that moment, somehow, something else was let go.
We'll be home next week. Back to the house that needs painting and the promise of a new leather couch. Back to doctor's appointments and treatments and my incessant worrying if she is even two minutes late. Back to painful memories of a life that was stripped from us and even though we have made a new life, there is always a question of what might have been. Healing while on vacation is much different than mending the wounds at home.
My dreams at night have shifted. No longer are Scully and I faced with the impossible decision of choosing between her health and the health of a child she is carrying, but I am powerless to stop the pull of a small chip in the back of her neck. She leaves me in the middle of the night and I cannot be angry because it isn't her fault but I wake up awash in the memory of her scorched skin and the fact that she barely escaped the last time. What if they come back.
When I tell her these dreams, she kisses me and calls me paranoid. But I see the look in her eyes and I know she is also frightened of the possibility. But what I fear most is that it is these dreams that drives me to want her to remove the chip. I know it has to happen. I know we have to see if it helps at all. But the what ifs are killing me.
But until then, we will dance to soft music and drink Greek coffee, and at night I will hold her and never let her go.