Flying away
This evening, I'll fly away, my body weightless in space, my spirit heavy, longing to be back on the ground. Usually, I hate this place, and I long for nothing more than to flee as fast and as far as I can. Today though, I'm torn, for a piece of me will be left behind, and I'll be even more tightly bound to this place, the place of my childhood, of some of my greatest joys, but also my most crushing grief. It's the place that stole my innocence, that sent me running 900 miles as soon as I possibly could. It's the place where I found and lost and found my voice again.
So, I'll fly away, returning to a place that isn't quite home. It's more a shelter, I suppose. It's a place that has allowed me to heal in some ways from the grief that brought me there. But, as I fly away, my soul will yearn for her, the one who remains on the ground, by my choosing, not hers.
Today scares me more than I can say. I'll navigate the airport with just a cane, and the not-quite-adequate sighted guide of one of my aunts. I'll board a plane alone, and sit for 2 hours. Something will be missing, a part of me will be empty in a way it hasn't been in so long.
How do I walk out the door today? How do I leave her behind? What does she understand about my leaving, and why she's not coming with me? Will she feel abandoned? Will she adjust, and, will I? A new person for her, a new dog for me. Two, blended into one, now torn apart by her retirement, and my need for a dog to walk beside me, doing the job that Caroline has done so well for so long. Part of me is afraid he won't measure up. I know every dog is different, just as no two people are exactly alike. Still, after seven years with such a stellar guide, I'm frightened by who I'll be receiving next. He works so differently from her. He seems so submissive, so subtle, where she has always been assertive. The transition will be difficult, I fear, and, today, as my emotions are raw to the point of something approaching a physical pain, I question my strength to do what I know I must do.
Today, as I prepare for what is the hardest day I've faced in a while, I ask Goddess to give me strength and to grant me peace. May her love encircle me, and keep me close, for I fear only that will keep me together.
So, I'll fly away, returning to a place that isn't quite home. It's more a shelter, I suppose. It's a place that has allowed me to heal in some ways from the grief that brought me there. But, as I fly away, my soul will yearn for her, the one who remains on the ground, by my choosing, not hers.
Today scares me more than I can say. I'll navigate the airport with just a cane, and the not-quite-adequate sighted guide of one of my aunts. I'll board a plane alone, and sit for 2 hours. Something will be missing, a part of me will be empty in a way it hasn't been in so long.
How do I walk out the door today? How do I leave her behind? What does she understand about my leaving, and why she's not coming with me? Will she feel abandoned? Will she adjust, and, will I? A new person for her, a new dog for me. Two, blended into one, now torn apart by her retirement, and my need for a dog to walk beside me, doing the job that Caroline has done so well for so long. Part of me is afraid he won't measure up. I know every dog is different, just as no two people are exactly alike. Still, after seven years with such a stellar guide, I'm frightened by who I'll be receiving next. He works so differently from her. He seems so submissive, so subtle, where she has always been assertive. The transition will be difficult, I fear, and, today, as my emotions are raw to the point of something approaching a physical pain, I question my strength to do what I know I must do.
Today, as I prepare for what is the hardest day I've faced in a while, I ask Goddess to give me strength and to grant me peace. May her love encircle me, and keep me close, for I fear only that will keep me together.