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A long time ago, there was a family.  They wanted a house with room to grow.  After much searching, the perfect candidate was located.  It had a huge yard with plenty of room for dogs and kids to play, beautiful stained woodwork in an area where painted was the standard, and a large comfortable kitchen.

Over the years, the woman put her stamp on the house.  Walls were painted, furniture purchased.  Of course as the family grew in size and number, bigger changes were made—a playroom was added, the master bath was renovated to allow for more closet space and hallelujah a bathtub where she could soak away the cares of the day.

The crowning glory, a couple of decades into residence, after the kids were almost grown and thousands of meals had been prepared and served—a new kitchen.  The one that came with the house had served its purpose, but its shortcomings had become apparent over the years, and it was worn and faded, much like the marriage of the couple who lived there.  

 The new kitchen was everything the woman thought she wanted—it was arranged efficiently, the finishes, the appliances, every last detail chosen with excruciating care.  Of course the actual construction had the usual delays and challenges of any remodeling project, but the end result was well worth the time and effort.

But all the paint and cabinetry and tile and shiny new stainless steel appliances couldn’t fill the emptiness inside the woman.  She began to disengage—finding new interests, new friends—people who saw her as a person, not merely as a part of the house.  She told one of these new friends she felt like a ghost in her own home, as if no one there could actually see her.

The changes in the woman didn’t sit well with her family, who were shocked and disappointed to find she might want more out of life the joy of folding their underwear in perfect thirds and preparing dinner for them every night--then cleaning up the detritus alone as they scattered to their activities, their friends, their lives.

After much angst and more than a few tears, she left, taking with her little more than her clothes—walking away from the house which had so defined her for most of her adult life, and leaving a confused, bitter and angry family behind.  

Now she splits her existence between two places, neither one of which is home.  Her toothbrush doesn’t sit on the vanity in a bathroom any more.  When she leaves, she carefully removes all traces of her existence, so as not to be an imposition on anyone.

Living this half-life is very strange, but it’s part of the transition process.   With time, she will re-emerge, whole, brightly hued, and settled somewhere.  In one of the places where she stays there is a small picture of a sailboat, the words below read:

A ship in a harbor is safe.
But that’s not what a ship is for.

A ghost ship now, she sails uncharted waters, looking for the sunrise that will bring her back to life.

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Comment Preferences

  •  Tip Jar (12+ / 0-)

    There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast.

    by puzzled on Sat Sep 22, 2012 at 07:33:42 AM PDT

  •  (((((((puzzled)))))))) (3+ / 0-)
    Recommended by:
    puzzled, mommyof3, Sylv

    You will get there dear friend.

    Probably when you least expect it all of a sudden you will be full sail again with that sun coming over the horizon.

    •  thank you (2+ / 0-)
      Recommended by:
      Alma, mommyof3

      I am getting there.  Things are looking brighter, but still some storms ahead.

      I am thinking about you a lot lately--and I know I am just one of many, many people who treasure you and are pulling for you.

      I may x-post at firefly later today...not much going on there lately.

      There is no snooze button on a cat who wants breakfast.

      by puzzled on Sat Sep 22, 2012 at 09:04:04 AM PDT

      [ Parent ]

      •  It does (1+ / 0-)
        Recommended by:

        seem pretty much dead.  Mishima and Doc are still posting pretty regularly, but they tend to not comment on posts other than their own, so not a lot of talking going on.

        I try and go check over there at least once a day, but between the work on the Election Diary Rescue and the fatigue from the radiation I haven't been commenting over there much.  But I will check for your post (and comment) through the day so I don't miss it.

  •  Transitions are by definition... (2+ / 0-)
    Recommended by:
    puzzled, Alma

    not easy... it's all the changing that is happening.

    I wish you peace on the way.  Divorce (I know from experience) is a tumultuous experience- even in the best of circumstances...

    Our country can survive war, disease, and poverty... what it cannot do without is justice.

    by mommyof3 on Sat Sep 22, 2012 at 09:33:08 AM PDT

  •  fading (4+ / 0-)
    Recommended by:
    puzzled, Alma, Kane in CA, bwren

    Not fading away, fading into, fading into your own life.

    Fading away from a life where you were a life for others, fading into a life that is for you.

    Feel the strength at the bottom of your spine.
    center yourself.

    Fall back on those who love you.


  •  It sounds like you have resolved one thing. (3+ / 0-)
    Recommended by:
    Alma, puzzled, bwren
    A ship in a harbor is safe.
    But that’s not what a ship is for.
    Now you just need a destination. Good luck to you.

    Words have meaning. Our words will reflect what is in our souls.

    by JanF on Sat Sep 22, 2012 at 02:31:15 PM PDT

  •  A friend started this journey (1+ / 0-)
    Recommended by:

    four years ago.

    Two weeks ago I helped her start a garden behind a teeny house she just bought in a hidden, comfy, and definitely un-chi-chi neighborhood near to where her grandchildren live.

    In the meantime: she discovered a faith that works for her; through the community surrounding that faith she found ways to travel - to Europe, to India, to Africa; her travels brought her new ways of making a living and new sources of strength.

    My friend is 66 now. It hasn't been easy for her. She sometimes still feels lost and angry, but something has changed in the last four years. Call it patience. Call it resilience. Call it wisdom. Call it the arrival of a great and wicked sense of humor. Call it whatever you will, but I wish for you a similar journey. Not that it will be easy, but you have already proven yourself ready for the challenge.

    I came for the politics and stayed for the science.

    by bwren on Sat Sep 22, 2012 at 06:32:32 PM PDT

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