Change.

I’m not good at it.  It’s scary.  Good… but scary.  I don’t handle the unknown very well and this past little while has been chock-full of it.

I bought a car.  I am now a proud owner of a new-to-me Ford Escape I acquired without the help of ‘fuck-me’ financing – you know, those 24% + hideous things they call ‘loans’?  More like loan shark…

I’ve made some changes in my business, enjoying the flexibility of a more creative role while continuing the work I’ve always done.

I’ve said Goodbye to old dreams and Hello to a new life.  I’ve failed amid success; I got lost on paths well known.

I’ve lost a husband.  I’ve lost a friend…

I’ve lost weight I didn’t * need * to lose – though I’ll admit it hasn’t done any harm to my chronically curvy self.

I found dignity amidst the rubble that was once my life.  I lost my voice and all but forgot how to write.

I discovered the bliss behind ‘Five More Minutes’.  Five more minutes of pretending this world is not yours, not just yet.  Five more minutes of blissful ignorance of the troubles brought on by daylight.

I reconnected with my past – the woman I was before children.  I found her enjoying the last few rays of a warm spring afternoon, surrounded by tulips and the smell of fresh-turned soil.

I found myself and all but lost everything in the process.  I found my voice at the expense blissful ignorance.

I am no longer a wife

I no longer sport the symbol of apparent marital success – a large diamond and a Facebook status.

I am a mother; I will fiercely protect my littles from harm while teaching them to see beauty in the wild.

I am a daughter; caring for aging parents and navigating a health care system that wasn’t designed for those suffering.

I am a sister; at least, I hope I still am.

< allow me to interject a bit of humour as I can’t help but think of  William Shatner’s ‘I Am Canadian’ speech in the face of so many ‘I am’s>

I catch myself in the freezer aisle wondering if we’re still boycotting McCain… only to remember I’m not allowed those thoughts anymore.

I don’t have an answer for my girls when they ask why they can’t play soccer with the boys.  The truth is I was hanging on to hope, a hope with no budget for soccer.

I am not-so-gently reminded that I did this.  I caused this.

But… I didn’t do this alone.  I didn’t cause this by myself.

And yet… It’s my fault, right?  As the woman – it’s my fault.

I’ve watched friends walk away and helped my husband pick new bedding.  I took everything I had to bring everyone here, together, so I could take care of everyone… but everyone is leaving.

And I’m left to wonder.

Why am I the one left alone in a dusty shop, long after the doors have shut?