HopeHope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
I have been away from blogging for a while--since March to be more precise. May first marked the one year anniversary of my father's death which sent me into a bit of a dark place, and then my mom died somewhat unexpectedly May 24th (at almost 81-years-old the imminence of death is always apparent). Thrown further into the darkness, I was just beginning to see light when the older of our two girls, the golden retriever, became suddenly ill. We laid Abbie to rest July 8th. It has been a dark, painful summer.
Despite it all, I've only gained about 5 pounds. At other times in my life, I have gained as much as 20 or 25 pounds in 6-8 weeks of much less stress. My nutrition hasn't been perfect. Neither have my workouts. But I have stuck to the basics as much as I could, and that has been my saving grace where my weight is concerned.
Over these months, I've found myself in a bit of a strange identity crisis. I am almost 39-years-old, but losing the last of my parents somehow felt like losing what was left of my childhood. Suddenly, with a few heart-wrenching words, I was thrust fully into adulthood as crazy as that sounds. The two people to whom I would always be a child were gone. I no longer had the safe haven of their unconditional love and acceptance, their glowing pride in me. I no longer had their wisdom or their friendship. I no longer had the one thing on which I could depend, no matter what, to catch me if I went into free fall. Or so my heart felt at the time. In truth, my dear hubby provides all of that, but in a different sort of way. That truth, however, was clouded by the sorrow and a feeling of utter isolation. I miss my parents and my babygirl every single moment of every single day. My heart often feels like a sucking wound, a hole swallowing up the light and goodness and joy around me, and I am ready to leave that feeling behind. I have come to the conclusion that I cannot do that while standing still. I must place that package of pain on the ground and walk away from it, keeping the goodness and happiness and wonder of parents who did it as well as they and a dog who taught me about love and the joy that can only come from a lack of expectation in only the way she could.