I have been writing some stories about when I met my Sweetie and how things turned kind of upside down between me and my Dad. My group encouraged me to keep going on the theme 0f "MY" growth instead of focusing all on caregiving, death, grief, etc. Which is where I thought if there was a book in me, that would be the subject.
It hasn't been easy. It's taken 4 weeks and 5 "chapters" to even get to the end of our first date. Perhaps Love and War could be a good title. Anyway I've been stumped now that I'm at the point of story where Sweetie kisses me goodbye and I have to walk in the back door and meet Dad's anger head on. I think the stuckness comes from the same feelings tucked away in a hidey hole under my ribs. The story is hard to write from my perspective and not make Dad sound like the Big Bad Wolf. Which of course he was on occasion, but so was I.
Anyway, I decided today to clean out the guest room closets because we're going to have guests at the end of the week. I've been wanting to tackle the project but it is daunting and a lot of the stuff there should be thrown away. But how can I throw away fabric, and sewing supplies even if I may never use them again? And how can I throw away stuffed bears of all sizes that Sweetie has given me over the years? And how can I throw away stuff like anniversary cards from my parent's 50th wedding anniversary? So there I am knee deep in stuff and I come across a letter, stuck in some fabric. It's a letter from me to my psychiatrist, dated March 12, 2004. I wrote to him explaining how the week had exploded after that first date.
It says everything I wanted to write about, but didn't know how. I talk about "moving in a direction I need to be going," and a "time to stretch and grow and be a woman." There it was, in a closet I never open, inside some fabric I'll probably never use again, as if waiting for me to find it.
Serendipity? Fairies? What? Can you explain it?
Wishing for you awakenings,