For some reason, night writing seems to be happening. The moon is hovering in the skylight above and I am grieving. But no one died.
I am grieving my dreams, the ones I had 25 years ago when I moved here, the many that came true and are gone, and the ones that can never be. I didn’t realize I was grieving until I cried in my husband’s arms the other day, perplexed, and he said, I think this is grief.
I used to be a very dark soul.At 19, I took the Rorschach test, and came out of it very dark and gloomy. But then, over the next ten years, I found my soul and I became, if not happy, happier. By 35, I had created myself from a skinny, underweight gal with a too short, Helmut head haircut into the me I dreamt of being. Shoulder length hair and a lot of bounce in my step to go with it.
That is when I met Ram and that was the beginning of more re creation. There were parties and more country parties, there were good jobs and not so good jobs, and there are dogs. But, I was always becoming. And I was always dreaming. Every good magazine, Instyle, and Architectural Digest led me to visions of me that danced in my head.
I recreated some of those visuals, if only on a very small scale. Three years ago, I ran a little rental for the summer and it was adorable. I spent more time dreaming it into being than I spent in the short term rental business. I will say people who came wrote great reviews and I did bring to fruition what I imagined.
But the whole time, I had anchors here. People I knew, saw regularly or irregularly, but people I could count on. One of my favorite, most true anchors was a friend named Glenna. She was a friend to both Ram and I and two weeks ago, she moved. Just knowing she was 15 minutes away was a peaceful feeling. You could drop in to Glenna’s anytime and she’d have a story and a cup of tea for you. I wished I had visited her more because now she is in another state, hopefully settling in nicely.
We had another anchor, Rene. He was Ram’s best friend. He was always calling to check on us and forever calling Ram on his birthday and holidays. Then one day last year he passed, just disappeared into the ether. Rene and his wife were in our wedding twenty-five years ago. We miss him so.
The other day I was putting some things away for a posterity that could care less, and I sat down in a big red chair that my Mother in law Sat in years ago. Another anchor who left just as I was being calmed in her presence.
Impermanence has never seemed so permanent. I keep reaching for my old anchors in my head, their protective guardian spirits but they are gone. It was fun to dream while they were nearby, it gave my dreams their possibility between the solid pillars of routine, warmth, and love you can count on when you don’t live close to family but have dear friends.
Where do I place my dreams now in this aging, sore body? We are, I understand, terminal, but I have to find a way for the dreams to emerge. A place where they can be with only my anchor.