Ramblings of an Inquisitive Mind

That is what I am—completely broken. I have nothing else to give, nothing else to offer. Just broken— out of order and not sure how to restore myself. My fantasy is to get rid of everything I have, buy a small RV, and just leave. Just keep going—satisfy my hobo heart and my restless soul, with nothing and no one to take care of, answer to, or be responsible for. Just go, whichever way the wind blows my soul. Isolated and alone with just me, a good dog, and the beauty of nature.

We are in the process of selling my parents’ home and property. I grew up in that house and on that land, and it is hard to part with it. I drove to Waynesboro yesterday and as I was switching between radio stations, Miranda Lambert’s song “The House That Built Me” came on the radio. I never listen to new country and I had never heard that song, but for some reason I stopped my radio surfing and listened to the song. I totally lost it as I was driving; the song spoke to so much of what I have been feeling. I am sure the process of letting go of my childhood home is responsible for some of the things I am feeling.

I am broken—I am searching for a way to and a reason to survive. Some days my goats are the only reason I stay here. I cannot leave those first three knuckleheads—Javier, Honey Bee, and Tupelo. They have healed me and saved me more than anyone will ever know. I know it seems silly to some folks, but they are what keeps me going. They give me something to look forward to.

How do I survive this emptiness? Will I survive? It seems like I have spent a large portion of my life just trying to survive and I am tired. Tired of the fight and tired of struggling.

Am I depressed? Probably, but this seems so much more intense than the depressions—the dark nights of the soul—I have survived in the past. Grief is different. It stays there, sucking every last glimmer of hope away. Depression is something I know well, something I have survived over and over again. But grief—you don’t survive it. You can’t outlive it. I am not even sure depression and grief are closely related; they seem so different to me in their intensity and duration. I would prefer to fight with my depression any day. At least I know what I am battling.

I was not ready to lose my father and then my mother. I was not ready, and I still am not ready. I still need them. I still want to talk to them, laugh with them. I still want to pull up in their driveway and know they are home—and know I am home.

Yesterday, when I walked into their house, I no longer felt them there. Of course they are not there physically, but for so long I still felt them there, in that house, when I visited it. But not now. Their spirits have moved elsewhere—hopefully into my soul. There are times when I feel them with me, but not often enough. I hope their presence will feel stronger and stronger as time passes.

I never imagined living in a world without my parents, and I don’t like living in this world now. They were my comfort. Even with all the ups and downs, they were the ones who kept me here. So often I thought about leaving this world, but I knew I could never do that to them. When I got cancer, I was so afraid that if I did not survive they would be devastated. Now I am devastated, and just trying to stay here and survive another day. Some days I don’t know why, but I just keep hoping I will begin to see my purpose.

Life is not easy; it is difficult for everyone. It is funny what life will do to you. I have always felt that love was out there—that there was a reason to focus on the positive and keep going, because good things will come. Life has sucked all of that out of me. Life is about surviving—enjoying the fleeting moments of happiness and having the strength and fortitude to weather the storms.

I have to look for some ways to remind myself that there is a reason to be here. I catch a glimpse of the sun reflecting off a bird’s wing, or a dew drop hanging from a blade of grass. I watch the dragonflies and the ladybugs. I watch the grass and trees as they begin to bud and grow, and I know that life is all around. Ever changing—I realize that one season follows another. Death follows life. Death is a part of living. I am broken, and maybe will be for the rest of my life. Maybe life will bring me answers, healing, growth, and love. Thing is—I have to stay here to find out. Damn it!