Hello, dear friends. I’m enjoying the bit of sunshine we are getting at the moment, as we’ve had mostly rain, rain, rain all week. In fact, there is more rain, rain, rain coming in the next hour, if you can believe the forecast. I am prepared: Lu has been out again and done her business, I’ve swiped the leaves out of the tiny little gutters on Opal, and I’m contemplating what to eat for lunch in a bit.
It’s been a productive weekend. I’ve gotten my outdoor one mile walk in both days before the downpours, finished a book I’ve had for months, ran all of the errands and even installed a few conveniences in my shower that have been sitting in a box for a couple of weeks. I’m already ahead on my water intake for today and I’ve done my resistance training this morning. I’m still not hitting my goal of doing that three times per week, but I’m calling it a win at two times. Three would be gravy. I wouldn’t want to let pride settle in.
I wasn’t sure how this past week would go. You see, Thursday, the 13th, was six years to the day since the raid on the house which turned my life upside down. To be honest, each year around this date since, I’ve struggled. I think around year three, I slipped into weepiness, grumpiness, and depression without even understanding what was causing it until I had an aha moment when I realized what the date was. I’ve written before about how some studies have shown that our bodies remember, even when our consciousness does not.
As I sat down to journal Thursday morning, I knew exactly what day it was and wrote this:
Today, on the sixth year since The Trauma, I hereby declare that this day shall no longer be a day of mourning and sadness, but shall from here forward be an official day of celebration to be known henceforth as The Day of Freedom.
And I meant every word of it. I lived every word of it that day. And I will celebrate it every year from now until I’m no longer around. The truth is, as traumatic and horrible as it was, that day was the day I began to get my life back. I was delivered from a horrible marriage and every step I’ve taken (sometimes crawling, rather than stepping) has brought me to this incredible life I have right now. An incredible life that will only get better.
That is worth celebrating.
Joyful things this week:
One of Fred’s offspring has put on two new little sprouts (they’re called cladodes or phylloclades rather than leaves)
Found a home for my dad’s coin collection with my son*, which makes me happy to no end
Found a ring that was my dad’s tossed in with the coins. I decided I am going to wear it for a while. It has a lovely amethyst in it, which was his birthstone and I was delighted when I realized it fits on my index finger. It is clearly too big for my hand and clearly a man’s ring, but I don’t care. I’m enjoying the vibe it carries and the memories it is prompting me to revisit.
Thanks for reading.
XX
*When I asked my son if he thought either of my granddaughters would want my dad’s coin collection, my son gently reminded me that he has a coin collection of his own and has had since he was still at home. 😳 I literally had no recollection of that which makes me question what else I’ve forgotten from their youth. The next day, I did feel a bit better when I dragged a memory up from the vault that he had collected those quarters they issued for every state and I can visualize the little folder they went in.
Loved this. Sounds so healthy. And, it’s embarrassing things I do not remember from my daughters’ childhoods that are apparently precious memoriees to them. Oops.