The last two nights there is an alarm buzzing at 3:43 a.m. Like the alarm on my cell phone but not my phone. Not the time I would set.
I have new neighbors. They finally moved in. I haven't met them yet. I am glad they are there. I feel overwhelmed at the responsibility I have to keep my house.
Rich died three months ago today. It is raining. The sound of the water streaming down the hilly Maxwell Park neighborhood makes me happy.
It is nearly impossible to be anything but on the cusp of emotion. I am learning to give away, surrender, nurture newness, and grieve. But each time I do, I feel possessive, owning, settled, the glimpse of the warrior in my soul reaching for the surface. For me.
To be alone, function independently, reverse a lifetime of together. It is not freeing, not quite yet. Rich's watch beeps in repose. Non intrusive, a tickle of memory and humor. I listen. Three months.
Not sure. Live in Oaktown. Open. The address. Anxious. A scary dark place. Joy. Neighbors and friends. Care. My skin. Preserve. A dream, the reality created from wisps. Persevere. Moment by moment.
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