New horizons

It seems, lately, as if all I've written about has been sadness and reflection. I've been in that place of going along, watching the ground in front of my feet, for so long, I haven't looked up in quite a while.... And there are so many beautiful things to see.

This week, Kame is at home with a friend coming in to be sure his dish is always filled with fresh greens and berries and a bit of egg, all his favorite foods. I am on our yearly camping trip with the family, taking a moment to breathe... and a moment to look back upon where we've been... and forward to where we are going.

The healing process, it seems, is a slow one. Each time I feel as if I've come to a place where a certain name will never cross my mind again, something reminds me and takes me back to that earth-shattering phone call, and the sick, lost feeling of dreaming you're falling and never hitting the bottom. I remember the betrayal, and I am angry all over again.

Those moments are painful for my husband as well. Just when he thinks we've gotten past all that, when he thinks it might be safe to move forward, to grasp the happiness we once shared, I turn on him. Oh, I don't shout or rant or bring it up and pick a fight... It can be something as little as a look, a turning away, a frown, but he knows, almost always, what's in my mind. I hate the flash of regret for what should not have been. I hate the hurt and what I fear will soon turn to resentment if we cannot resolve this rift between us.

I hate knowing my churned up emotions are the cause, when the scab is torn off yet again and we are left to bleed, each in our own ways. Regardless of who inflicted the wound in the first place, we must work together to heal it. If trust can't be rebuilt in a marriage, what will be left? I fear some days that we will end as very good friends... but nothing more. When I think of what is at stake... I can not stomach the thought.


My fears, though, are fading, slowly, painfully. This week, we've been out kayaking...
























And having fun together...


And hanging around the campfire, watching bats flit overhead. (by the way, we got the funky colors by tossing in a couple packets of stuff they sell at the camp store.)


Yet, I found myself acting out of jealousy and insecurity, pushing myself too hard physically to keep up with the activities my family wanted to engage in, pushing myself emotionally to be "upbeat" and social, unconsciously pushing my husband away and withdrawing when I felt he wasn't paying enough attention to me. In short, I found myself sabotaging what I needed most: A few days of simple interaction with my family.

For several months now, I have been working long hours, trying to establish myself as a freelance writer and editor. I've been throwing myself into this job... and trying at the same time to avoid neglecting my family and friends. I've been trying to succeed without losing that vital part of myself that makes me who I am. It hasn't been easy. There has been frustration and resentment on all sides as my family adjusts to Mom working. I had hoped this week away would help re-cement my commitment to my family; to show them that I am still available to them, and have not been swallowed up in chasing my long-held dream of finishing college and writing full time.

The extra work has made my life more stressful than before, and, I'm learning, makes it more difficult to stay connected, to stay in the moment, to work at a marriage that still needs attention and nurturing if it is to survive.

This week away has taught me that if we are to rebuild what is broken, we will have to recommit every single day, to remember what it is, exactly, that we're fighting for. We will need to go through these moments, the happy and the painful ones, and we will have to learn to set aside our day to day rush sometimes, and just be.

There is hope. It burns bright, just beyond the bend. All we can do is keep walking, keep striving, keep working together every single day. It's the only way to win the quest, to live the adventure, to find our own happy ending.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

~*~*~

"I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song."

-Roy Croft

“Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.”

-Erica Jong

Changes

Kame is an intrepid soul. He seems to have decided the stairs are his Mt. Everest, and he's determined to defeat them... from above. My fear for my little friend's safety means I must deter him from making such a treacherous leap, but that doesn't mean he won't come back and try again and again. I fear if Kame ever does succeed in his attempts, he will suffer irreparable damage. A turtle's shell is a vital part of his skeletal structure. I must be diligent in keeping him in check, although I am sure he resents being returned to his safe abode.

In ten days I will begin my college career. To say that I am nervous would be perhaps the boldest understatement ever made.

Did I mention that I'll be working in a program that allows an individualized learning plan, a combination of traditional classroom, online courses and one-on-one tutoring in which I'm expected to design my own path to a degree? Oh, and by the way, next year Arek and I will be homeschooling. To top the mountain off with a beautiful snow-cap... Ken has accepted a job with Homeland Security as a State Fire Instructor, a job which adds 20 hours a month to his already hectic schedule.

Just to recap: College. Homeschooling. Second job.

It's quite a heavy load to lay on a marriage that has already cracked once. A lot of strain to put on the still-healing scars of the past. I haven't been sleeping well, thinking about the possibilities, and remembering. Remembering the long nights when Ken was volunteering more of his time to the Fire Department, the resentment as I fell into what felt like a single-mother role, the strain and the snapping at one another, the lack of communication, the ruts we fell into, undercutting one another, the anger that built up until it bubbled up through the fissures and very nearly broke us apart.

We broke under the pressure once, and... if I am honest with myself, I know it could happen again. I hope that we have learned something from our experience. I believe we have. We communicate better these days. I am far less quick to whip out my "Whatever.", a code-word for "Fine. Do what you want. I'll make do, but I won't like it." Ken is better at listening, and being honest about his own feelings as well.

I sometimes want to herd us away from the danger, to avoid challenges for fear we could fall. I want to protect what we're rebuilding. I want our marriage to work. It's easy and comfortable in our safe little place... and if we stayed here we'd stagnate.

Life moves forward, with or without our consent. We must go with it, or be swept away.

Rejoicing in the day,
-Mary

*~*~*

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

-The Hobbit, J.R. Tolkien

~*~*~

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,' he used to say. 'You step onto the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.'"

-Fellowship of the Ring, J.R. Tolkien

Don't fence me in

One of Kame's favorite activities is climbing. Wherever he is, he seems to believe there is something better, something more, on the other side of the obstacles in his way.

Sometimes, I think my determined little terrapin friend has the right idea. Other times, I feel fenced in, trapped, as if I can never escape the choices I've made over the past twenty years. Walls... sometimes they seem unscalable. Fencing me in... holding me back.

Watching Kame climb, I realized that if an awkward little turtle, wearing a heavy shell, laboring away with his short legs and stiff plastron, can manage to get into the amount of mischief Kame manages to find, I should be able to overcome a few inconveniences.

When I was seventeen years old, two weeks before I turned eighteen, my father passed away. Cancer slipped in like smoke, winding its evil way into our lives. I knew, early on, that something was wrong, but I didn't know what. I tried to get him to see a doctor, to talk to Mom about how weak he felt, how sick he was, how he hadn't gotten out of bed much lately, how he was always "sick to his stomach", but Dad... Well Dad was a proud man, and I believe he knew, right from the beginning, that he was dying. He didn't want endless poking and prodding. He wanted a peaceful exit, a quiet walk into that good night.

I... I wanted my dad. I wanted him alive, well, and taking me fishing. I wanted to hear him laugh. I wanted to see him bouncing his grandchildren on his knee. I wanted his hugs... I wanted his approval.

Of course, what I want and what life hands out are quite often two very different things. Dad got his peaceful slide. Mom took care of him with tenderness I'll never forget, and I, well I was like a third wheel, always seeming to be in the way. Regret and hurts and grief piled up, building a wall between me and my hopes for the future that I thought would never come down.

The wall has loomed large lately. I have wanted my father more in this past year than I have in all the twenty he's been gone. In the past, grief was an obstacle, a wall I couldn't climb over. It seemed endless, stretching to the sky.

A character in a movie I love runs off into the distance, measuring the length of a hedge that has suddenly appeared on his turf. "It goes on forever!" he comments, before disappearing into the distance in the opposite direction. "It goes on forever this way too!"

Grief can seem like that, a never-ending wall stopping forward motion.

It is time I climbed the wall. It's time to move forward. Like Kame, I am learning to climb, despite the load I've been carrying, despite everything in my way.

To that end, I've applied to attend SUNY Binghamton's Winter Session, beginning in January. I've also entered NaNoWriMo, a writing challenge which will be in full swing by the time this blog entry is published.

Lesson number four for marriage, and also in life: obstacles are not walls, they are challenges. Life is an obstacle course and we can only truly live if we keep on climbing, keep on growing, keep on moving forward.