Flowers on Sunday Julys

Some things you don’t want to know will take a year – even if you know or suspect everything will work out.

This month marks a year since I got the notice I had to move out from my home.  I know everyone wishes I would seize the chance – after so many years as a roommate – to find joy and self-expression making my own home again; a silver lining from the upheaval I went through.

But it turns out relocating was one upheaval too many.  After the move, I was too numb and exhausted at first to even believe in my surroundings, never mind inhabit them.  Then in late October, I started crying every day – and tears filled November, December, January and most of February.

The past week or two, though, a long-dormant feeling has begun to stretch and yawn itself into my awareness:  I live here.  For now, for as long as I can manage to pay for it, these rooms are my place in the world.  Yes.  It’s home.

Things don’t have to be perfect to be a blessing.

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One thought on “Flowers on Sunday Julys

  1. Honey, can’t believe it was a whole year ago. All that stress and strain. All that anxiety. It takes a long time to feel you live somewhere. I’m glad, though, that search and the traumatic move are over.

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