Two years after his death and I’m restless; restless in spirit, soul, mind and body. Too much time is spent in trying to find something to do and someone, anyone, with whom to enjoy life, to hold a sweet conversation.
Perhaps depending on others is wrong. However, at some point every adult needs another with whom to sit face to face and discuss world events, a family recipe, or maybe just supposing what would happen if…
That comes up short when you are a widow. At the moment you lose your partner, many friends turn away and new people have no interest in being your friend, so you turn to other ventures. I bought and remodeled a house. For a brief time there was a semblance of happiness as I delighted in decorating or making changes that pulled a house into the current year. Yet it has never become a home.
Eventually even large projects such as remodeling end. A few weeds draw my attention to the flower beds. They are swiftly dispersed. How many times can a garage or closets be rearranged in a week when you live with a daughter who remains in her own room most of the time? Running a chauffeur service for her school, Pilates, and karate classes takes up time but brings no satisfaction. Starting a group of like-minded single seniors flopped though many signed up. No one wanted to actually attend events. Poker anyone? Evidently not.
Thus I have done the one thing that keeps turning my brain into a rapidly moving monkey mind. I put the house on the market. Another pile of bricks, plaster and wood will pull me in, begging, like the Million Dollar Man, to be made stronger, handsomer, more useful.
Family doesn’t believe I’ll sell as I’ve been talked out of it before. This time is different. The time feels right. The only question is where to move and what area to establish my next project. Perhaps the circle is ready to close. Perhaps I’ll return to the state of my birth, the place I could not wait to leave – Alabama. Family ties call and that is where they are.
My brother says I will not be happy moving. I agree he is probably right. For a brief time, the project will hold my attention. For a few months, I’ll smile and mean it. The project will come to completion as will my short moments of contentment. Then it will be time to move on again. The one person who held me in any spot, filled my soul with utter joy, and made me whole is gone. No one has replaced him. Maybe one day there will be a man who will be worth coming home to and who will may my heart leap with joy. Until that time, the restlessness will remain a part of me, unsatisfied, unwilling to settle down to a mundane