Invisible Tomorrows

Well, it's been a while. Plenty of things have happened, and nothing has happened. Every day holds an invisible tomorrow, which unfurls itself only as we live out it's seconds and minutes and hours. This is okay. It's the way things are meant to be, so that we are not crushed by the weight of all our tomorrows and the uncertainty they bring.
Time passes. I've been thinking. People say things like You are so strong. And I think, no. I just hide my weakness well. People say things about my husband and the choices he has made. And I think, no. There are always two sides to a story. Relationships, and love, and marriage - they are rarely black and white. Going through something like this means learning to listen, to take in, to absorb what everyone says - and then to keep what makes sense and get rid of the rest. I have realised many things. I have more friends than I thought probable. Or possible. My family is my bedrock. Being alone isn't the end of anything, or everything. There is always the hope of a new and better day if today seems black and yawning.

I haven't taken pictures in months. I miss it. But this evening, I found photos I took earlier this year of things around here that just spelled home for me. The irony is that I am looking for a new home. A new place for new memories, so that we can preserve the special and happy times we had here. Looking at these photos, I was struck by how much of 'home' is really in the details. The small things we surround ourselves with because they make us feel happy, or grounded, or peaceful. Because they remind us of good things, and good times, and people we love.

There are so many memories here that I will take with me. Immy's first steps. Late Sunday afternoons with the smell of wet soil in the air. Days spent under the tree in the garden, playing and learning and celebrating life.

And other things.

Summer afternoon sun.

And shifting shadows.

Drops of water cradled like pearls in an oyster.

Endings are sometimes thrust upon us, without our permission or consent. Our only choice then, lies in our response. To choose to face the end without bitterness, or rancour. To try and let go with dignity, and courage.

To choose these things so that a lifetime of love, of good times and good things and treasured memories, are held safe forever.

Still breathing. Still learning. Still choosing.

Happy Wednesday.

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand 
that this, too, was a gift.

- Mary Oliver


Melanie said…
Lovely and the photos are beautiful!