This is me...staying afloat.

In many ways, the emptier it gets in here, the less "Abby-fied" it is, the easier it is to let go...it's not a home anymore.  It's just a house.  In other ways, I want to walk in and scream, because it looks like we've been robbed.  There's nothing here.  It's empty.  It's not only empty of things, but more importantly, it is empty of love, and that makes me so very sad.  My security has been taken away; the only "secure" I have right now, is that I'm breathing...which is always a good thing.  But I want my security back.  I don't want temporary. I don't want to rent a house, knowing that at some point, I will have to move all of my things, again.  And I know I'm worrying about stuff that is dumb.  I'm well aware of it, even.  But I can't help it. Security makes life's road such an easier one to travel!

I distinctly remember the day I went to Wal Mart, by myself, no kids, no Jason.  Just me.  I was probably 18 at the time.  When I walked in, I remember having the cart, and just standing there in the middle of the aisle thinking how small and alone I felt.  I felt that way today; had that memory, that feeling of "small"and "all alone".  I stayed in bed most of the day..it all seems like such a huge task, I cannot see the trees, all I can see is the forest.  The good news is that I can finish gathering my things tonight and in the morning, and be on my way.  I will still have to come and clean out my closet, but I can do that next week, while he is at work.  It's easier that way. 

I feel alone, so small, so ...inadequate, maybe.  And while I feel so alone, with all this hugeness of "stuff" I have to do, if I can get my wits about me, I can remind myself that there are hundreds of people who are thinking about me from across the world (Hello, Ginou!), and those who live around the corner (Hello, Nycole!), and those who would drop anything at a moment's notice to help, let me cry, love me (Hello, Alicia!), those who listen to my thoughts, uncensored, (Hi, Miranda!).  There are others...I could never name them all...Keshia, Heather(s), Annie, who have supported me, and who are watching out for me.  There are notes of prayer, there are notes of encouragement, there are notes of love, there are quotes (I love quotes!), the list goes on and on, and then I remember, no matter how small I feel, how insignificant my actions and needs seem, they have been addressed by the people who have rallied around me and helped me get on my feet. 

This is the part where I get to talk about being afloat.  You've seen Crocodile Dundee, right?  Do you remember the scene where they are in a subway station, and he is trying to get to her, and starts walking over the people, who end up helping him by "passing" him along, until he gets there?  In my imagination, that is what my friends, those of you reading this, have done for me.  You've lifted me up, kept me afloat, told me how I am strong, and probably best of all, you really BELIEVE in me, even when I am doubtful of myself. 

Over the last two weeks, I have been uprooted and for the first time in my 36 years, it will just be me.  Single.  So strange.  I wonder how long I will feel for my rings, then remembering they are not there.  I hope not long, but I figure quite a while.  ANYWAYS....I went from sitting in the closet on the floor, crying my eyes out, no job, no place to live, no nothing.  No gumption, worst of all.  If one isn't going to help herself, why would others want to help her?...to a job, a house, and the prospect of a new adventure right in front of me.  My friends, as I've said, have rallied, they've picked me up and carried me when I haven't had the energy to carry myself.  I've come up with every need I've had this far, and at the moment, the only thing I think I'm missing is a set of bowls with lids, and a telephone to hook up at the house.  Previous needs:  washer.  check.  drier. check. microwave.  check.  furniture.  check.  And so I will continue to persevere and hopefully, my testimony, if you will, can be useful to someone else somehow along the way. 

Tomorrow will be the day; the move-in day.  All of my things are there, but where do they go?  Do I put this here, or that there?  How many miniblinds do I need, and what sizes?  (Gotta get those asap.)  Anna is excited that we have our barnyard shower curtain to hang in the bathroom, and that she is going to have a new, pink bed.  I have no idea what I'm going to do for bedding in my room, but I'm sure as I unpack, I'll run across something suitable for a comfortor...I found sheets in my building...unmatching, yes.  :)

 I'm looking forward to making this tiny little house our home, home that we can come to after work and relax.  Home that we are comfortable, and our security is intact.  I want to turn on my lamp, sit all cozied up, and read a book.  I've been arranging all the furniture in my mind...do I want this here, or there?  If I put this here, then what does that go?  And so on, and this excites me, in a bittersweet sort of way.  I know I will be OK...and when I get settled, I'll be better.  Right now, I just see such a big task and I just freeze up and can't do it.  Good thing my "can do it" friend will be there to jump right in with me, as well as y

The trick is going to be settling before Thursday, as that is the day that I start my new job.   I will meet new people in a different town.  I will learn new things, I will do something I've never done before, but it's customer service and computers, so I should be good.  I just hope I can concentrate enuough on the task at hand to learn it, to remember it, to do the job, and do the job well.  I'm looking forward to that new start, but if I were honest, I'd say I'm a little worried, too.  Can I muster a smile when I look at someone and shake their hand as I am introduced for the first time?  Can my brain be less foggy so that it can hold all the new information?  It seems so big...but I figure if I can teach myself how to get a group of men traveling around the world, handing out Bibles with no help from anyone, this should be a piece of cake, especially since I know my teacher, and she is gentle and loving and kind, and only wants the best for me.  Another "need" met.

This is me...having a cheap therapy session.

There should be a warning label on things that say things like:
*Don't put me in a box, because you'll cry as hard as you did when you put me in there as you will when you take me out.
*Just leave me behind; you only think you want me now, but trust me, you don't want the memories sneaking up on you from behind when your eyes land on me in the middle of an otherwise perfectly fine day. Just leave me behind and miss me, the item, and you won't cry over the memories I bring attached to me.
*Sentimental: open after at least some part of you has healed, or you've cried every grain of salt out of your body. On second thought: neither of those will happen, so screw sentimental...you can just do without.
*Just buy a new one of me; you'll be far better off than keeping the old one.

Or do they make a "memory eraser" button? That might be handy.

I think moving into a new place should come with step-by-step instructions on what goes where, do this first, sit down and rest for 15 minutes here. No, I don't come with my own shower rod, so pick one up while you're out with all your extra money in your pockets. Oh-and each should also come with a magic wand or a Mary Poppins bag. "Handy man" has the word "man" in it, and I've sworn off those. If not indefinitely, then permanently, or at least not until I am 72.

Of course, all of this is dependent upon the reason for which you are moving; if you don't have a heart that has been shattered into an infinite number of pieces, with half the pieces out there still walking around, making said heart impossible to ever be complete again, moving into a new home might actually be fun. I always thought it would be. I always wanted my own little house to fix up. If that's so, then how come all the joy is sucked out of me, every time I think about it? Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. How many times have I wished that throughout my life? If I take it back that many times, will I still have to move? I'm with Anna. I don't like that house as much as I like my PiePie's house; I don't like ANY house as much as I like my PiePie's house, so how come that's not just fine and dandy? But, I also stand with Anna on the flip side of the question...I have no answers. And worse yet: I have no PiePie.

And how could I forget that the Fourth of July is just the "excuse" that PiePie and his group of friends need to put together the perfect cookout, complete with more than enough to eat, plenty of kids and room for all, and cornhole, and horse shoes, and all of those things will go on, without me here, a part of what goes on at the now defunct "Perry's Paradise"....at least in my book. I'm sure in theirs, the world will keep on spinning, as if I were never anything more than just a fly on the wall...here today, gone tomorrow, grouped off now with the ever-famous "Others". "I'm DIFFERENT!!!" I want to scream. I'm not like them!!! I love him, and want nothing more than to mkae him happy!!!! And then, my brain goes into the: you-weren't-enough-to-make-him-happy mode. It's all just a viscious circle of thoughts, stuck on repeat, along with the rest of the things stuck on repeat in there these days, sounding something like a huge trainwreck in there at almost all times....even when I should be sleeping soundly. As much energy as I have expended both physically and mentally over the last two weeks (seems a lifetime), you would think I could at least get some decent, Ambien-induced rest. But it's not to be had. Rest, elusive rest, how I wish you would come to me, my brain, my body. Perhaps I could deal better with rest...less of a snowball effect, if you will.

Pride is another ugly part of this. Oh, there is the sting of a breakup when you are not the one doing the breaking up, sure, but when you are the woman that the whole town and family has talked about for "taming" the legendary Mark Perry, and getting him to put a ring on his finger, you can just imagine how the amount of tongues wagging quadruples when it's even juicier news...that they are no longer together, and she wasn't as special as she thought she was. But still, I have to live in this little town, I have to smile at the little people in this little town, and I have to do it convincingly enough that they never know that they bother me. That, my friends, is nearly impossible. What's possibly even worse is looking the people who told you so in the eye, and knowing that they were right, when you were so sure that they were wrong. And the one who had the most right to sneer at me the ugliest of all I-told-you-so's has grown so much, matured, changed, softened...he never said a word. In fact, I could almost be talked into the notion that I might have caught a bit of compassion there for me...but that could be my imagination. I'd rather think not, so I'll not ask, for then I don't know the answer for sure.

Today, for the Nanna's sake, and probably for my own as well, I just had to throw in the towel. I didn't even last 2 hours. What a whimp, huh? Just kept standing there, not even sure if I was thinking or not, just standing, and then I would realize poor little excited (finally) Anna was yacking it up 90 mph, and I hadn't heard a word of anything she said. And I tried to listen, to smile to return the chatter, but I know she knew that I was preoccupied, perhaps, she even knew I was sad. (Not that it's hard to figure out...but I did manage to get her dropped back at her Nanny and Pa's house before I broke down, thankfully.) I'm hoping and praying that I can get up tomorrow, have the stamina both mentally and physically to put one foot in front of the other, to smile, to think straight enough to know that that the canned things do not go in the living room, but in the kitchen, to pack more here at this house that isn't ine any more (I'm aquiring a collection of those...a very unwanted collection.). I know I will be much healthier, both mentally and physically, not to have to see them come and go without me, wondering where they are and when they will be back, sitting in here knowing that it's not mine to love any more, and I yearn to be done with getting out....yet there is that other part of me that wants to drag it out indefinitely...hopefully forever, and never need to finish, but rather, to finish this life we started together...together. But that will never be. And so I must pray to get through another minute, another hour, day...week...dare I hope to think I can make it through a month? I suppose so...people don't always die of broken hearts...but it sure feels like it would be easy to do, or preferable to be put out of that misery....but then, I wouldn't want to be heartless, for that would be worse than having a broken one.

As I type, I'm still thinking things.....talking about hearts and heartless and broken....I used to lay my head on his shoulder, and tell him I could hear his heart beating. He would reply that he didn't have one, which I would always counter with, but I hear it...and then he would say, well, then it's black. That was him conceding and letting me having my way, and I appreciated that, and so I left it there, both of us knowing I knew he didn't have a black heart. And I know now that he doesn't have a black heart, or no heart, but in fact a heart that is one of the most caring hearts I've ever known in my life, which is why it breaks mine so bad to see him go back in that steel box, where he will remain untouchable, perhaps forever, because he is too stubborn a Perry to just give in to having one, and loving with it freely now, like he has for these last years.

And so my roller coaster ride continues, and I fear I am still climbing my way to the top...the slow part, you know, when you just get started? the part that takes forever? Yeah. I just hope it's not a long roller coaster, because I don't know how much of the up and down and hands and no-hands I can take, and still smile, and be an Abby that even resembles the Abby of the last 35 years. I feel like the sun will never shine again, like the color in my colorful world is gone, and all that's left in its place is black and darkness. Me, the happiest person I know, in a world of black and darkness. I would never have thought. But I will battle, and I will not give in, for this group of friends and family I have tell me I'm strong, and I can bear the load, so I will go on, trusting they are right, and I will continue to do my best to persevere and in a positive manner. Tomorrow is a new day, and I shall begin it fresh and new, praying for happier thoughts to gather at the end of the day.

This is me...starting over. Again.

Yes, dear reader, today is the day!  Today is the FIRST day of the REST of my life...and I am alive and I am well.  Funny, that song carried me through my transition from Life One to Life Two, and now from Life Two to Life Three.  But, between Two and Three, the song has remained, ever-constant at the forefront of my brain, repeating that Dave Matthews voice I love so very much over and over and over again.  So, yeah...if I have the rest of my whole entire life to look forward to, then I have a very lot to be thankful for, as the rest of my life vs. not having a "rest" of my life is way far the better choice, I think.  Don't you?

It's funny how God prepares us for things, isn't it?  He prepared me for my new start, for "Starting Over, take two", by giving me an amazing group of friends, both near and far, who have surrounded me with their love and kindness and time and prayers and thoughts and help.  I think the "preheat"' of any recipe for starting over should involve friends and prayer, don't you?

Given that we have the above ingredients, the next ingredient needed for starting over, when you have nothing but some cash and a car, is a job.  Yes, one needs a job.  So, when you don't have one, and you're starting over, that's when the friends and the prayers come in, and lo and behold, you end up not only contemplating one job, but miraculously enough, a second one appears, and in the end, you get to make a choice.  Now, I just made that sound easy, and while it was *sort of* easy, lookingn back, it wasn't so easy during, and of course, the wait did you guys in nearly as much as it did me!  But now that we have all that sweat behind us, it's all a piece of cake, right?  Because a job means money, and everyone needs money to survive.  This is true.  BUT....when you only have a job and a car and (now) not much cash, the only roof over your head is your car. 

Yup...ya need a roof over your head.  This would be where we mix in the tiny little house, sitting on its own spot of yard, with a "for rent" sign in the yard.  (Did you hear the angels sing???)  Note:  While it is advisable not to take advice from me, THIS IS ME, ADVISING YOU:  BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR....because it might just come true.  I've always said I'd love to have a house to fix up, to decorate, to have little nooks and crannies, personality and charm.  It was my lucky day, when I was feeling really unlucky, and I decided to stop packing, take a ride so as to be able to breathe, and as I was driving away from a duplex I had just called about, still reeling from it all, *there it was*...a "for rent" sign...in red...just very small, out by the road.  That small sign looked like a Vegas billboard to me as I was driving slowly, talking on the phone, trying to find more numbers, more places to look for somewhere, something, and as I looked up from the neon sign flashing at me, *there it was*...the perfect little house on the perfect little spot of land, with the perfect front porch and perfect shutters, and well...it was just perfect.  Too good to be true, even...but I called anyways.  Ummm...ya'll...that's called perseverence. We, perseverence and I, have been working on a relationship of some sort, and we just haven't quite come to terms, yet...but at any rate, persevere I did, and it paid off.  Because guess what???  Yup...that little white house?  It now belongs to me.  Ah, perseverence, thank you so very much for dragging me through the muck and the mire and making me make that phone call!  Oh, how I love you!  (At least for this minute!)

Now, some may not see this as a necessary "need", but others will understand.  In order to call a house a home, it must contain one of these:

and what better than one that comes at slightly over a year old, already trained, and doesn't shed???  I can think of no better!  Oh, I guess I can...because I forgot the "free" part.  Yes, free.  Meet Leo, my new companion.  You don't want me to get lonely while I'm there without Anna, right?  Right.  And so, I will come home to Leo.  He and I will bond, and he will keep me warm at night, and be glad to see me the next day when I come back again, and he will love me no matter what, because that's what dogs do best! 

I have done things totally Abby-Style: head first or not at all.  Yup...jumped right into this life with both feet, scared to death and excited to see what it holds for me in the future. 

This is me...finishing.

I'm going to ponder over this one more word, and then I am going to be done with sad posts, at least hopefully.  It has been good therapy for me to write my feelings down, to ramble, to just get it out.  Thanks for sticking with me through the depressing stuff...hopefully, like all of you have said, it will get better from here.  Yes.  It WILL get better from here. 
Finish(ed) is another word I've not really ever thought a whole lot about.  Unfinished is a word I've probably thought even less about.  As I was working on separating things, I walked backwards into time and revisted nearly three years of my life.  I saw the things we had made, the things we had purchased, the things that we did, a million-zillion memories were dancing through my head, faster, really, than what I could keep up with.  I didn't allow myself to ponder over them too much, for fear of crying another river. 

There were his softball pants.  I won't be seeing any of his games now.  Unfinished.  There was this table we were going to work on.  Unfinished.  There were chairs we needed to recover.  Unfinished.  There was his lamp collection.  Unfinished.  (A collection never really finishes, does it?)  His steins. Another collection.  Unfinished.  My pottery collection.  Unfinished.  The swimming pool he just bought for the kids to use this summer, full of fresh water, sitting there, unused.  Unfinished.  My building, I was working on getting it in order, and I was *almost* there.  Unfinished.  The tomatoes and the garden that I won't be able to gather from.  Unfinished.  The sound of him in his garage, next to my building.  Unfinished.  Pulling in the driveway and watching the dogs come out to greet me.  Unfinished.  The projects we had planned.  Unfinished.  The furniture I haven't gotten to paint yet.  Unfinished.  The garage sale we needed to have.  Unfinished. 

All those things, material and otherwise, kept that word rolling around in my head as I looked for things, packed other things, stacked and restacked totes, fought the wasps in the nest I happened to get into, while I decided to take or leave things.  I will have to come back and clean out my things that are in the buildings here.  I will have to come back and forth to get furniture and all the things from the house situated.  All those things are unfinished. 

Yes, I'm crying.  Why?  Because all those things that are unfinished are the things that make  up my life; our every-day living.  I wasn't finished with our life, our relationship, our home, our projects, our things, our love.  I wasn't finished loving Mark Perry.  I wasn't finished being Mark Perry's wife.  Why did he have to be finished?  It's not a good feeling, the feeling of being discarded, thrown away, not wanted.  How do you be finished when you're not?  You're supposed to finish what you start. Right? 

A friend of mine sent me a link to something that he thought would be uplifting to me, and it was.  It was Olympians.  Short clips of them, of how they had gotten where they are, and about their mothers.  He meant for me to watch only one, but I found myself watching all 28 of them.  Over and over again, like salt on a wound, were the words, from nearly every Olympian:  finish what you start.  So, I am going to finish what was started.  As soon as I am able to detach everything from here, this home that I'm still calling my home, when it's not, I will close that book.  I will put it on the shelf next to Volume One.  There it will sit:  Volume Two.  And I will begin afresh with Volume Three.  I'm not sure that I want Volume Three to be the last one; I just want it to be way different in the ending than Volumes One and Two!  Stories are supposed to have *happy* endings, right?  You know...and they lived happily ever after?  I don't want the Encyclopedia of Abby Jean Fields Key Perry to run out of volumes until it reaches many happily ever afters...but I also don't need to add a thousand more words to my name, or even one, for that matter.  It's long enough as it is.  :)  But I am all of those people, all of those.  I cannot remove any part of it because I would be removing a part of me.  So they shall stay, all of them, and depending on who I am talking to, which Volume of Abby they "belong" to, will be how I introduce myself.  Always have.  Always will.

So, I'm finished with the sad posts, and the what-if's, and the what-could-have-been, and the if-when's, the guilt, the looking back. I'm finished with the mourning (ok, I never will be exactly finished with that, but you know what I mean).  I'm finished looking at things as they were, and I'm going to start looking forward, at a promising future, a new home, meeting new people, making new, fun memories. 

Come along with me, and let's see what we can get into.

This is me...rambling about "Separate".

Separate.  It's not a word I've ever thought a lot about before, but now, it seems to be running non-stop in this brain of mine.  You know, just like the thing you read at the bottom of the T.V.?  Yeah.  Separate. 

This word can be used so many ways!  It can be an adjective, as in: Mark and I are separate.  Separate here meaning "not together".  It can be a verb, too:  I have to separate our things into "mine" and "yours".  Separate here meaning to "take apart".  I have been packing now for over a week.  Eight days, to be exact, not that I'm counting.  I've had to go room by room through this house and separate the things in it into two categories:  mine or his.

What do I take?  There are the obvious things like my personal effects...clothing, bathroom items, things that are definitely mine.  No question.  Throw them in the box and call it done.  Mine.  There are other things that are a bit easier to separate also.  It's easy to go around and say, that was mine before I came here, and I brought it with me, so I'll take it with me, too.  The hard part is that it is being separated from the things that definitely will be staying that were his before I got here.  We meshed our lives so completely.  We grouped things and enjoyed hanging them together, using "his things" and "my things" to make it "our house" instead of his man cave.  :)  So when I separate my things from his, there they hang, with blank spots that used to be filled with "us".  But now, there is no "us".  There is one wall, our bedroom wall, that I love.  It's my favorite thing in the whole house.  I'm not sure why.  I think it is just because it is filled with love.  Our initials.  Words:  dream, love, wish.  Photos.  Happy, colorful things.  I love the yellow walls, I love the red and black accents, and I love the zebra print pattern that tops it off as our comfortor.  Yes, typical "Abby", all the way down to the sheets that don't match, because why would you want one pattern when you could have two? And the neat thing is, or was, that he didn't mind.  He let me be me, and he enjoyed it.  Understood it. The first thing I started doing was taking the walls down, putting my baskets in a box, the fruit bowl I brought, things like that.  Things that I didn't need, but wanted to continue to be mine.  The bigger things, especially.  Shelves, "things", photos, just "stuff".  It was the easy stuff, trust me.  So, every wall in the house has been separated into their rightful categories.  Every wall except our bedroom wall.   I mean to take it down, I've tried to take it down, I've even touched the things, but I couldn't lift them off the wall.  So the wall remains, at least for now.  It's strange living here with him, now being separate entities in the place we made ours together.  I wonder if he notices that the one wall remains.  I wonder what he thinks when he comes in and sees all the emptiness that I thought was full of love for a lifetime.  He shows no emotion; he is like a concrete wall.  Yet, I know it has to be in there....I've seen it, for sure....and I just want it to come back.  The second thing I had to do was go back to all those walls, and see the things that we purchased to fill the extra spots on those walls.  That's the hard part.  There are all the memories.  This came from Gatlinberg when we went, and I remember the little shop it was in.  That came from the flea market in Scottsville; Mark found it, and we knew it was to be ours.  We would walk around and pick out the same things, lift the same things off the shelves, not knowing that the other had also done just that.  Then we would laugh because we did that, and his eyes would crinkle in the corners, because that's what they do when he is happy and laughing.  There are items that we found at garage sales, thrift stores, Goodwill....he and I, we both like the odd things, the things that are a bit different from the norm, and we love to "hunt" for those items.  I guess we were hunting for things that were like us; different from the others, and maybe a little odd.  Odd and different are OK for me, and for him.  So, what do I leave?  What do I take?  Who found it?  Whose personality fits it best?  Who uses it?  Who loves it more?  If I leave it, will he use it?  Because if he will, he can have it.  But, I don't want to leave it if he won't use it, for I will.  But he is not here to ask; he has stayed gone mostly, and there is good to that and bad.  Will he keep the photos of us together and treasure them, tuck them away, and know they are there?  Or will he just take them down and pitch them?   I would leave them if I thought he wanted them, but I don't know what I think.  The hardest thing I've had to do is decide what to do with his wedding ring...do I keep it or give it to him?  It's in my jewelry box.  Again, will he treasure it, and keep it, remembering the good times, or will it get tossed in a drawer, and never thought of again?  Should I leave it? Should I take it?  I don't know.  There are things that are not able to be separated like the paintings I've done on the walls.  That is me.  My writing.  My creation.  And it will stay here, at least until it is painted over again, but I am thankful not to have to make the decision of whether to keep it or not.  My brain needs a break from that.  Have you ever tried to separate an egg?  You know how it wants to stay together, and not separate? That's what this feels like...back and forth it goes in my mind.  Ping.  Pong.  One half of the egg shell, then the other.  Back and forth, until it finally separates into two separate pieces, no longer together.  I will be glad when everything is separated so that I can quit thinking about it.  What about the furniture?  I painted that.  We found this.  "We have two benches.  Could I take one and you the other?  Which would you like to have?" And the few times we've have a conversation like that, we've been fine.  No arguing.  You can have it.  No, you.  Well, I like this one because this...so I'll take it, unless you want it, then I'll take the other.  See?  Still giving and taking, but for the wrong reason.  Who wants to give and take when they are separating? All of the things that we've found, that we wanted to keep...the things in  my building...the things on the shelves, this neat chair that we recovered together, that rocking chair that we found for a steal of five bucks...how do I separate them?  There are things I want to take, but I know they are things he really likes, so I leave them, to make him happy, even though he'll never know the reason they were left and will probably never put any thought into them at all...but I did,and just knowing that I did makes me feel better.  I need to remember to ask him to pick out a couple of the coal oil lamps that we've collected.  He loves them, and though I've found some and purchased them also, they are definitely his.  His collection.  I would like to have a couple for practical reasons, but also for sentimental ones, if I were to be truthful about it.  So I will ask *him* to separate a couple of those from his collection for me.  There are the separate paths that we will take; that we have been taking while staying in the same dwelling.  Those kill me.  I want to know where he is going.  I want to go with him.  I don't want to be separate and I don't understand how he can want that.  I will be better when I am not here to see him go and come.  This, I know.  I mourn over the fact that we will be going in different directions, our paths seldomly crossing.  I wonder when they *do* cross if my heart can separate from my brain, if I can  "protect" myself in that manner, and when I wonder that, I hope that our paths never cross again, but at the same time, I wish that they were meshed into one, criss-crossing back and forth, together. But this will not be.  I look around.  At the yard.  At the rose bush we planted that I cannot see every day when I pull into the driveway, because I won't be here.  The tomatoes that I won't be here to pick.  The squash I won't fry for him...the zucchini that I can't watch grow until they are *just* the right size to make zucchini casserole. The view that I see out our front door that always makes me feel lucky to be alive, lucky to enjoy this world that God has given us.  I won't have that view any more.  I will be separated from it.  And while I am separated from all these things, I still wonder how he can live here, without me, apart, and not together.  Surely my essence remains, if only coming to the surface here and there, when he lets his mind wander, until he remembers to harden back up.  If only when he sits on his "side" of the loveseat, and beside him is nothing.  No one.  But that is where I am supposed to be.  But I am not.  I wonder if he can ever sit there, in his spot, without me, and watch The Big Bang Theory, for I know I cannot watch it without him by my side to enjoy the humor.  The humor we both pick up on, because we are both smart enough to catch the things they say.  I could not watch it, because when I turn my head to ask him if he caught "that", he will not be there.  I wonder if that applies to him.  I don't know. 

I could write all night long the thoughts that ramble through my brain, the questions I have, the answers I will never have and on and on about how hard it is to separate and to be separated, for I do not feel whole any longer....because part of my heart, if not all, so it seems, is separated from me, and walking around with him, wherever he may be. 

This is Me...Positively Persevering...

I remember when I worked at the ranch, I said a lot of sentences that began with, "Well, at least...." and sometimes it was just the smallest thing I could even think of, but it was something.  Something for them to grasp at, hopefully latch on to, and pull themselves up with it.  Sometimes, they would tease me because so many of my sentences started out that way, and I can recall numerous times when my answer started off with, "Well, at least..." and then we would all laugh, because I didn't plan on that coming out of my mouth just like it did...and it was funny.  And then, we "at least" had some laughter in a pretty gloomy spot for them.  To be a teenager is bad enough, but to be a teenager that has been pulled up from their whole environment, everything they know, everyone they know, stripped down to the bare necessities, and then left in a strange place with strange people, with hard work ahead of them you have to admit is pretty devastating.  But Miss Abby always had an "at least..." to help them through their days.

I had no idea what I was going to write on this post.  In fact, I sat here and stared at the screen for a long time, thinking, "I have nothing positive to say, so I can't post, because my blog is entitled 'Positively Persevering', and I'm thinking that if that is the title, my first post saying, "I HAVE NOTHING GOOD TO SAY RIGHT NOW AT ALL." would probably not be appropriate.  So here I am, sitting, waiting on some positivity to come crashing down on me from the heavens above (or my ceiling at this point), and I don't know what I was thinking about, but the words "at least" came into my mind.  I don't remember what the "at least" was that I was thinking, and maybe there wasn't one, but I had the start to a blog entry.  That's something to work with, right?  That's positive...because I finally thought of something to say that I could post!

Those words took me right back to the ranch days I've previously described, and I thought about the word "devastated, or devastation" and how it applied to both their lives at that time and my life now.  It's the same, but different, but you can read what I mean, right?  People that know me well know that sometimes they have to read what I mean to say, not exactly what I said.  I know, crazy.  So anyways...devastation, devastated....it doesn't really matter, because when that's the shape you are in, they both apply. 

How is my life the same, you ask.  I heard you.  Well.  Let me tell you.  I'll give you the short version so as to not overload you with all the (devastating) details.  About two and a half years or so ago, I met the person that, through a lot of talking and texting, became my friend.  And the more we talked, the more we talked, and the better friends we became.  It didn't take us long to figure out that we knew what we needed...and that was to be with each other for the rest of our lives, because we had become best friends.  We had shared the good, the bad, and the ugly, and we still loved each other.  We agreed to disagree on a few things, and the rest, we could finish each other's sentences, just like that.  We talked about everything, all the time.  We did things together...I went outside with him, and he came inside with me...both of us not in our comfort zones, but both of us doing some giving and taking.  And this became our routine....doing things together, both outside and in.  We made things, fixed things, watched things, talked about things, went places, and did things.  We didn't do anything spectacular, just "things".  But we were doing them together, and that made them spectacular.  And that's the way it's been.  Sure, there have been some bleeps on our radar here and there.  We've had a couple of misunderstandings or grumpy moments, but fussing and fighting and yelling were forbidden in this relationship, agreed upon by both of us, and we never felt the need.  So we just had little grumpy moments here and there. 

Sometimes, life gets in the way of "together" and when you lose sight of "together" you start being "apart". And "apart" is not where you want to be. (I could write a whole book on this topic, but I'll spare you...at least for tonight.)  But what do you do when you are taking care of two families, with a total of 8 children and 5 grandchildren (number 6 is cookin!)...you do what you have to do, and sometimes, that meant that "apart" was where we had to be.  We've had the whole book of misfortunes thrown at us over the last year, especially, and while it has been stressful, I thought we had been handling it fairly well.  Looking back, the only solution I can come to at this point amidst all my confusion is that the "together" bonding moments were fewer and farther between.  And like I said...when you are not "together" then you are "apart".  I am a firm believer that if your "apart" time is more than your "together" time, then you better watch out.  But me, being the ever-cheerful one, the positive one, would always counteract the negativity with one of those infamous "at leasts" and we would keep trucking right along. 

The truck slammed into a brick wall some days ago.  It's all a blur, so I don't really remember when, how long has passed, or anything, and I'm tired, but the man I married, Anna's PiePie, was long gone, and in his place was the legendary Mark Perry himself.  All the love and compassion was gone.  Those soft blue eyes?  Hardened.  That "black heart" he talked about that I swore was never there to begin with...well, it came back.  And he told me he didn't want me here.  He wanted me to go.  He wanted to be alone.  Around no one.  And he didn't know why, but that's what he wanted, and so "go" I have to do.  There was no conversing to be done; his mind was made up.  The black heart and the ice cold wall came back, and there was no penetrating the wall to even think about getting to the heart.  I had lost my best friend, my companion, the person that I depended on being there for me day in and day out.  He was gone.  And he isn't coming back.  I will never know why, I will forever be confused, and I'm not sure if there is a number high enough to count the pieces of my broken heart. 

My heart is broken not only because I lost that person, and I will forever wonder what I could have done better, differently, not done, said, not said, and so those thoughts or some like those continue to constantly play in the back of my mind, but my children lost the man they looked up to, stood up for, and depended on, and trusted to take care of their mama.  It's confusing enough when you are nearly 18 and 20, but when you are 6, it is next to impossible to understand, and explaining...well, that doesn't work, either.  So I hold her while she cries, and I cry with her, and I try to be brave and not cry when she asks me why we have to go because she likes "her PiePie's" house better than any other house, even the one with the swimming pool and the dog that plays "tag of war".  She wants to know who will talk to her horse every day, and what about the puppies that were just born, and the ducks that go on the pond that she was promised.  She wants to know what's wrong with "her PiePie" because she knows something is wrong, but I don't know the answer to that, and so my heart breaks for her over and over again. 

Since my "job" was to work at the store that we just opened in October, "Perry's Paradise," and teach art classes, the money on my end was and is scarce.  Classes were picking up, and I was able to contribute to paying the bills consistantly for three months in a row, which I thought was great.  Classes continue to go strong, and while it's not a huge paycheck, it's enough to make a dent in the bills.  All of this to say...cash on my end of things is non-existant.  It's hard to find a place to put a house worth of stuff and you and your kid, especially when you have no money, just in case you didn't know that already.  Sure, I could stay with this friend or that, for some amount of time, but at some point, my house worth of stuff and my child and I would probably like to have more than the graciously offered guest room at said friends' houses.    While we are on the topic of money, I will say that I will know by noon on Monday if I have a job or not, so say a prayer about that, would ya?  That would be a decent start...a job, in which case the store would be closed during the day, and open on class nights and Saturdays.  I guess I can insert an "at least" right here:  at least I have the store, and the classes are working.  That is *some* income, and then if I get the job, that will be *more* income.  A second "at least":   I have places to go and people who love me and nice houses in which I can stay.  I will not go without shelter or without meals, and I will be OK.  During said stay, I can save money so that when the next perfect little house becomes available, I'll be all set and ready to go.  (Because I *am* going to get that job on Monday.)

So, I was out looking, and I thought I had found the perfect little house for us.  I saw it this morning, and I love it even more, but to come up with rent plus the security deposit, plus save enough money for gas to get to work *if* I get the job, and they hold your check a week, so that's longer, seems like something totally impossible at this moment.  Plus electricity and water...yeah.  Shop rent.  Cell phone bill.  Ugh.  I could pay the bills if I just were started, and had the deposit out of the way, but that hasn't happened, and won't, so onward I go.  I've racked my brain every which way, thought and thought and thought, and I just can't come up with a way to do it.  So, as perfect as it seems, the only choice I seem to have is to know that God has something better in store for me, but right now, it means I have nowhere to put my junk and I need to pack my clothes, etc. as though I am living out of a hotel room, which is essentially what I will be doing.  ***NOTE:  I am in NO WAY complaining here....I am ever so grateful to all of my friends who have graciously told me I can stay with them as long as need be...what would I do without all of you????  But my own little house with a yard for the Nanna  just seemed way more enticing.  You don't blame me, do you?  I didn't think so.  :)  Also, I'm trying to make things as easy as possible on Anna,  so having the "fun" of a new room and something to look forward to amidst all the "why's" she has seems like a good thing.  But alas, I rest my case because I'm chasing my tail.  You get the picture.  I know you do. 

Man, if this is the short version, I bet you're glad I didn't give you the longer one, huh?  And maybe I've said too much...I know PiePie would think so, as he is much more private than I am, but yet I will post this anyways and chance that he not see and have his wrath come down upon me.  Why?  Because it's my therapy.  Because this is a place where people who love me from all over the world can come and keep track of me, hence I am keeping track of them!  Because if I'm asking you to pray, shouldn't you know my needs?  OK, so maybe I was *very* specific, but still.  Because I have blogged now for nearly 10 years (how could it be that long!??!) and my life is recorded.  My thoughts are recorded.  And you know, sometimes, I go back and I look at those thoughts, and I see things differently, as one tends to do when looking back at something rather than it looming in front of you, and sometimes I'll see something I said and think,"Geez...I didn't know I was smart enough to come up with that...good one, self!".  And I've come close to not being here, and I know I won't always be here, but my thoughts and feelings can be recorded for my kids.  So there, I plead my case.

So, as you now see if you are still with me, reading the novella that turned into the novel, you can see how, if you were me, the word "devastating" would come into play.  Still, as I look back over my life at the times that were the most devastating to me before, I see how God richly provided for me, us, whatever the case may be, and we came out better on the other end than if the devastation hadn't taken place.  And we grew from it, or at least I'd like to think we did.  This reminds me of the potter and the clay, and how you have to go through the fire to come out beautiful.  (Jeremiah chapter 18 talks about the potter and the clay, in case you are interested.) So, I'm having faith that He isn't going to stop now.  He's got the perfect place for us, and we will heal and we will be OK.  Right now, it is much easier to say it than to believe it, but I'll get there. 

During one of the trying times that we had, back in life number one, I was stressed to the  max, and I'll save you from having to read that story, and just tell you the point.  The verse from the book of Jeremiah kept popping up everywhere.  Chapter 29, verse 11:  "For I know the plans I have for you,"says the Lord,"plans to PROSPER you and not to harm you, plans to give you HOPE and a FUTURE."  You can't argue with that, now, can you???  And so I've clung to that verse since then, thankful to have it in my head, on repeat, helping me keep my cool in troublesome times.   

This time around, during the devastation that is my life at the moment, the word "persevere" has come up more times than I can count, in more ways than I can count, from more people than I can count.  At this point, when I hear that word come out of someone's mouth, I just sort of giggle, because it's like being hit over the head with a brick, until it finally sticks, and God wants me to know, apparently, that I need to persevere. 

My whole first post was going to be about why I chose to name this blog "positivelypersevering".  Like I said in the beginning,  I had no idea what I was going to say, it certainly isn't what came out, and I didn't mean to write a 10,000 page report.  I just wanted to say that I try to remain positive in all situations, because I believe that happiness is a choice. I *choose* whether or not I can find that one, tiny, sometimes minute "at least"....and this go-round, I've had to have a few people flat-out say that to me:  being happy is a choice.  I'm like, I know, I say that all the time, then my brain goes, but wait...you are not practicing what you preach, at which point I think to myself,"Uh-oh!!!" do some revamping of the thoughts, and move right along with a smile on my face.

So, I'm packing up stuff.  From one end of the house back to the other and all over, all by myself, feeling sorry for myself, just being with my thoughts and me, and from somewhere, it hit me that the catchy title I was looking for was right under my nose, or in this instance, being banged over my head.....and so, I will positively persevere through this devastation that is my life, and I will have the faith of a mustard seed that I will come out on the other side of this stronger, better, and wiser than ever before, because my God promised me that future back in Jeremiah.

At least....now that I've written this, I feel better.