I woke up sleepy. Calm. My skin was dry. A long lost feeling of safety. Like there was a family around.
In my life people are passing by. They come. They go. In-between they are a piece of my existence for a while. For as long as circumstances allow.
It’s time for personnel shift again. Who will they be? The people helping me out with the shower. Making my meals. Dressing me. Will I like them? Will I feel happy when I here them put the key in the front door in my fragile morning? Or discomfort? Will they become my friends?
It’s not unusual. Some have been my closest people. Friends who I love and trust and feel relaxed and safe with. My people. Friends who I wish would always be in my life. But they won’t. They come. They go. In-between they are a piece of my existence for a while.
I greet them. I wish them welcome to my home. To my life. To me. I connect. Because that’s what I do. If someone is open for connection I will open my heart. Although knowing it will break when they leave. For a while I might trust the situation. Thinking this will last for a while. Some months maybe. Starting to feel comfortable. Allow myself to relax. And enjoy. The mental balancing act enjoying although waiting and fearing the end of it. And then one day the news comes. This will be my last week. This is my last day.
And I smile. I listen to the plans for the future. Good for you! That’s the right thing to do. I am so happy for you.
They close my door for the last time. Walking away. From me. Towards the future. And I let my burning tears burst and I cry my eyes out on the dinner they just brought me. For the last time.
Last year three of my neighbours here at the road moved from the village. They were all dear and fun friends who were a great joy and safety to me. Although I know they are not leaving because of me I feel deserted. Abandoned. But I smile. And wish them all the best in the world.
I’ve been through this so many times it’s created a kind of numbness within me. “I am going to sell the house and move”. He said coming up the stairs after the work out of shovelling the snow from the path up my house. I was lying on my couch smiling at the sound of it and how fortunate I was having him around. “I am going to sell the house and move”.
It’s like the message is bouncing. Running off my brain of teflon. I understand it’s because I can’t take it in. He explains why and it’s out of a good reason of course, I applaud it. And I smile and tell him he is making the right choice. He leaves. I am empty. My mind swirling, grasping for something that doesn’t hurt, only finding fragments of pain out of nowhere coming attacking me. Making it through the shield, finding my heart and my gut.
There are two parts in these situations so difficult to me. One is the loss of people I like and love. And being left. The other part lies in the phrase so frequently and positively used: moving on.
A little 4-year old girl who doesn’t know me that well sometimes visits me. The other day she asked me “Why are you always here?”
The people leaving me, whether it is home care or others, do it because they are moving on. They are making healthy choices for a better future. They are moving on. Because they can. And because it’s the right thing to do. That’s what we are supposed to do. Leave what’s not working for us and move on.
I can’t move. It is really hard moving on when you can’t move.
I am watching people my age constantly moving. They are spending time in their cabins, going to concerts, traveling near and far, swirling around in happy clusters, planning for an active retirement. On the move.
“Why are you always here?” The little girl was too busy to wait for the answer. Off she was.
I am here because this is where I can be. I smile and waive my cheery goodbye and good luck as people are heading for their future. Moving on. I pull my blanket tighter around me here at my couch. Trying to not feel too sorry for my secluded self. Things could be so much worse. But I am envious. I envy having a choice. Of making a change. Of moving on. And I am in such need of stability.