The debris from a divorce or a flood is messier and more dangerous than the event itself. It is the way the organ of the heart and limbs of trees float fast on currents on streets not meant for them, the way they get severed from source that makes them pointy and free floating and allows them to bump into cars, people or cement.
The heat works. The heart pumps. The yard is littered with trash and the dirt itself has not yet settled. My life has not yet found the direction or foundation. Parts work. I manage well. My coping is superb but what of my heart? The fear? The seaweed in my lawn that is displaced from the sea and doesn’t belong this far up on dry land. I survived the storm and some pieces have fallen quick, smooth and with grace back in place but
what of the other tender parts still poking out here and there, the lines on the cement wall warning of future storms? How will I ever love again, walk toward the water and the tides and not only feel fear and recoil, not only wonder what I am exposing myself and my child to if I don’t move. What of financial and emotional stability and consistency and literally staying still even amidst the storms?
Some of the gratitude of being safe has been replaced by the irritation of paperwork, calls, money loss, no washing machine and less patience. Even my cat vomits the evening after our house is filled with strangers fixing water pipes and ripping around walls and banging and coming and going all in an effort to rebuild and repair but it’s unsettling. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Be as gentle as you can be with yourself during this time. It sounds so ferociously stressful, coping with the aftermath of such violence. And I mean from both events–both flood and divorce. Love to you–