Unpacked a little love and comfort.
I put my head down on the desk for just a moment and let these feelings run through me like a river. I don't want to stop moving, because I'm afraid I will be swallowed by my sadness. And I realize that if I believe that, I deny this essential truth: I am sad. And that's okay to feel. Its appropriate in this moment that I miss my kids, so much that my heart feels like its bleeding.
I feel fear and worry about finding a place to live, hopefully on this ranch, which has a pond I can throw stones in from my porch, and a school bus that stops right here. This place feels right, it feels like home, like heaven, and just having found a place to rest where the howling of Tom's pain and the injustice done to him is quiet, and the smell of the trees is healing like a balm, I'm afraid it will be taken.
I fear what it will mean for my newly repaired heart to love a man and a family who lives so very far away, (in Whitefish, MT... that's 20 hours...) and who has his own fear about the very same thing.
I worry about money, because Tom and I don't have an agreement in place, so while I KNOW I can make enough to support myself, I don't know that I can make enough to care for myself and my kids. Although there are all kinds of social programs, and I know we would make it work somehow.
So while I've taken a major step in coming to Colorado, and things feel clearer, the cloud of confusion and limbo that by necessity follows a person with Anxiety and Depression around has a few tendrils that have followed me here.
Also in this river, like fools gold on the bottom, or the glint of a fish darting by, are feelings of relief. I feel so much better. SO much better being away from the enormous, scary, sad, confusing, angry negative energy that pervaded my world for so long. Knowing that I did it, that I live here, that I've MOVED, not just visiting, but MOVED here, I feel like I've broken through all that.
And if I focus on that, its all I see, the gold.
I'm glad its a month before the resorts open because I feel like I have stepped out of a tornado and landed in a quiet place. Having a month to settle in, to wake up and look around at my new life, to walk these dirt roads back here and hike up the mountain and make food and just process through all that has happened is quite a gift.
The sadness is easing as I let it flow, and end up once again in a place that feels like, no matter what happens, its going to be okay. I will, eventually, have a solid place to live, and my kids with me. I hope against hope that its here on this ranch, but even if its not, it will be okay.