Moving on

Moving on is hard. I am overwhelmed with emotion and the questions swirling in my brain don't quit.  Am I doing the right thing? What about this? Is it selfish?  I go back to what I know: I'm terminally ill,  I must endure the suffering of this disease,  and I wish to be home to do it.

Then I wonder why this place is not home. It used to be. Designing and building this house is one of my greatest joys, not only because of the priviledge but because it spoke love to me.  My husband gave up his favorite things and places to give me a place to grow and nurture my babies. Nothing in our 30+ years has ever been so wonderful. He knew I needed this and the life we built here was good. The trouble is he never really loved it.

It took a while but when I figured that out I gave it up.  Coming back for a few years should have worked but no, it doesn't.  He's not here and neither is my heart. If I wasn't sick maybe I could live without him well enough.  I enjoyed my work,  my friends and my family, but it just doesn't feel right without him.  I want to go home to where he is. There is rest.

I still don't have answers and really,  I don't want them any more.  I am going home. I'm a little afraid but I will be as okay as I can be. I want to be healthy (and maybe I will be) but in the meantime I will look at growing things,  walk a mountain trail while I still can,  listen to birds and babies, and ignore what I dislike. I will do what I do with my husband and I think thats what makes me feel at home.

This has been a strange lifestyle,  going back and forth between prairie and island life. In good days it's an adventure.  Bad days are like today,  not quite knowing which way to go.  I'm trusting that being home will bring peace and joy the rest of the way.