image It would have been a hard weekend if all had gone well. But all did not go well and I am on the other side of it. My head aches, my stomach is both tight and churning. And although I slept the night hard with a loving dream of an old professor’s praise for a new child, I awoke exhausted. I could have dropped Julia off at school and ducked beneath the covers. I didn’t. I know my blue moods. This one did not creep up. It was a definite possibility from the start. Though I prepared and hoped it would not to come to fruition, the aftermath could not be unexpected.

I have no fear for what feels so fragile at the moment. I will recover; however, I must be attentive to my needs. And that was today and probably part of tomorrow.

Not climbing back to bed, I spend time in the garden. Weeding which is both mundane and healing. I worked out at the gym although I took everything a notch down and did not to do more minutes, more reps, more weight than I had done a month ago. Even now I can feel how the exercise physically tired me. Blessed exhaustion.

I needed to put food in the house, Julia needed driving to therapy and her cello practice buddy comes over tonight, but I can heat up leftover meatballs and red sauce and Make quick salads. While I shopped for food, I felt myself turtle slow. I will not expect any other speed this evening.

I am grieving a small patch of joy. This is nothing like grieving a dead husband, but I recognize the process. There may be healing here and putting the egg back together. Perhaps. Eggs are never the same glued together, but I hold out the possibility of perhaps.

I am surprised by the depth of my reaction. How much heart I have invested in this venture. But I do not, cannot regret feeling deeply, extending my heart and risking pain. It is the living out loud that I intended to do. I will, if I can, put the great egg back together again. Risk more and not bolt. This will not be easy.

For tonight, I will write an Italian friend and tell her I’ve bought plane tickets, I will page through a guide book or two and take notes on possible delights, I will do my Italian language practice. Just the thought of Italy puts tears in my eyes. Tears for the pains, tears acknowledging that this time will pass. A few tears when the remembered sunlight of southern Tuscany.

And then, I will sleep.