I kept putting off writing today's blog post... And then the power went out. So I'm blogging on my phone, by the light of three candles, while lying in bed with a cat on my belly.
I suppose it could be worse. I could be stuck outside in the whipping wind I can hear through the walls. The trees are blowing around and every once in a while there are these horrible banging noises. I hope it's not someone's roof coming apart.
The periods of calm are interesting - when you live in the city and have electricity, it's rarely ever this quiet. When the wind has abated, there's nothing but stillness. Silence. It's both heavy and relaxing. I wonder if this is what it's like to live in the country. I imagine life would feel slower, quiet, serene. Peaceful. Eventually, I hope to find out. To have my own little cottage in the woods, by a lake, with the sun softly filtering through the leaves on the trees. A sunny, two floor cottage, all windows and wood. A wide staircase. A wrap-around balcony. A porch swing, and a writing desk in the window. I had hoped that someone might share it with me, but that was a very specific dream, and a very different path. I'll let this goal move towards vagueness. We will see what life brings me.
My daughter kept bringing him up tonight. It was bedtime and she was chatty. She wanted to know why mommy hadn't been talking to her friend, and she kept asking when she could talk to him again. She said that he would like her new earrings, which we bought yesterday while we were out. She asked if he liked snowmen as I read her a book about them. She wondered if he liked snow. I got sad. I got upset. And then I snapped at my five year old daughter. I asked her not to talk about him anymore, told her he didn't like me and didn't want to talk to me, and that I loved him so that hurt, and could she please stop. I told her that he didn't care about us anymore, that he didn't like us anymore, and she responded that he liked her more than me - and "when will he talk to me again?" I had no response. Never seemed too cold to say. And then my little girl, who loves Disney, said "He's Hans mama, and you're Anna. You need the man with the reindeer." Maybe she sees things more clearly than I do. Maybe it's really that simple. Unfortunately, hearts don't work that way.
Anyway. This isn't at all the blog I started out writing, but it is what it is. He's in my thoughts most days, so he will inevitably find his way into my writing and my life. I introduced him to my children, so they will remember and inquire. The experience of him tinges my day-to-day - shades of him in everything I do and think - and probably will for the rest of my life. Hopefully my daughter will learn as she watches me grieve - love is both sweet and sorrowful, and we should take care who we give our hearts to. Not everyone is the man with the reindeer.