home is where again?

just dropped by the house (the actual house, the one in the country, as opposed to the apartment in the city, as opposed to the apartment in town, as opposed to the hospital) to pick up some stuff.

i have a lot of emotions being here. i miss the dogs. i miss our life.

but the life before Loopy was in so much pain all the time, that's a long time ago at this point. i feel like I can hardly remember it. recent life in this house was dark and claustrophobic, as if fogged over with Loopy's ongoing struggle.

and before that there was my ongoing struggle, to finish my certification, to get my life together.

so the house has a lot of emotional "stuff" packed into its walls and furnishings.

it also has a lot of physical stuff packed into its closets and corners. my next project was to clear all that out. i was just getting going on agonizing over that...so i feel like i got a "get out of jail free" pass because i don't have to worry about it right now. but i also feel like it's hanging over my head; as soon as we come back here i have to take care of it. i feel defeated before i start. in comparison the apartment feels fresh, a clean slate. if also barren.

there was one thing i wanted to record about my last visit here, which was the night before Loopy's surgery. i had been wondering what people do, who don't pray. i wanted to ask someone or something for help with the feelings, for help making the surgery turn out ok. we all want desperately to be able to control what we can't control. but i believe we do better admitting our lack of control than trying to pretend that we can ask for supernatural assistance.

i planted some Persian blue alliums in the garden that night, a gift for Loopy to enjoy in the spring. there were so many feelings as I prepared the earth and pressed the bulbs into the soil, racing against the gathering darkness that--just a few days after daylight savings time--came so much earlier than I expected.

as i replaced the soil and watered them in i felt a sense of satisfaction. somehow just planting the bulbs felt like my prayer; it was a gesture of hope. planting anything is a gesture of hope. they are under there, hopefully doing whatever they're supposed to be doing at this time of year, but we have no way of knowing if they are or not. we just hope they will come up in the spring, hope that they will bloom into the sweet air of a better time than now.