So many things have happened to me since I last posted. I'm surprised that the blog has kept a fair amount of readers coming back. To those of you who just kept coming back, and perusing my older posts...thanks.
I wasn't exactly sure where to begin, with what has been going on with my life. And that initial "not knowing where to start" quickly became overwhelmed and just deep-bone-tired. I didn't want to look back at what I had just gone through. It was too painful and too fresh. I just wanted to move forward with my life and just keep going. But even those intentions seemed to befuddle me. I've been waiting to write, so that when I did, it would be something positive. Something useful. I didn't want to seem like a sad or broken person. Or like someone who whined a lot or was constantly down. So I waited. I waited for the wisdom and the beauty of life to occur to me. I waited to see the deeper life lessons that could be gleaned from tragedy. I know they're there. But honestly. I am a little wounded. The things that I've been through *did* hurt. A lot. And they still do. Don't feel sorry for me folks, 'cause I'm making it through just fine. But denying the pain of it, just isn't helping me any. So it's time I just get back to trying to be real. The real me. With everything that entails. -Including being hurt and sad at times. So here it is: my childhood home, a place which should be mine today, was foreclosed on. The bank refused to speak with me, after my mother died, and refused to acknowledge me as the rightful owner. They wouldn't accept any payments from me. And in the end, stole my family home. A place, where my grandparents lived and died. A place where my own mom, lived and died. A place where in some ways I have lived and died a little too.
I never thought I would see this day; when my home was not my *home* anymore. The word "home" has so many connotations. And I've been struggling with it ever since the move. When my mother died, I struggled with it then too. I didn't feel like that house was home anymore, without her there. It was hard coming home to an empty house, with no one to greet me, and no one to love. The place that I live in now, is so different. The people are very different, and not very warm in the way my family was. So it's hard. I miss that. I miss feeling like "I belong" here, and that "this is my home" because my heart tells me so. My heart keeps telling me that this current place is not my home. It's just a temporary place. A tent in the desert..but not the promised land. I know that I should be grateful for what I've been given, and I am. I just also, feel very alone and adrift right now. And I *want* to feel that wonderful feeling of *home* again. The feeling of love, and warmth, and comfort. It has very little to do with the actual house really, and so much to do with the people. -I miss my family. Deeply. Every day.
I am loved. I know that. And I do experience joy, and happiness. But not in the same quantities or frequent daily occasions that I used to. Not to the same depths either. It's a hard adjustment to make. And I get stuck on how to appropriately express this grief, while not insulting those who actually do love me and are here for me. -I don't want to hurt their feelings, but I know that I do. Just by being sad, I do.
Somewhere in this whole ordeal, I was robbed. The robbers took everything of value. It's been several months since this happened, and the things that they stole that I was most upset about (my grandparent's wedding photo's) -which I'm sure they weren't *trying* to take, but unfortunately were stored with other things that they did want; have luckily been replaced! How can a wedding photo be replaced you ask? Well I'll tell ya! Luckily for me, in an old antique chest in the garage, my grandparents had ONE duplicate copy of their wedding picture inside the church
...and to my surprise...ANOTHER photo that was taken of them *outside* the church!
YAY! Awesome discovery!!! Also...since my mother was adopted, I thought for sure I would never get another copy of her birth parent's wedding photo...but because it was an adoption within the family (the woman I know as my grandma was biologically my great-aunt) there was a copy of that photo given as a gift to my grandparents. :)) YES!
So the most priceless things have been replaced. The diamonds, the gold, the money, the china, the furniture, the antique silver, my photography and computer equipment are all replaceable. Sure it won't be the exact same pair of earrings that my mom gave me, to remind me always that "you are special". But it doesn't need to be. I know I'm loved. I know I am special. And I know that I will make it through this period of my life and onto greater things. And when I do...I am getting myself a pair of diamond earrings to celebrate. In the mean time...I'm back, I've got my fighting spirit back, and I'm ready to enjoy what there is to enjoy about life.
...Just for good measure...I'm including another awesome photo I discovered in the trunk:
This is my Grandpa when he was a little boy. The year is 1922. The woman with him is his mom, Edith. From what I've been told, Edith was a very loving woman. She used to make fresh whipped cream (whipped by HAND in those days!) EVERY DAY to go with whatever dessert she made. Talk about love!
and afterwards, we stopped by the nursing home that Millie is in. We brought Mr. Piccolo in to meet her, and immediately, all of the old people in the living room perked up when they saw "the puppy". There were so many smiling and eager faces. Even the woman who runs the place, came out to see him. We went to Millie's room to visit. And she sat down on the bed and cradled Mr. Piccolo. He didn't squirm or try to get away. In fact, he just relaxed and settled in. He was tuckered out from all of his running and playing at the dog park. And there's something about the energy of old people. It's sweet and safe. Calm and comforting. Ceci knew that Millie's arms were a safe place to be in and rest, so he closed his eyes and took a nap. 
