(The back porch of the Freemansburg, PA McKnight house. The steps are gone, but the memories remain)
It’s hard to write when my heart hurts. I have avoided endings all my life. I have left people, and left situations without looking back.
And then, I looked back and it hurt. Places, decisions, non-decisions, time lost, time spent on stupid things and now there is less time in front of me than behind me.
This does not depress me (for those of you ready to contact me with advice and/or Prozac)-it makes me purposeful. Or is that, purpose-filled? Perhaps it is both.
I don’t want to waste another moment. I want to pull my family and old friends close. I want to apologize to all my nephews and nieces for my absenteeism in their lives. I want to apologize to my cousins for the same. I want to apologize to my sisters for my selfishness and short sidedness. I want to apologize to the few old friends that have meant so much to my growth in personal and in professional areas.
This is all new territory for me. I need to be patient with myself. I can already feel my impatience creeping up with an attempt to strangle me.
I’m not sure what to do first? How do I maintain life (laundry, food shopping, cooking, cleaning, schoolwork, herbal medicine certificate work, mothering, long-time partnering) and reach out to family and old friends? I have no idea. All I know, is that I want to.
All beginnings perhaps start with awareness and in my case, with apology.