The New

I really did not expect this.

I am surrounded by new.  New time zone.  New house.  New car.  New bike.  New job. New people. New, new, new, new.  My life bares little outward resemblance to what it was this time last year.

And there is quiet.  Lots of waiting for contractors, waiting for deliveries, waiting for paint to dry - very literally on the paint drying    Within that waiting, there is silence.  Our electronics are on a truck somewhere between Washington, DC and Arizona so we are not making much noise.  But nobody else is either.  No trucks, no cars to speak of.  Most folks seem to be inside enjoying the air conditioning.  

I expected both the new and, to some extent, the quiet.

What I (naively) did not expect was the mourning.

Don't get me wrong. I am deeply enjoying this transition and looking forward to all of the new that is yet to come.  We have friends yet to meet, work yet to do.  Rooms yet to decorate, and decorate again.  Still, in every one of those new experiences is a renewed emptiness.  It is as if I had comes to terms with Molly's memory in the corners, relationships and experiences of our old patterns.  Now, whatever unconscious mechanisms work to get me through the day seem to be working overtime to place Molly here. Her absence resonates off of the walls and bombards me. 

I think she would have enjoyed visiting us and would have playfully joshed us about how her parents were getting to be truly old farts.  She would have looked forward to french toast in the morning and clean sheets on the bed.  I must speak Molly's name ten times a day.  Out loud.  Where is she?  I can picture her here, but she will never walk through these doors. 

And mom would have enjoyed this too.   She went through her own "Georgia O'Keefe" period not that long ago after visiting Santa Fe with a friend.   Mom enjoyed the art and the quiet ruggedness of the southwest landscape and came home with a cow skull, which we ended up giving to whoever took her sewing machine; she also came home with a framed O'Keefe poster which I AM going to hang somewhere in this house.

I did not expect to be surrounded by grief.  But I suspect that my soul needs and is ready for  the mourning that is triggered by silence and new spaces.   This is the next chapter in a healing process that is never, ever, going to be complete.