A Lonely Dark Mountain

I stood on the front porch earlier and watched a fantastic show of  lightening as it slashed through the night sky. In the city it never gets really dark but nothing compares to the blinding white of lightening.

 When I came home from work I actually went to bed because I was so exhausted I couldn't bear it any longer. I've pushed through the last two weeks and forced myself to ignore the storms that had gathered around me - my job, my allergies, my family, my grief all have simply depleted me. I reached the end of it at 6:30 p.m. I went to bed and went to sleep.

The phone rang a few times but I'd left it in the living room and decided that, tonight at least, other people's crises weren't important enough to crawl down the hall to respond. I went back to sleep. The last call woke me and I did get up, with what I can only say was horrendous effort. I hurt everywhere. Probably a result of the low pressure system boiling overhead. I hobbled to the bathroom and then, to the kitchen where I saw it was 8:30.

In the distance I could hear thunder and the windows were blazing white every few minutes. I went out back and lowered the patio umbrella and then went to stand on the front porch and watch the light show. I returned my oldest's son's call and let him know I was o.k. Then I returned my youngest son's call. He wanted to know if I was all right. I asked about Sarah. He told me Sarah and her mother had moved out today. I didn't know that. I knew she was planning it but not when. I'd have remembered that.

If you've read much of the blog you know I actually love storms. Normally, I'd be sitting out on the porch watching this one. Not tonight.  I'm fairly tired of the storms and I'm at a loss anymore how to deal with them. It only gets worse each passing day.

I changed my blog title this week because it was suddenly apparent to me that my life has always been lived on this tiny ledge, swept by storms. More than once I've slipped and nearly fallen off during the storms. My life has been filled with a myriad of storms and I used to weather them well. There was usually someone to pull me back up and help me still the racing of my heart and slow my breathing. Mama protected me until she died. Jerry took over and sheltered me from the full brunt them when he could or held my hands when he couldn't. Storms are best shared. He died. Now, I ride them out alone on a small ledge on a lonely, dark mountain.