I spent about and hour wandering around Facebook, answering a message from someone I can’t even remember what about already, looking at some author profiles, specifically not checking my own or planning exactly what pictures and thoughts I’d like to put up there. Then I found myself checking the page for the mother of the 8 year old granddaughter I haven’t seen in four years because of her. Trust me, I did not ask to ‘friend her,’ to see her more extensive pages. It would’ve been too painful at this point. The photo of Anne with her two sisters on Halloween was enough to stop me in my tracks. It makes me cry right now … she’s tall and lanky, and was wearing her bright natural blonde hair in two pony tails on top of her head, had on a full mask, and a gray polyester grass skirt over her hips in a vampy skeleton costume. Cute, but certainly ‘no cigar’ for me.
Tears in my eyes, I wondered is what she thinks about. How school is for her. Do the words magic, or health, or god or love ever come out from those lips? If so what might she say? What’re her favorite things to do. Her least? What would she be teaching me about if I were to see her regularly?
The list goes on and on, but right now I give myself full permission to surrender to the separation, not quite ready to take steps to heal it, would that I could.
Sadness prevails. I hope ‘this too will pass.’