Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Five weeks later.

I'm finally admitting how much I miss this. It seemed I would have posted sooner but the words wouldn't come, and perhaps I was trying to think about moving on instead of looking back. But the honeymoon stage that was new-found freedom from working seven days a week has faded. For the first time in two decades we could accept weekend invitations; sleep in on Saturday and not have to rush out of church on Sundays to open the shop, but that faded fast.

I miss my store, the people, my customers. It seems my creativity that grew there and turned into pieces of art is gone. It will return some time probably, but for now my soul is as empty as a birdcage with an occupant that has left.

My sweet senior friend Miss Doris must have come down to the beach this fall as she always does, but we didn't get to catch up this year. I wonder if her cancer is still in remission. We always had such long, meaningful talks about major events in one's life such as illness, loss, and holding onto hope. She loves her grandchildren so very much and I loved seeing her eyes sparkle when she told me about their latest school events and adventures. Miss Doris isn't part of my life anymore; she wasn't in the shop over the summer so I never got a chance to tell her goodbye or exchange addresses.

So many things I'm experiencing differently now that my life has changed. On November 14th I went to the grocery store for the first time as an unemployed citizen, no longer a small business owner. November 18th was the first church meeting that I attended since April, before the summer season began, and a Thanksgiving without customers and a busy weekend seemed hollow to me.

Silently, one by one, these things tell me that I loved something too much. It's all going to turn into just a memory soon, and those years when my soul came alive and for the first time in my life I was happier than I'd ever been, will fade. It feels as if the snow globe that was my world has shattered. I loved being a part of your lives.