Something strange is happening to me, in me, for me. I think it’s okay, but it makes me wonder. The precipitating event is relocating to the house I inherited from my parents so repairs can be done on the house I’ve been living in for the past 30 years. It’s a good thing in that I’ll be getting a totally new bathroom and a new roof, and I get to finish going through all the stuff that once belonged to my parents and get this house ready to sell. I’m making a lot of progress by living here rather than driving two hours round trip once a week to work on it.
It’s strange to not be in my city where all my usual activities are. We drove the hour to church and back again on Sunday and it’s not something we want to do every week. I’m going to miss a couple of my favorite annual events because it’s just not worth the extra time, energy, and pet care issues. On one hand, I feel out very out of touch with the world. On the other hand, I’m getting more in touch with my family history and my grief in this house I lived in during most of my adolescence.
I’m not lonely because I’m an introvert by nature. I don’t mind being alone most of the day with the dogs working on the house. I kinda like it. This makes me wonder if I’m going to become a recluse. But I have a choice about that. I see my husband every night and on his days off. We are going to explore local churches. Last week, I visited a friend who lives 30 minutes north. I’m planning a trip to see my son and grand kids later this month for a short visit. So, I’m not a recluse.
Maybe this is just a season for me to withdraw a bit, to hunker down and continue the process of grieving the loss of my parents as I sort through photos, books, clothes, more photos, papers….. And I’m getting a lot done! I believe there will come a time when I’ll be more active in the world again.