I’m a little more than halfway through a three month sabbatical from work. This is the second one I’ve taken. The first, I walked the Camino de Santiago in Spain. Walked and walked and walked. Met lovely people who I still remember vividly. Basked in the sun (and snow and rain) and went technology free for months. Three months that changed the direction of my life.
People ask me what I’ve done this time.
I’ve grieved Mom not living here anymore.
I’ve grieved the changes in Mom’s brain.
I’ve grieved Dad’s death.
I’ve grieved pandemic losses.
I’ve grieved deaths of people I know, and people I don’t.
I’ve grieved victims of gun violence. Again. And again. And again.
I’ve screamed. I’ve slept. I’ve been counseled. I’ve written. I’ve cleaned. I’ve clawed at the earth with a pickax until I collapse. I’ve read. I’ve planted seeds. I’ve walked and hiked and swam. And I’ve cried.
I’ve cried until I thought there couldn’t possibly be any more tears inside me and I begin to cry more.