“Hearts that strain at her chain would sever
The link where yesterday frets to-morrow:
All things pass in the world, but never
~ Algernon Charles Swinburne
As the days of darkness linger on and on, I find my soul quivering within me. I wrote about it briefly in a previous post, but at the time I truly didn’t have a full concept of how much had actually been lost. For someone that’s lived on the road as much as I have in the last few years, surviving by your wit and the kindness of others, you tend to cherish the few precious items that you hold most dear when you finally find somewhere that you belong.
My shop is destroyed. It sounds so clinical like that, but if I write it any other way I shall cry and I’ve cried too much over mere things. The explosion destroyed all of my windchimes, my windows, my potions, even my door. All destroyed in a matter of seconds. The others are rebuilding their places, but I can’t. I feel useless and broken. I went back to the shop to take inventory of what was destroyed and could do nothing but sit on the stoop and cry because it all seemed overwhelming to me.
I left because there was nothing else that I could do. I went back to what is quickly and terrifyingly becoming my home. I went back and cried a bit more. There are things there that my mother left for me when she passed away. I wasn’t able to be there for her in the end. She didn’t even tell me she was sick, my father didn’t tell me when she passed. All I know is that one morning I get a call at my office at the university from him to tell me to come home and so I did. I think that hurt worse than her actual death, the fact that I didn’t get to say goodbye. I miss her terribly, her scent, her hands in my hair, soothing me as I tried to puzzle my way though life, her voice “Vally my love, don’t you worry about it, life has a way of fixing itself” I can still her her talking to me sometimes.
Sometime around suppertime I went back to the shop, I needed to see if any of her books survived and I needed more clothing. Mala accompanied me on this journey and we slowly picked out way through the minefield of what was once Simplest Dreams. I gathered what I could before I stood there lost until my knight in tarnished armor came and dragged me home, fed me dinner and than brought me upstairs to sleep, holding me and giving me the comfort and care that I so needed after walking through that hell that was once my idea of paradise.
People often say that material objects are just that, that they are just things but each of those things had a story to it and it’s impossible for me to get those stories back quite the same.