The Broken Pieces

It's 4:09 a.m. as I am typing this, sitting in my room in Tampa. It doesn't quite feel like my room anymore, my sanctuary.  It's  become more of an office space. But enough of my things are here that it's familiar, I'm comfortable.

My bed, which I was excited about returning to, isn't as I remember. It feels more firm, and my body doesn't sink into it like it used to. I assume I've just gotten used to my bed at home.

 Nevertheless, I've been sleeping pretty well. Not now obviously, but enough. Four hours here, two hours there. I'll take it as it comes. The angst that has been consuming me lately, has settled. Everything has slowed down.

 Although I have three more days to enjoy, I've already imagined how hard it will be to go home. Because this is as much home as my home in Indiana. Things have changed a little here and there, but it's home. Half of my heart is still here.

And unfortunately, there is no merging of these lives. They are all together separate. Which is odd for me, and maybe why I keep my distance from people.  I have a hard time explaining myself.  My story is broken. Lacking linearity. Peices of me scattered between here and there.

But, tonight was a simple but good night here.

 My mom and I spent some time at a new mall that I've been wanting to see. As we were leaving, we got a cup of hot chocolate and caught the light show, Symphony in Lights. There was an enormous Christmas tree, beautifully lit by tons of colored lights dancing to the music.  It was cute, and I kept wishing my neice and nephew were here to see it.

It reminded me of the Christmases we spent in Nashville, at the Opryland hotel, as a family. Whole. They had the most beautiful trees lit with bright white lights. I saw pictures of those days yesterday. Pictures that I thought had been lost in the fire. (which I'll explain later, as the anniversary is creeping up in a few days) As I recalled those precious memories with my mom, she said, "Life was so complete then." It was as if she'd read my mind. I couldn't have expressed it better. That was before we were broken. Before I knew we'd be broken. Spending holidays seperated.

And while it sounds gloom, the simple truth I've come to know is: There is no wholeness with which to move forward. There are just those memories, that sometimes bridge the divide between these lives.