A night alone with myself in the dark, and I slept like a stone. The sunbeams peeping through the blinds politely woke me, along with my cat jumping into my solar plexus rather impolitely. Simple luxuries gilded the morning: brewing coffee with cinnamon sifted into the ground beans, sipping slowly in the crisp, post-freeze air, watching the steam rise and the feeding birds take flight. Finally feeling awake for the first time in a couple of weeks, I ripped the house apart in a cleaning frenzy. I scrubbed, laundered, dusted, swept, vaccuumed, and tidied myself into order along with my surroundings.
With all accounted for, I stepped out into the world and wandered. I did some grocery shopping and some price comparing, and I browsed through my favorite stores. My sister-in-law who lived in the Dijon region once told me the French word for window-shopping translates to "window-licking," and I think that is so much more accurate. I window-licked until my tongue felt nimble and my eyes were bright.
My daughter called for me to come get her. Her visits with her dad are usually shorter than the allotted time, and I will just enjoy it while I can. Someday, she will covet every moment out of my embrace, at least for a time, but for now I will hold her and love her all she wants.
We cooked Chinese food and lamented allergy season while watching cartoons and folding the laundry. When I brought out the camera to take a few shots of the hibiscus that sprouted in fond appreciation of being brought inside during the cold snap, she mugged and posed for me...hugging the cat, sniffing the flowers, looking goofy, and smiling her freckled face. Never have I seen such a tough and beautiful love than what lives in her. It is like going back in time and watching a world conquerer as a vulnerable youngling. The rest of the world will probably never see the tender, loving heart that I watch with joy and awe each day.
"I'll keep the door unlocked," she calls as I carry the trash out.
"No, go ahead and lock it," I shout back unexpectedly. I see the look of confusion on her face, but I will explain when I get back that I don't want everyone within hearing range to know she is alone with the door unlocked even for the 2.5 minutes it will take me to carry the trash to the bin. Every second counts in her young life.
As I round the wall of the bin, I surprise two boys. They are probably 12 years old and have tucked themselves away in this nasty crevice for the sake of privacy. I excuse myself demurely and look away while I toss the bags, pretending not to hear the tall one ask his cell phone, "Stephanie, which one of us do you love?" as his friend squats hopefully beside him.
The rest of the day will be harder, but good in a fought-for way. KW has finally agreed to divorce on good terms, and he will go over paperwork with me when he brings my son home. Earlier, I watched my son's tears fall when he asked, "So, you are going ahead with the divorce?" Either out of cowardice or kindness, I answered, "This is just paperwork, honey. Nothing is really different than it has been. Your dad has your house, and I have your apartment, and you are free to be either place any time you want. Your dad and I will keep trying to get along, and we will always take care of you kids and love you. Just paperwork, sweetheart." I did not explain how much hope and strength this paperwork would give me. My fortification is my business.
