Chili con queso dip saves all

Living in Utah again is very healing.

Having a divorce sprung on me back in May was, I'd have to say, the most shocking, unfathomable, jolting thing to happen in my life to this point. Finding out I had cancer back in 2004 was so mild in comparison. I was married, sealed, loyal, and dedicated to this person. Many things in our 10 year life had been hard to navigate through, but it was second-nature to me to stick to it. What else would I do but stick by this person? I stuck by him through some pretty hard times too. He had a knack for making bad, un-thought out decisions and choices. But, I always figured it was his time for learning just like the rest of us, and I would live through the consequences and keep loving.

He stuck by me through cancer. A year of treatment, and another year of recovery... I loved him even more for that. And I just thought we would always be there for each other. Isn't that what marriage is?

So to hear -- suddenly --  that he didn't want to be married to me any longer... that he wanted children now, after I went through years of the pain of not getting pregnant, and after him never showing interest in adopting... and a list of other humiliating, hurtful things... (Of course there was the new woman, with ready-made child in tow looming before him.)

Needless to say there have been numb moments, falling moments, screaming moments. Crying times like when you have the flu and you've lost everything in your stomach, and all you can do is heave convulsions of involuntary air. Over and over again, but nothing more will come. It is spent. No more tears, no more sobs, no more feeling to give. It reminds me of Al Pacino in the 3rd Godfather movie, when his daughter is shot to death. Everything goes silent and his mouth and face opens into an agonizing scream. But no sound comes out. All you can hear is silence, but the silence is loud and crashing. Deafening. It's like all your senses shut down leaving a huge void leaving no space for anything -- except silent pain. You can't breathe in -- you've pushed all your breathe out, and now you can't find your life-giving oxygen and it feels like death is near.

Oh yes, I've felt all of this. But then I've also had thin-veil moments of inspiration, foresight, and the ability to see from a broader perspective. To see happiness and joy ahead. I've felt a comforting blanket over me, bringing me warmth and safety. These have been intermittent with the more painful times, and they've occupied a smaller portion of my time... but I am so thankful for them. They have kept me going.

I know the importance of healing, and I know the elements needed to heal. I've let myself feel the anger, and I've lashed out and felt everything that needed to wash over me and through me. I've allowed myself to feel these things, so I could let them come out, fill up over me, wash over me, and then drain out to leave room for more joyful feelings. It would be nice if  that was a one-time process, but instead it happens over and over. Kind of like washing a big ol' dirty blanket over and over, and I guess one of these times I'll come out fresh and like new again.

Coming back to my old home, Utah, has been so healing. Having the companionship of my two dogs has been priceless... My sister near, my nieces, my friends, the not-Arizona-hot summer with green grass out my balcony, sprinklers at night, my cozy postage-stamp apartment, the view of the mountains out my back door, summer walks with my dogs, and of course, finally, the Smith's chili con queso dip that is only found in Utah! THAT was the highlight of coming back here! HA HA of course. Dip does not make for joy, but it sure is nice to have a little pleasure during this time of healing.

HOLA

this is my new blog. hooray!