I want, so very much, to come home.
I am tired. I feel beaten. I feel drained. I feel overwhelmed. I have run and run and run; I have tried and tried to put down roots away and make a life for myself.
I left home when I was eighteen. In twenty years I have never thought that I wanted to come back to live. I have been so afraid that if I admitted that I wanted to, not doing so would be too much to bear. Coming back was impossible - Sister Natalie and I have never really got on. There was no-where to actually live that didn't involve sharing a house with either her or with Ma. Ma and I love each other dearly; but we cannot live under the same roof permanently.
Now, things have changed. Pa is dead. Ma is struggling. Sister Natalie and I have declared a truce that may, if we are lucky, evolve in to a non-dysfunctional relationship.
This last year, B and I have truly been through things that are too much to deal with. We are both exhausted. Neither of us is coping with day to day things very well. We are arguing and sniping at each other because we are so tired and have been so stressed. We know why - it's reaction to the last twelve months. But that isn't helping. Since this time last year, we have been through the death of family and friends; we have lost our business; we have lost our house; we have gone in to bankruptcy; we have nearly lost our new daughter. We have done all of this whilst I was pregnant and whilst B's mother was feuding with us, even to the extent of phoning Ma three times in the fortnight before Pa died to bitch about me. During the pregnancy and all of the other things, whilst I was suffering from post-natal depression and debilitating SPD, B was holding the family together. And now he is tired too.
Now, right now, I just want to come home. I miss the air here. I miss the smell of the hills. I miss the red soil that sticks on my boots in the winter and puffs up in fine dust under my feet in the greenhouses in the summer. I miss the 'clunk-roar' of the boilers coming on in the night; and the way the flax-blooms in the field opposite the gate ripple like water under the wind when they are in flower. I miss the oak tree half way up the lane where the owl sleeps. I miss the swallows zipping in and out of the back door to roost in the coal cellar and the hum of the Little Pump when someone is watering.
I want to rest. I want to recharge my batteries. I want to plant things and know that I won't have to move on and either uproot them or leave them behind in a few months. I want to be near my mother and my sister. I want help with the children. I want B to be able to rest as well. I want to have time to spend together, relaxing.
I feel rootless; aimless; purposeless; lacking in any kind of goals.
All I want, for me, for B, for the children, is to be happy and secure.
I want, so badly, to come home.