I had wondered when the nightly phone calls would not be nightly anymore. When we would slowly begin talking less again. Eight months. It’s bittersweet.
I drove the, almost, five hours to her house with the kids on my own this time. We had planned this trip months ago, and the kids needed it. I needed to see my sister. Bonus, my mom was there too!
It really sucked not having my husband to rely on, but it helps show me I can do these kinds of things on my own. I haven’t been on my own in a long time, but my sister is now.
So, I got to help with yard work and give her some massages. Both of us were glad I could be there for that. The kids pitched in with filling holes and planting grass. I helped with some pool maintenance too. And sweeping the driveway. Can’t forget that!
We played a card game and ate meals together. We went to church together and I got to see the community my sister is creating for herself. The people she has found that care for her. That she can care for back. My kids got to be uncomfortable for about an hour and have another taste of my childhood.
We sat outside and talked. We shared jokes and had easier conversations about her husband. It’s nice to hear her talk about him.
We watched Roseanne for a bit, sharing the memories it triggered and were ignored by my children as we reminisced. We laughed at different jokes, our lives lending to different humors.
Then we packed up, loaded up with a few things my sister was happy to be rid of (we emptied a shelf/dresser to take apart that now sits in my bedroom, while loading those clothes onto fresh hangers in her remodeled guest closet -set up before his death- that she just had done recently) and I drove us back home.
We did pretty good until we were only 45 minutes away. I missed a sharp exit in a construction zone. Ten minutes added. That’s fine. Another missed exit. Ten more minutes added. I started to get really frustrated. I did not keep it together very well. Realized I was not modeling good coping strategies and took some deep breaths. I was getting road crazy.
We hit familiar territory. Roads I travel almost daily, to the roads I do see almost every day. I kept taking deep breaths and apologized for my rage cursing to the kids. They’re getting older and I don’t always keep composure as well as I used to. Finally we were home and I could relax. I had done it. I had gotten us there and I had gotten us all back home.
Eight months and we’re still talking most nights. It’s a strange ritual we’ve become accustomed to. Foreign to us in a lot of ways. Yet, it now feels more strange when we miss a night or two.
The Accidental Domestic Goddess 