Taking (good) care...another confession

It is kind of interesting, making everything just so in this (not so) little house of mine and James. It is funny how 2600-ish sq.ft (no basement though) of ranch can be made to feel cozy. I am buying a lot of warms...oranges, reds and greens, with some gold to accent my blah blah beige furniture choices. The bookcases that had belonged to Leonard's parents look absolutely stunning in the front hall and (believe it or not) have a very Spanish feel to them, due to the dark stain of the pine.

We are settling. Not without the bumps and slight bruising, but it's happening. On my terms. Finally.

Things such as my mother in law calling and saying,"Hi, this is Diane..." when I have always called her mom, bring a smile to my lips. It really just cannot matter anymore, can it?

And always Leonard. There in my mind. Still sometimes bringing me to tears at inopportune times. But not the heavy leaden Leonard that he was becoming in that little house. It still hurts, just not as an always kind of hurt. A little nick of hurt that sometimes becomes overwhelming there, in the bed we shared. Yes, isn't that something? Laura has returned to her bed. Different room, so I can pretend different bed.

And...

...taking better care. I share this with you now because I am acknowledging it here...to myself...for the first time. When I lost my love, I lost my desire to be really alive. One should think that one's children would be enough (especially when one's child is continuously worried about one's health) to keep one going. For me, it was not. Please don't harumph and garumph...for I have done that to myself enough. There was a time there...a year ago, where I may or may not have taken my heart meds, my blood pressure meds, all of those ridiculous meds--when or where I should have. There was a time my twisted, grieving mind thought that my children would understand death by heart failure. After all, how could it be helped? But, really, how could it be anything other than what my love, my life had done to them?

So it is with a willingness to stick this through that Laura tells you she has (faithfully) taken her medication on time each day, for the last...ohhh...4 to 5 months. And she will do nothing but. No matter how bad this living without him may seem, imagining the face of a little guy and his big sister who have seen and known far too much pain in their short lives, is more than enough to keep me filling that water glass.

...and!!!!

...I shave my legs again! Sorry for the TMI, boy bloggers!

Good night all.