Dark Days: Bright Spots

I haven't written here in a year, which surprises me.  I suppose I've turned inward as my focus has returned to my family and my daily life. My last post here was about losing my best friend. But I'm happy to report that I've since regained him. Last August John put down his foot and his vodka bottle and sobered up.  It was a tremendously brave and difficult thing to do:  more difficult than I can really imagine. He's been sober for more than a year, now.  Last fall he tiptoed back into my life and we orbited each other gently through the turn of the year, waiting to see what would happen.

Having been out "on the market" in the dating world, I had gained some perspective. I'm old enough now to recognize my own patterns and weaknesses where relationships are concerned. The upshot:  I can't be trusted with myself. I try to make every shoe fit. I fool myself into believing things are what they aren't. I want to BELIEVE. What I should have been doing all these years, instead of trying to make every relationship work, was to shut up and pay attention when it told me that it wouldn't work, and to bow out gracefully.

Love is so much more about comfort and trust than it is about passion or even "compatibility." To be "compatible" implies shared interests, tastes, histories. But comfort doesn't give a rat's ass about all of that. Comfort means you've found a nest that fits your shape. Comfort is the ability to be exactly who you are and know that whether or not that is the same as your beloved, it is accepted and cherished. It's a feeling of home.

In the spring, Grayson and I invited John to live with us, and we are gradually settling in together. This is a huge move, as I swore several years ago I would never bring someone into our home. But it felt right. I've found that comfort with John. And I have also found something I didn't know I was missing so much:  a feeling of family. For the first time in 8 years, my home includes two adults and a kid: a nice stable tripod of daily living that doesn't put too much weight on any one part. It changes the dynamic, loosening the symbiosis between me and Grayson a bit... just when he really needs it, I'm sure. At 16 he needs to turn his attention toward his friends and the discovery and development of his tribe.

For years he was all I had, my everything. I felt like it was Grayson and me, back to back, standing together in the face of a difficult world. Perhaps that wasn't the most healthy way for a boy to grow up, I don't know. I'm sure I did a lot of things wrong because I was angry and sad and damaged. But whatever missteps I took, my boy can never say that he wasn't loved. He was obliged to deal with some adult realities that I wish he hadn't been part of. But it was what it was what it was, and thought I didn't make the best choices every time where he was concerned... I did the best I could at the time.

So:  family. It's a good place to be.

This gives me hope in the face of last night's election and the somewhat grim future we face. Perhaps we were all wrong, and Donald Trump won't turn out to be the incompetent, bloated gasbag of self promotion and bigotry he gives all indication of being. Or perhaps he'll drive the country right into the ground. But I have a loving family to come home to... Grayson has a posse of friends and a school he likes, John and I are healthy and employed. None of that has changed.  So we keep on in the face of uncertainty and disappointment and doubt with some scrap of hope to light the way.

And there's more good news. Next week I will close on the purchase of our house. We've lived there for five years. This is my third attempt at buying, and home prices have gone up by about $10,000 since the last time, but this time I think it's going to go through and I'll be a home-owner again. For some reason this has been immensely important to me. I've felt so temporary as a renter, unable to make changes or improvements because the house wasn't MINE. Grayson held off on hanging posters in his room for the first couple of years, because he had also come to expect "home" to be temporary.  Now at last we can pull up carpet, paint walls, dig gardens, and sink our roots into this little house and little square of land because it belongs to US.

The fifteenth is the tentative closing date. Wish me luck.