Brain fried

Last week was a blur of activity, emotion, pain, commitments and confusion.  I kept you posted on all of the activity surrounding Cali's illness and death, but in addition to that, our grown daughter and granddaughter visited us from Nevada, my trochanteric bursitis/iliotibial band tendonitis was so painful I could hardly bear weight and missed two days work, and my son Garrett gave his senior thesis defense for Honors Biology in Portland on Tuesday.  

The sudden departure on Sunday of two daughters, a son, a granddaughter, a son's girlfriend and her Pug left a hushed silence in the house, like someone waiting to breathe.  My empty nest seemed so much emptier, and I had no Cali-girl to stay behind with me and cuddle.  I washed the sheets, I closed up the rooms, I cleaned the baths and kitchen, and still the house did not release it's held breath.  I flung the doors wide open to listen to the frogs and let the air in.  I wandered outside to feed the chickens, limping as my hip gave me grief.  I pulled a few weeds in the garden, giving up when the pain turned to a dull ache down to my foot.

Back inside the house, I thought, 'Now this is a really empty nest'.  Strangely, I wasn't feeling sorry for myself.  I was merely observing.  I was noting, I was noticing, I was present in the moment, but sort of uninvolved.  It occurred to me that only a week earlier, this same scenario would have produced a lump in my throat.  I had reached overload and then defaulted to a level from which I could function, but not feel everything I would have otherwise felt.  I guess maybe it would have been too much, or maybe there was just not enough mental energy to feel. Whatever caused it, it was a relief.