That Day I Moved In With the Greek

I'm at my old home, my matrimonial home. I come here a couple of days a week to be able to visit/live with my youngest. I come here to create some level of mom/daughter normalcy in her last years of living at home.

Her dad and I live our day to day lives so differently. The home he creates by way of not creating anything is cold and lonely for her. I don't want that for her. I'm happy to have this time with her when I come up. I'm happy to remind my former life partner that life can be a little bit more warm and inviting, too.

This trip up has been a little different. I've been here for a week while he's away. I'm really living in my hold home. I cleaned up some stuff that was beginning to border an echoing, dirty state of neglect. I made it clean and loved until it sang (this is the stuff my daughter is used to living in. I get that she feels like she went from a garden to a grave). And boy did it sing. It felt nice. For a moment.

My last day here and my daughter has been a way at a concert. My kids are growing up and they are off living their lives most of the time. My last day here and I remembered how lonely I was when I lived in this house and in this town.

I made a house sing with love and joy and shared it with someone who wanted to be no one, and then with no one at all.

I'm here and I'm alone - most of the time.

In the other half of my life, I've moved in with the Greek. The road just naturally curved that way.

I'm going to take the dog for a walk.