Last of the last, 2015

The week before Christmas was my last work week with Corporate America.  It was the final step for me in letting go of who I was after losing my teen son, Sam, overnight to a synthetic drug, and finding anew, who I am.  I will miss not having regular trips to our state’s government center at 402 West Washington; a familiar location to me for almost ten years now with the contracts I worked on to serve the neediest of Hoosiers.  My last work day happened in the midst of the holiday season.  As a full-time grad student, it also happened just as I was finishing my first semester exams.  Still, I felt the relief that I had come full circle.  Everything was different:  who I am, where I live, what I do.

The next week went on to be the Christmas holiday.  The week was very emotional still working to get cartons of memories packed from the old house where Ed, Sam, Nick and I lived and into the much smaller, new home, for just Nick and I.  Space issues are easily resolved compared to the emotions which seemingly cannot be stifled.  The holiday itself was one of the better times in recent past, spending it tranquilly with family and priceless quality time with my teen son, Nick, in celebration of the true spirit of the season.  Yes, everything was different.

For New Year’s Eve, I had my first online dating experience.  I was apprehensive even initially and then as the week progressed even more so.  I spent a day in angst over how I would cope with even the simplest of questions: “How many children do you have?”, “What are their ages?”, etc.  Questions with answers for me that are like opening war wounds and exposing flesh and not simple at all.  The trepidations I had were more easily resolved that evening at dinner, thankfully to dear girlfriends who have also lost a child, and laughter.  The “date” itself was an endless conversation that I could write about.  In the end though, I’m not ready for online dating; a quarry of friends though, I always am.  

So as 2015 came to an end, I realized with:  who I am, where I live, what I do, space issues, emotions, intermittent tranquility and laughter; yes, everything is different.