I never intended to stop going to Highlands altogether. Its just that, in the past, it had become a given that its where we would spend every weekend that I wasn't on call. We were paying zero attention to Camp Rustown and all of the things we needed to work on at our actual HOME. After Mark died, I released myself from the every single weekend obligation.
Every time I come up here I feel overwhelmed and anxious, teary and confused. What in the hell am I going to do with this place? Not to mention, when? How?
Its really like seeing a dying dream.
Mark was in charge of so much stuff there - like he literally did it without explaining to or teaching me. I don't know the first thing about so many aspects. It feels like beautiful chaos. A lonely place for me.
It was his "Shangri La", not mine, but I did love being here with him.
The grass is so high. The pipes are still broken. The canoe is still leaning against the fence. I don't know how to change out the under-sink water filter.
And it feels a little ghostly to me, even if it also bring happy memories. I feel like I am very very slowly coming to terms with what I will need to decide for its future. It breaks my heart a little to think of someone else building their little country home up here. Just wrecks me.
It was supposed to be our place.
This past Saturday I gathered as many bluebonnet seeds as I could find. I never saw more than half a dozen bluebonnets up here this spring. (But I did find seeds so maybe I just missed them?) In any case, these are destined for a small patch of grass in front of our house where he died. If that's weird, I don't care. I want wildflowers to thrive there, not traumatic memories.
I decided I would come up here a minimum of once a month. If even for an hour or so. Just walk around, take note of things, just like he and I used to do. Month by month I hope to figure it out. But I can't avoid coming here just because it makes me cry every time.
Gina
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