The last post that I wrote before Tony passed away was a mere seven days before he died. I ended that post with this:
“I just wish Tony was home where he belongs, yelling at me from the living room “what smells like ass?!” when I cook spicy food in the kitchen while he’s watching Sunday football. I want my life back. I know it will get there, but I know we have a long road ahead of us. I know Tony will appreciate all the comment on here and on Instagram when he can read them, so thank you to the moon and back for the support these last few weeks.”
When I read that paragraph, the one sentence that jumps out at me is “I want my life back.” As much as used to internally complain about just sitting at home watching t.v. while Tony fell asleep at 7:30 p.m., I would literally go back to that life in a second. I guess the saying is true, you don’t truly know what you miss until it’s gone.
I am really writing this post for me. I’ve been reading my posts from November 2014, mainly because I don’t really remember all the details of that time. In November 2018 I want to look back at November 2016 and remember what I was feeling two years after Tony died, and not that I just ate a flat bread breakfast sandwich. I have to stop thinking about the what ifs, if I should have made different decisions about Tony’s care.
And while I know that life goes on, it feels as if I’ve had one foot permanently in the past like it’s in quicksand and one of these days I need to realize that it’s okay to leave the shoe in the quicksand and pull my foot out and keep walking.
“Until you heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed. You can bandage the bleeding with food, with alcohol, with drugs, with work, with cigarettes, with sex, but eventually, it will all ooze through and stain your life. You must find the strength to open the wounds, stick your hands inside and pull out the core of the pain that is holding you in your past, the memories, and then make peace with them.” Iyanla Vanzant