7:55 a.m. - 06/10/02
and if I call, who will answer? and if I fall, will you pick me up?
It's six months today since I left home to come here. Six months today since I said my goodbyes and begged everyone to promise it wasn't so forever as that word. Six months and one day since my "appreciation group"- a term the girls picked up happily at my request. (I wasn't willing to have a goodbye group, and even Dave didn't demand we call it so that time.) I miss the dining room, the way the light came in through the wall of windows, the way the trees hung in the morning mist, and the ducks sat in the heavy algae of the lake. I miss the conversation while I ate my oatmeal and having my vitals checked. I miss someone's hand against my wrist, checking for a pulse I wasn't always sure existed. I miss sitting in the dayroom, wrapped in blankets and exhaustion, coloring, crocheting, being young. I miss my invalid-self, my fully-me self, myself as I am when safely nested within love.
I miss the fabricated world.
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