Who’s got you?

“I wrapped my arms around myself and squeezed tight”

I’ve always taken multiple showers a day. I love them best when the are hot and steamy and I tend to linger while I overthink just about anything that lives in the recesses of my mind. It’s funny, I’ve never been one for baths, the still water has never seemed as appealing as the cascading water from the shower head. Yet last night I was craving stillness, a wanting to be wrapped up tight and held. I said goodnight early to Sarah, my tenant, and quietly climbed the back stairs from the kitchen to my bedroom.

I opened my door and remembered I had quickly rearranged my bedroom furniture the night before. I guess it was a quick grasp of control as this train I chose to board is quickly picking up speed. I set the candle on the side of the tub and struck a match. I waited for the flame to catch then lowered it to the wick. I reached for the faucet and turned on the hot water. After my fingers were satisfied with the temp I closed the drain and undressed.

Ruby had already sprawled herself across the bed by the time I chose music to cast from the tv. I smiled, my faithful companion was always there, whether it was a time of joy or moment of growth. I poured some ginger bath soak into the tub and swirled the water to make bubbles. The steam was intoxicating and I wanted nothing more than to submerge myself fully and escape this dream for just a bit.

My friends from Oatmeal Acres had just left. I have been admiring and collecting their pieces since I was married to the girls’ dad. I discovered them at Just the Thing in Dover, NH. Something had guided me to ask if they wanted to come pick out leftover pieces and furniture from the house sale. A few of my favorite antiques and repurposed treasures had originally come from them. I had met Katrina in person many times and instantly liked her. Michael had always remained behind the curtain but we came to know each other through messaging about certain creations of his over the decades.

I helped them move through the house, selecting the best pieces for their store, then I helped carry everything down to the driveway. The furniture seemed to move easily with Michael’s capable hands and obvious experience of shuffling large items in the gentlest way. As we cleaned out the bookshelf, almost on cue, a book about the farm fell out. Kyle had created it from photos and lines of my writing, and given it to me for Christmas our first year on Witchtrot. I had forgotten all about it.

I unfolded the typewritten letter on heavy red paper and traveled back nearly ten years in time. My eyes moved back and forth as my heart sank and now began to wake to all that was truly lost. We had the promise of a forever love that just want enough in the end to hold us together through life’s challenges. Yet in all that was lost I found a vein of gold for where I am now and for that I am grateful.

He spoke of my writing and sharing and the positive impact it has, of future projects that will come and go, and my father communicating from the grave for years to “write every day.” He then reminded me how we had connected through my writing, how he had found me through my words. I wiped a small tear away and lessened my grip on the paper.

Before he promised me of our future and his love, he affirmed my own as a writer, “Loving you, being loved by you and reading your words has brought great things to me ( more than you can ever imagine) and I know your writing will bring great things to others in the simplest ways. Maybe it’s simple but it’s certainly not small and I know big things are to come.”

I folded the red paper in half and placed it back in the book titled, “SeaStar Farm.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. For the first time in a while loving memories pushed past the painful ones and reminded me of the sweetest moments shared, the ones to always be treasured, never denied. As the water began to cool I opened my eyes and stretched my legs up towards the ceiling. It felt good to give them reprieve for the steps they have carried me. I wrapped my arms around myself and squeezed tight. It felt good to remember, “I’ve got this.”