On Friday afternoon, the phone on my desk trilled, and I had my usual - of late - reaction: an immediate cringe followed by a full body shudder. But I took the risk and answered it anyway, only to hear the love of my life on the other end, saying a simple, "Hi."
It was more than I could handle. Even that.
"Maybe not the best time to talk," I managed to eke out.
"Why? What's up?" he asked.
And I abruptly burst into silent sobs.
I think that's when it hit me: the stress was winning.
Mind you, tears tend to be my normal reaction to stress. To everything, really. To joy, fear, excitement, good news, bad news, sadness, emptiness, horror. But stress is a uniquely qualified trigger, an often dormant player in the game of 'cry me a river' that stakes out its position like a stealth bomber, unleashing the torrents when I least expect it.
This particular brand of stress is not *bad* stress, necessarily, although there are surely some negative tensions in the mix. No, this stress is more of the prolonged, overwhelming type; the world without end, amen, amen variety.
Change is good. The changes we're undertaking spectacularly so, in very many ways. But I think the sheer voluminous multitude of them is starting to wear through my armor, exposing my weaknesses at the most inopportune moments.
Like when I'm on the receiving end of a late Friday afternoon phone call from my husband, who is too far away to hug me close and tell me everything is going to be alright if I just hold on tight and dance as fast as I can.
Fortunately for me, he is a special breed, my guy. Because two more phone calls and five hours later, we were kissing hello in a hotel room in Winston-Salem, part way between here and there. We spent the evening strolling around downtown, stumbling into the most amazing little restaurant, and drinking, laughing and talking at a nearby bar filled with great music until the wee hours of the morning. We slept until check-out, got an extension, lazed around some more, and by 2 o'clock in the afternoon, he was following me back to Raleigh.
It must be said: the one night, spur of the moment getaway spent in the company of the one who holds my heart was everything I needed to settle my sights back on the prize. Feeding him a home cooked meal and spending last night lounging around the house - in short, a normal night at home together - was the 'and then some' cherry on top.
He pulled out of the driveway about four hours ago, West Virginia bound.
I miss him already, it's true.
But I'm fortified. Extra strength.
Tomorrow is Monday. The week ahead holds deadlines, and movers, and meetings, and repairmen, and a concert, and more deadlines, and travel to Richmond.
On Friday, a sneak peek at my look-ahead calendar was enough to shatter me.
Tonight? Well, tonight I'm all sugar and spice and everything nice, ready to conquer each day in a "one step closer" sort of way.
In a "Bring it on, baby. Mama's got this." sort of way.
And for me?
That's what love is.
Truly, madly, deeply.
_____________________
There is much to catch up on in this space. Stories to tell, joys to share, pain to prevent someone else from experiencing (!), but let me start slow.
This is our new home. The place I plan to lay my heart and replant our roots. The 105 year-old light at the end of the tunnel that's helping to make all this worth it, it could even be said.
She's
old and she's fabulous. She has five fireplaces, including one in our
bedroom, and a big sweeping front porch - complete with a swing. She's
got a massive wooden staircase, original hardwoods throughout, and
exposed brick in the kitchen. She's got a third floor perfect for
man-child living, and a medium sized courtyard of a backyard,
surrounded by privacy fencing and the biggest Rhododendron bush I've
ever seen that wasn't growing wild in the woods. She's on the East End,
in the middle of a street that is on the National Historic Landmark
registry. She's six (flat) blocks from my husband's new office, eight
blocks from the heart of downtown, five blocks from the State Capitol
and one block from the mighty Kanawha River.
She's home.
She's perfect in every way, and the inspector will be there on Tuesday to make sure of it.
If you want to keep your fingers crossed that she passes this final test without much fuss and even less ado, I won't hold it against you. I might even go so far as to give you my eternal gratitude.
Deal?
