I am feeling sorry for Eric. My impression was that I had left the house in reasonably good shape on Saturday morning, that it would take a couple of hours to finish, the house cleaners would do their work and Eric would be back in Woods Hole in no time. Instead, he has been suffering and struggling, and has only just completed removing the last of our belongings, the renters are not happy with the state of the house, and Eric is exhausted and finally on his way.
I am working to let go of my expectation (need?) to control all aspects of my life. I am here in Woods Hole, I cannot make anything happen in Baltimore, I cannot fix things for Eric, I have no choice but to trust him to manage there and let go. I certainly can question my decision to leave Saturday ( it would have been eminently more helpful for me to stay and help him finish up the house, and that was my inclination), but once I made the decision ( based on the data I had available, ie., that most of the work was done and Eric would have an easy time finishing up), there was no choice but to be fine with where I am. Whew!
But every phonecall from Eric suggests that he is in pain, anxious, panicking, drowning. I expected him to leave this morning and arrive this afternoon, but he did not leave Baltimore until 10:00 PM, and will arrive early in the morning, in time for me to take the car to Boston. Maya is signed up for a workshop on making music at the Apple store. I am not sure she is that interested, and may rather stay with Belina and her cousins and go to the beach, so I will wake her up early and see if she wants to venture into Boston traffic. The Apple store is a marvelous place and sucks up hours and hours when we enter the glass entrance on Boylston Street.
For our first day on vacation, Maya and I have slept in, gone grocery shopping for what turned out to be eleven people, relaxed on the beach all day, and ate dinner with three of Daphne's siblings, her nieces and nephew, Belina and Marius. Since I had not expected so many guests, I did not have enough food, but stretched what we had for a simple pasta meal.
I am confused about life without an agenda. I am with people today who do not work regularly. Daphne and her sisters teach Suzuki violin and have children to care for. Their brother is taking a year off to live in Argentina and Thailand with his significant other, and is visiting his sister in Boston for the weekend. None of them are on a tight schedule, and are spontaneous with their daily decisions. I am part of that world now, of course it is only two days now, so I am hardly experienced, but have decided to enjoy the freedom of being able to choose how to conduct my day, not to miss the order and predictability of my job, to be easy with my choices and of those of Maya and Eric and Tara.
Yet I am not entirely comfortable. I feel uneasy, as if I am missing something, am supposed to be somewhere else, have forgotten where I am or where I ought to be. I wonder if this is what it feels like with dementia, knowing that all is not quite right, that life is happening around me and somehow I missed my stop and am wandering in the wilderness. I have lost my place, I am not sure who I am or if I belong here.