Monday
Duke let me sleep in. Didn't wake until 8:00. A shadow falling on the garage caught my eye and I took pictures.
I was certain it was Tuesday and that I had my weekly meeting. It was almost meeting time before I realized it was not. Did dishes and read. Too hot to do anything else. Took a short nap and awakened with a restless feeling.
It didn’t get better. The people yesterday didn’t like the house. Went to Ft. Wayne. Three Rivers Festival closed off much of downtown. Got something to eat at a drive-in and was disappointed. The food looked much better than it tasted. Drove aimlessly for a while with Duke panting alongside. Tried to reach my friend to deliver the books. No answer.
Ended up in my old neighborhood. The events of the day and seeing the old house renewed a feeling of loneliness.
I am alone. I have not dated since 1993 or 1994. I have often been in crowds but felt isolated from them. Those who know me would be shocked to hear that.
I meet people well and am usually engaging, but have few close friends. I care for--even love--many people. I don’t feel unconditional love from any but one or two.
My dad died in 1961; mom in 1999. They loved me without reservation. Another couple loved me like a son, Joe and Catherine Darling—and at a time when I was nothing but trouble. They have been dead a number of years now, too. Their children and I remain close.
My past is replete with broken relationships. The number suggest I may be the cause. Not in every case, perhaps, but I will not argue.
People in need of comfort, counsel and money have come to me for as long as I have been an adult—even earlier. They don’t stay.
I have always been "doing" something for someone. Sometimes because I could. Sometimes because I felt I should. Sometimes from guilt—but always in part so that I might feel wanted. I’ve never admitted that before.
That was the genesis of my decision to take time away from the church. I want to go somewhere I am not known and "try again" to find a life and love. I know the Buddhist proverb/admonition, "Wherever you go, there you are." It haunts me. This time will tell me how true that is. I hope is is not.
Duke, confined to the yard, runs and looks through the fence at the neighbors. He whimpers a little. He wants to be part of the group. I know how he feels. If invited Duke would joyously go. When invited I find an excuse not to.
Gathering in flocks
the geese prepare to migrate--
O this loneliness!
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