I never expected to be where I am at this stage in my life. If long ago I had been able to gaze into a crystal ball and had seen this future, would I have been able to change it? I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole, nothing is as it seems, I don’t care to attend this mad hatter party; I just want to go home. But for me there is no home to go back to.
I woke again yesterday morning at 4:30 a.m. with tears upon my face. The dreams vary, but often I am on a street and can’t find my home and someone comes up to me and tells me it isn’t there anymore. Or my daughter is being taken away, and I scream and beg for the people taking her to give her back to me, but they tell me she is better off without me. Or it is night, and I am driving a car with no brakes, heading down a hill toward a large dark and murky body of water. At times I do not recall them, just the feelings of desolation and despair, and the tears on my cheeks.
There is no more sleeping; I fold up my blankets from the floor, make a cup of tea, and carry my night things out to the back seat of my car. The sadness remains with me for some time, but eventually I get on with mundane chores – feeding the feral cats out back here at my daughter’s home, walking to the barn to feed my cats in their room there and also the strays that stay at the barn. Come back and wash up any dishes and put away any in the rack from the night before. Get online and once again attempt to locate a home, ANY home, where I can take my animal family ( and my daughter if she chooses to go) , that the bank would allow me to buy. And once again, I can live for the day around the pain and sorrow.
For so long now it has been one tiny step forward, four giant steps back. What hurts me the most is I can find no means to change this situation. Everything that has been attempted has failed.
Last fall I would often buy a dollar salad at a fast food place and go sit at the park to give my daughter and her family some time alone in their little house. I would look at the homes on the streets along the park and wonder if those people knew how lucky they are. To have a place to go at the end of the work day and on weekends. A place to come back to after visiting or a vacation. A bedroom to sleep in, a closet instead of a car trunk for their clothes.
Friends tell me I am such a strong lady, but I feel anything but strong. Some days I feel like Humpty Dumpty, as though I will shatter into a million pieces and no one will be able to put me together again. The only thing which sustains me, gets me through the next hour, is hope. For somehow through the past 5 years of loss, pain and homeless fear, a small glimmer of hope remains.
I beg, take this cup from mine lips, for the taste is bitter. Hear my cry from the bottom of this well.