It’s 7 a.m. and still a bit dark out, here in New England, and I have both my full spectrum seasonal affective disorder lamps full on. They cheer me up… like the sun does. Anyway, I’m hurting because my neighbor and great friend Pauline died a couple months ago and yesterday her house sold. I miss her all the time and now–having to let go of her house–makes her being gone even harder. I’m possessive about her house… and now someone new is going to be there. Pauline loved her house and made it the center of all celebrations and get togethers and just hanging outs. It’s on the water and has a pretty side yard and a narrow curved path down a slope to a long ramp leading to a float on the water where you can moor a boat. It’s not that I want the house, it’s that I want Pauline to be in the house. I want the front door to be open and to be able to go in even if she’s not home to borrow this, that, or the other thing.
For 25 of the 28 years I’ve lived on this street, Pauline’s wooden door was always open and you could see into her dining room through the inner glass storm door. But in the past three years, when she’s been feeling lousy, as she would put it, I could tell how she was feeling by whether the wooden door was open or closed.
Now, it’s going to be closed all the time.
So… I’m sitting here in a safe place in a warm house grieving the loss of my friend and her house while I know that people — 4,000 miles away — are leaving their homes never to go back.
Still, I grieve for them and for me. And for Pauline’s sisters, especially her best friend, Linda.
How many worlds are there anyway? One in each of our heads/hearts?
