Spooky was put down yesterday. They’d brought the tractor down again and put him in slings, hoisted him up to see if he could carry any weight on his legs, but it wasn’t happening. She said that he seemed calm and alert, though, ate all day and even neighed at her once when she was returning to the campsite. The vet came out for the final time in the late afternoon.

I went down and sat with her for a while after work. He had been brushed clean of the mud from the ditch, and was very soft and glossy; we just sat and straightened his mane on the grass and talked about what a character he was. It’s difficult to know what to say in those situations, where you want to express your sympathy, but you don’t want to disturb whatever equilibrium the bereaved person has. (Sympathy always makes me break down – I’m fine until someone wants to give me a hug or tells me how sad they are, and then I’m off, in floods of tears.) All you can do is be there if needed, I suppose.

I’ve been thinking a lot about transitions lately…this just sort of lead into those musings. Everything is in flux: selling Kip, hating my job and thinking about seriously attempting freelance or a part-time/freelance combination, starting the naturalisation process, the situation with my sister getting so sick and my mother slowing losing everything due to motor neuron disease. Where do I want to go? Time is slipping away for all of us.

During the weekend, when we were all down in the pasture with the horse, at one point I’d walked up to Phil in serious need of comfort and sort of nestled into his chest, wanting to be held. He stood for a minute, and then stepped back and walked away from to me go stand with the guys over by the fire. I stood dumbstruck, alone, feeling very exposed; it felt as though anyone watching the interchange would know everything important about our relationship, just from watching that mute bit of interaction. I think it’s time to admit that things have been like this for quite a while now, and it’s time for decisions.

I’m an adult, and although naturally very needy emotionally, I’ve learned to take care of myself. Especially after moving to a new country, where I knew no one. I don’t have the support group of friends and family that I would have had before, and I’ve (for the most part) been ok with that. We do most things separately, and since I haven’t made the close friends that I had in the States, I have to deal with being alone. But I never wanted to be this alone.

This is a transition time: a chance to think seriously about where I want to live, what I want to be doing, how I want to spend my life. I can’t just let things slide anymore.

5 thoughts on “Transitions”

  1. I’m not surprised that you are feeling lonely, with everything that is going on in your life you need some support. My step mother has been here for just over 40 years and she joined a local group of Swiss women so she had friends here from back home, I think it helps her to have that link with home (even though England is her home no…if that makes sense). I wish you luck with whatever path you choose.

  2. wandringsoul

    But that moment came form the simplest of misunderstandings… as we stood there, the midges in clouds around us, you approached me, quiet and sad, I stepped back after a moment under the trees and said ‘Mon, come out of the midges’ so that we could have that quiet moment of consolation, and you didn’t – you dind’t move towards me, just stayed where you were… so I said your name again – I wasn’t about to yell it and shatter the weird hush over the clearing, but you still didn’t move, so I turned and moved towards the fire…

    That was all it was – not some intention to blank you – it was the opposite – an attempt to move out of the public view, and the incidious insects to share a moment…

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