And. Alone.

A strange place to be.

I have some regrets.

I regret that I never continued with the violin.  If I'd had even a little encouragement from my parents I think I would have.  I'm a human metronome and have a terrific sense of music, both of which I entertained and expressed through dance.  But I know I would have loved to play an instrument and would be enjoying it still.

I regret that I stopped with a foreign language after year three of high school Spanish.  I'm good with languages.  Great accent.  Now, of course, I know that once you've learned your second, others come easily.  How fabulous it would be to converse with half the world.

For years I have regretted that I never lived alone.  Like most good girls of the fifties, I went from my parents' house into my marriage.  I wonder how my life would have been different - how I would have been different - if I'd had some time to think in complete thoughts without interruption, and starve a little without rescue.

Guess I'm about to find out.

I spent the last couple of days with my mom, who drove me home and returned to her own home after being with me since the day before the surgery on  September 22.  The surgery went very well, I think.  My vision in that eye improves a little every day.  Still blurry, still cloudy and still distorted, but it has improved enough that the other eye is trying to coordinate with it.  My surgeon released me to return to work Wednesday as long as I don't do any heavy lifting.  I live less than a mile from school so should be able to handle the drive, then will try the longer drive to Mom's again on Friday.

I feel vulnerable in this aloneness.

I didn't during the days after my husband's death.  I felt strong and capable to handling what life had tossed my way.  But to be here with impaired vision - both in my eye and in my view of the future - is...   Maybe not frightening, but certainly confusing.  It was on my drive to Mom's the following Friday that I took a deep breath and admitted to myself,

"I can't fix this."

I couldn't make a to do list and dive in.  I could only take one piece of paper at a time and deal the best way I could.

And that's pretty much where I am.

I am so fortunate.  At the edges of this aloneness, there is a community of people who love me.  They help make it easier to breathe, trust and let go.

I'll just have to wait and see what happens.

In baby steps.