Leaving at Last

 I guess I’ve had enough of Virginia, or it’s had enough of me (Virginia is for lovers, anyways). So I’ve booked a flight back to Florida. Yes, I am going to put myself through that torture again. I considered taking the Amtrak, a trip that requires seventeen hours cigarette free (now, that, is torture). I’d like to get the trip over with as quick and painless as possible (yes I know what I’m risking: my sanity). But I’ve enjoyed being here, despite the circumstances, despite that home is just a trailer (here and there). Really I have two homes, and that is a comforting thought; I guess they can both have custody of my heart.

This is going to be a short post. I think.

I’m sitting on the back steps, in the shade, because believe it or not it’s a hot day, believe it or not the sun is not partial to Florida, and there are some warm days left in fall. I’m smoking my Senecas. I don’t like them anymore. I thought about bringing a carton of Montegos back with me, but why delay the inevitable: I can’t smoke them forever. When I get back to Florida I’m going to make a pot of coffee with real grounds, and start hunting for the best menthol gold cigarettes around. I’m a simple girl. 

I’m going to miss Virginias unique birdsong; the way the sun shines yellow on the mountains in the late afternoon; the small pride of pouring birdseed and making bird friends (there is a special bird that has made a home in the crack of the roof); the best chicken dinner from a Stanley gas station; the bliss of an empty highway; the particular comfort of sleeping on the couch with a quilt and a small heater nearby (with a special bear named Nugget, who made friends with moms punch monkey plushie); waking up early; and other things I won’t know I miss until I’ve left for good. There is so much beauty here, and I regret that I cannot enjoy it more. I wanted to write a post called I Died and Went to Virginia, but instead I turned that concept into a junk journal.

Right now I’m bored as hell, and only writing to avoid sleeping. The pain of grief has been gentle to me; my faith in heaven has consoled me beyond my own belief.

I got here as quick as I could once I found out how sick mom was. I only wish I had come sooner. I assumed I’d have more days with her. Instead she was confined to a hospital bed, cancer worming its way around her brain. By the time we had a serious talk with her cancer doctor, she had just days to live. 

If I could ask God for one more thing right now, it would be: no more death. Not right now. Just get me home safe.

Edit: I just realized this is post #140, and I never thought I’d make it this far. Thanks for being a faithful reader. The best is yet to come ;)




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