This is the worst time of day. Somewhere between day and night. The day is ending, feeling like time has passed…yet again. Did I waste too much? Did I get anything done? Does it matter? It’s Sunday, I can take it easy.

And yet, the morning, somewhere between night and day, is wonderful. Nothing has started yet. People aren’t bustling. It’s quiet and I can do what I want undisturbed. Everything’s fresh and unmarked. Dark and peaceful.

I spoke to an old friend the other day. We’re linked by loved ones who’ve passed. What a sweet and caring woman she’s always been. Four years after her husband passed away, she has changed her work situation, traveled, built a new relationship and home, repaired other relationships, and finally now feels content. Her husband passed 4 days after Mom. Dad and I went to the viewing. The line wound through the funeral home and out the door. A shuttle gave people rides from the parking lot. We saw her often after that. Dad had a crush on her. He gave her a watch for Christmas one year. And now when I see her, that’s what I think of. Because, although she has moved on and built a life, I have not yet. At least not fully.

I’ve been saying that for a long time, it seems. I’ll get there. At the pace of a slow crawl. I haven’t found my ground to stand on. This is not home. And yet it is. My old home. I still long for the family home I don’t have any more. It’s time to let it go. I need to build my own, whatever that means. Whatever that takes.

Mom and Dad moved ‘back’ to the assisted living facility they had lived in. The dining room was a long walk from their apartment. Mom made it pretty far, but then started to lose her balance. Dad kept on going. She made a suggestion about her care. I said then we’d have to have _____ come 24/7…a caregiver who was coming once in a while. I was worried about money after having someone 24/7 for Dad. Of course, that’s what we did in real life. It didn’t make sense in the dream.

Then Mom announced that she’d decided she was ‘leaving’ Dad and moving to a nursing home. It was odd to me that she said she was leaving him, since what she really meant was moving somewhere else. And I couldn’t understand why she would choose to live in a nursing home. That’s all I remember.

Perhaps I was warning myself about the dangers of passivity. Mom’s dream attitude was pretty much the same in real life. And there was Dad, in the background, moving forward without anyone really noticing. Two parts of myself. And I seem to be resisting the one that has been strongest most of my life. The nursing home is comparable to this apartment. I need to continue on to the dining room. And fill up on what nourishes me.