The weekend was not always easy, but it was good. I got to spend some time with Sean and geek out about Wheel of Time. I got to be there for Rhonda (mother of Chris), for a little while. I gave her massages Friday and Saturday night, and talked to her a little. She had so much pent-up tension and energy in her shoulders that I could feel my hands buzzing when I put them near. She hasn't been able to grieve for Chris yet because she's still trying to deal with the trauma of having found him hanging in the family garage. I can't even imagine the horror of it. It must be like an unending nightmare. I love her and her family so much. I wish there were something more that I could do than rub her back and hands and feet. She's lost so much weight.

I also talked to David while I was there. Friday night it was okay--a little hard, but manageable I guess. We didn't get to spend much time together. I mean, I suppose we could have, but either I could follow him around like a lovesick little girl, like a puppy, or we could not spend much time together. I wouldn't let myself, so we didn't. Saturday Kelly and I took JP and Kate caving before lunch, which was nice. Sweet, in a more traditional (aka not "sweet" as in "awesome") sense. Kate is seven, and cried last time I took her caving. I asked whether she'd be alright this time, and she said that yes, she would be fine--she was in kindergarten last time. After lunch almost everyone went canoeing, but Kelly and I (and a couple of other people) stayed behind. We put some books away and did a puzzle. I love canoeing, but I didn't want to go. I suppose I didn't want to be looking at or looking around for David the whole time. At dinner he said he'd be leaving after he and some of the other guys finished their work refitting the rappel tower. I was upset. I had known he would be leaving Saturday, but I had forgotten. I asked whether we could hang out a little while before he left, and he said I could come help with the tower, which wasn't at all what I had meant. I said okay, but couldn't go. I felt too much like a puppy. I waited for them to finish. I hated that I was waiting, but every time I tried to go do something else, I couldn't because I was afraid he would leave without saying anything to me, and I couldn't stand it. So I waited, tried to leave, waited, tried to leave, cried, paced, waited. It was pretty terrible. I ended up sitting in the kitchen, afraid he'd leave but refusing to move, until he came in. We talked a while about how we felt, about life and family and us and depression and work. It was still sort of okay, though harder than before. Then he got up to leave and stood there talking to me, and I looked up at him from the bench and was suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that David, my David, was standing there and looking at me and was not mine. I can't explain what it was like. I couldn't breathe.

I begged. Or at least I came as close to begging as a person can without saying the words "I will do anything if you will be with me."

Last night I dreamed that my house was repossessed while I was away. When it was time to go home I asked my mom where we would go, but she didn't know.
We packed our things and went back to the house, but it was shut up, and the power was off. We were trying to find a way to turn the power back on, but the house was slated to be burned down.

Sometimes "we don't understand each other very well" seems like a pretty weak reason for us not to be together. I mean, I think I want to be together, or at least, this weekend I feel like I can't go through with this "not being together" thing, this trial apart-ness or whatever it is. I don't know though whether that means that it's a bad idea. I don't know if I'm even making sense.







Today is Sunday of course, so we did a "Quaker worship" type thing, as we often do at retreats. Sharing as led by the Spirit sort of thing. Several of us talked, and I learned a few things, but I learned as much from who didn't talk as from the people who did.
There's a girl who is a counselor now and was a camper for a long time. She's always been very quiet and when she did talk, she tended to talk one or two things to death. Today though, this morning, I suddenly realized that she has been doing exactly, exactly the thing that I do: she has been telling me difficult things about her life in a very nonchalant, matter-of-fact way. It's amazing what you can fail to hear when things are delivered in that tone. It's the kind of tone a person might use if they have things they need to say but can't stand to feel or really talk about. I'd been listening and not hearing for a while. For I don't know how long. Today I gave her a hug and she held on to me for five or maybe even closer to ten minutes, and still, I was the one that let go in the end. I am so glad that we asked her to come back as a CiT and as a counselor. I really am.

It's like a big secret we all carry around, that we all have some deep pain buried within us. I've lost the words I felt earlier, when I realized the absurdity of it. I have hurts. She has hurts. You have hurts. What can we do? I guess it's just life. I want to learn to live in joy anyway.