Sylvia's Journal

There is an expression in Dutch that translates more or less like ‘walking with your soul under you arm.’ That’s how I felt yesterday. Although it was supposed to be a happy day (thanksgiving, Sita called it) I also felt intensely sad, with an overlay of feelings of imminent doom. It was like the place in oceans where the cold water from one side comes to the surface filled with debris from deep down and bumps into warm water carrying much life coming from the other side. The Cape of Good Hope is such a place. Yesterday was my personal Cape of Thanksgiving then, a very turbulent place.

All through the day I kept being drawn, hour by hour, to reliving the day a year ago. I kept thinking about what could have happened in an obsessive sort of way with my evolved brain knowing that such thoughts were to be thrown out and the lesser evolved parts of my brain dredging more of them out of the muck

Sita called early in the morning from London to say we were on her mind. Of course she was on ours. After breakfast Axel sat by the cove rather than behind his computer, unusual, writing and reflecting in his paper and pen journal. When Jim emerged from the barn he told him how grateful he was for what he had done for us. “Fancy how you got to know us in ways you would not have imagined before,” and with that Jim received a big bear hug. Everyone was searching for the right words but there were none. Jim and Steve have become like sons for us; as a result we now have four children, two delivered to us as adults.

I tried to take care of the kind of business that is part and parcel of returning home, such as unpacking, laundry, completing expense reports, trip reports, recording business cards, in addition to various thank you and follow up emails. It was hard to concentrate and I moved slowly through this otherwise familiar ritual. My heart wasn’t in it and my thoughts were elsewhere. I felt like escaping but I had no idea where to. Emails about work, new initiatives, plans, felt like they were coming from another planet. I let my mailbox fill up with messages, not able to make decisions whether to file, delete or act on them. Tomorrow, I kept thinking, all will be normal again. I gave up any attempt at working around lunch time and went back to the unkempt garden. Rooting around with my hands in the dirt was more therapeutic.

We had lunch with Tessa after Axel returned from an entire morning of doctor’s appointments and therapies and then she left for one last time for London. She expects to be back with Steve and a carload of stuff by the end of the month and move into the barn which will have been vacated by Sita and Jim by then. At least that is the plan we agreed on since we cannot possibly accommodate stuff from two households.

After lunch I got busy sanding and varnishing the foot rests and seat of my Alden shell. That too was therapeutic, still working with my hands, as it silenced my busy head. The final therapy of the day (after physical therapy) was sitting by the cove playing with watercolors. Axel had bought me a lovely book, the water color bible for flowers. It was a hint that called for more art and creativity in my increasingly workaholic life. I was grateful for that gift and sat by the cove trying out the painting of lilies and daisies, while Axel joined me later with his oil paints.

At the end of the day I decided I was not ready to go back to work. With no meetings planned I would not let anyone down. I felt emotionally and physically drained from the trip and the re-living of July the 14th. I am staying in bed while the day wakes up around me, writing in my jounral. And after that I will enjoy our magnificent surroundings and get on with life.