Burning to the Ground

A little note here on the last day of the year - about present life with The Man.

At the end of October we journeyed across the Rocky Mountains and The Man purchased his 'dream' vehicle. A V10 Touareg - a VW luxury SUV.

We needed a new tow vehicle to tow my pride and joy and what has given me countless hours of happiness - our little 13 foot Trillium Trailer. We have been from Alberta to Key West - to New Orleans 3 times in it and to the Mexican border 2 times.

Even without a bathroom in it - it has been perfect. And it made me very happy to step in the door and have my home away from home - something that is a necessity for me to be able to leave my house and go on a holiday. I need stability and familiarity to keep me on even ground. I get stressed and anxious so easily that even stepping out my front door will bring it on.

On the day after Christmas -The Man's 'dream vehicle' went up in flames and took my little trailer with it. We have just been informed that both are a write-off and the vehicle has already been towed away. I don't know what will happen to the trailer - but it sits in our snowy driveway - a burnt mockery of my happiness - with melted plastic hanging from it - distorted illusions of my tears.

The tow vehicle could be replaced with plenty of research (they aren't a vehicle readily available in Canada) but the travel trailer was a vintage 1975 - and that is irreplaceable. The insurance company is not going to see it that way, but that's their job isn't it?

Since losing my Dolly last year I have tried really hard to isolate myself from things that will break my heart. With my refusal to get another pet I thought I had built enough barriers around my heart that I was going to be pretty safe barring any deaths in my immediate family and friends.

Little did I know that something like this would sneak in under the radar and destroy those walls and my dreams. For those who know me - they know that getting away with The Man in our little trailer is what I look forward to all year. I rarely saw him this past year as he put in 18 weeks of overtime, and we would have been gone by now - sitting in New Orleans watching the fog roll in - except my health has kept us here.

I know all the words - 'Things will get better' - 'You'll find another trailer' - 'The Man will find another vehicle' - 'It's just things'. Yes indeed. I do know all the words.

What I don't know is how to take the sadness away from The Man's face. How to replace that look of extreme joy and satisfaction he had when he drove his new vehicle. What I really don't know is how I'm going to forget and move on. I don't do that well. I don't 'overcome obstacles' well. I hurt and I cry and I long for what was.

What I do know is that doing all those things has never brought anything back. I also know that I teeter precariously on the edge - tightrope walking through my life since they let me out of 'The Hall'. There's no safety net that I can see. Not when The Man goes to work and leaves me alone to cry through my day. There's only a safety net when he comes back and wraps me in his arms and rests his chin on top of my head. Then I'm safe - inside these walls where I might remain for a very long time now. No holidays for us. No traveling. Just looking out the windows at the snow and a brown stain of happiness sitting in the driveway.