I went outside for a slight change in scenery after spending all day in bed working on my freelance assignment. I’m finally finished for the most part and I just wanted to take a deep breath and relax. But I couldn’t let out that breath or fully be at peace. And silly as it is that moment had me questioning myself: When will I finally be able to exhale?
Will it be when I switch to a less stressful job? When I don’t have to worry so much about making ends meet, paying bills and balancing the budget? When my other half understands me completely with no explanation? When I become a wife and not just a girlfriend? When I have a place I own and not rent? When my children have finally arrived on this earth and my longing for family is quenched?
I don’t know.
Today would have been my grandfather’s birthday. He would have been either 85 or 90, I believe. He died when I was four. I still think of him a lot. I think of him watching over me. I wonder a lot about who he was as a person, a man, a father, a husband, a grandfather, a brother, a son… I wonder what he would think of the woman I’ve grown to be. I cling to the one vivid memory I have of him — of he and I exclusively. And I miss him. I miss him more than it makes sense.
Happy birthday, Pop Pop.