Tomorrow, I head home.
I want to be home. I want to be in my own space. I want to see mountains when I look outside.
I know that it will be hard.
This was the home we chose together. My memories of Ambrose live in that house, along with all of the stuff that was his.
I find myself yearning to be in the space we created together. The space that he knew I would need to heal.
I answered some questionnaires as part of therapy intake yesterday, and I wasn’t sure how to answer some of the questions, because they had to do with disruptions to normal routines, and nothing has been normal for me since July 26th. How do I know if I’m able to sleep well when I’m staying up hours later than I normally would? When I’m not sleeping in the bed we shared? When I can’t use my home office, how to know if the anxiety I’ve felt with work is more about my grief or my location?
I have to trust that I’m going home at the right time, because I know that Ambrose trusted me. He trusted me with his life. I honor him by trusting myself, and trusting my choices.
I don’t know what my future will bring. But I know it’s time for me to go home.