The rubics cube...

I did my best to put on a good face when walking into my parent’s home.  As much as I wanted to tell them I was OK, I wanted to tell them I wasn't.  If there were anyone on earth who understands or is at minimum willing to try, it would be my mom and dad.  Solid people, the salt of the earth, the kind of people who make the word marriage what it is.

My mom raised three boys and last but not least, a daughter.  Over the years of growing up, we had dogs, snakes, turtles, rabbits, pigeons; I smile at all the antics that took place.  All of us kids have such dynamic personalities, this can be good, and in a way, better.  Needless to say, my parents raised us all to be independent and let's just say, successful.

As I made my way thru the garage into the house, I instantly put on the happy face.  I'd become an expert in faking being OK and this time would be no different.  As much as I wanted to crawl into a ball in one of their basement bedrooms, that action would go against everything I'd been taught.

I'd been raised in a quiet way that when things are tough, you work thru them and move on.  I don't ever remember my parents sitting down and telling me this, it was simply something I observed and I'd set my own level of expectation according.  I was here, not to tell them my troubles, as they most likely knew way more than I would have ever been willing to admit.

I was broken, not crack here or there, but broken.  Call it a mental break down, a mid-life crisis; going off the deep end, I was broken.  The toll of my first divorce, my son's death and a second divorce, the three combined to literally break me.  It jumbled my life like a rubics cube.  

Taken off the shelf, twisted and turned and placed back on the shelf next after divorce one. Taken off the shelf, twisted and turned and blocks removed after Blake’s death.  Taken yet again off the shelf, twisted and turned, and what I felt this time, left broken to never be in a place to put it all back together after my second divorce.

As much as I wanted to be within the safest walls I knew existed on this earth. As much as I wanted to blame the entire universe for where I was in my life, I was raised to at minimum, try to work my way thru it.  Staying in this place would not allow me to begin the process of twisting and turning these complicated blocks back into reality, staying at my parents would simply be pulling the colored stickers off and trying to sort my life in a superficial manner.

Deep wounds take time to heal, and I knew in my heart that I had to begin somewhere.  The very idea of walking around for the rest of my life trying to put on one face(blue side) while the remainder of my life was in shambles(remaining sides) wasn't an option.  Well, it was an option, and to be honest, everything was on the table.  

The energy it took to enter that house and falsely gather my colors to blue would bring pure exhaustion in minutes.  I could not spend the remainder of my life focusing on simply trying to cope, I had to dig within and seek solutions.  I've restored homes and built things from scratch, I continually asked myself, "Why can't I rebuild my life?"

Again, in pure desperation, I told them that I loved them left out the back door.  I couldn't be here; it was just too hard.  I needed to be somewhere, anywhere, I began to drive, angry.

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