Postcards

Since sometime in September. Daily. Including while together over the Thanksgiving holiday, for the first time since August. He said he wanted postcards, not letters, though the postage is the same, with the exception of the ones the post office sells. On postcards, there can be no secrets, or interrogations. Even the postman or postpersons can see.

Catching up from seeing him over the holiday, so am continuing to write every day, as he had asked if I would on the days we were together as well, as if written on those days, talking about what happened then. It's all important, we both need to remember.

No time for real conversation with each other, or other family for that matter. Everything was on a schedule. Watching TV together is something many take for granted. For us it was special. Shopping, on the worst such days of the year, with unusual crowds compared to any other time. Only because he asked: definitely not something I would do alone. Not to mention owning multiple pets, that he had to break to me one could not go back with him as he had wanted. His first and only special one that he truly loved. She seemed sad not to be able to stay with him. Lots of effort to get them all packed into a car for a very long trip. It took all day before leaving that evening, to drive through the night.

Pouring rain all through Virginia and North Carolina, in the dark. It wasn't so cold that having the car turned off while napping so as not to fall asleep at the wheel made it uncomfortable without heat, and the rain continuing to fall helped a little. Which wasn't the same for the trip back. Ice was coming down in Delaware and exhaustion created a need for seeking out every other rest area.

Seemed like it was all nerves and adrenaline just to get on the road to begin with, anticipated and planned for weeks; last minute details demanding and tiring as well.

It was all worth it to see him jump out from behind the tropical landscaping to flag down the car, letting me know I'd found the place, followed by his grandmother, my mother, awaiting the arrival. It was almost a 'normal' holiday, for the first time in too long.

Still I write, like breathing, instead of talking, two at a time, sometimes from me, sometimes from the pets: hybrids of their points of view. All from me might be boring after awhile; from a pet can keep it interesting.

When next to know soon; whenever it is, it's still too long, and not right. Will keep the cards going as long as it takes, because he wanted them to keep coming.