The last year has been one of significant upheaval. Upheaval that's challenged my ability to cope with an overwhelming feeling of isolation. Isolation that questioned my sanity. Isolation that relived past times when I nearly drowned in my own unique sea of debilitating madness. A madness that told me I was not worthy of being loved, of being respected.
The last year has seen me start a new life in a new home. The last year has seen my son start his new life in his own home. The last year has seen me struggle in a relentless loneliness as I try to come to terms with the sense of change that has brought on tear-filled, "empty nest syndrome", bouts of panic.
I sit here alone, day after day, night after night, without a partner to share a mutual realisation that our little boy, now a young man, is making his mark in his statement of independence.
My son, my beloved son, has not been well as of late. He's wrenched his back and yet, kept going to work injured. Perhaps a sad commentary, that so worried was he about losing his job, that he would jeopardise his health even further. Thankfully, I managed to get him to see a doctor. Thankfully, he now has a sick note which should give him time to get better. And yet, despite it all, I constantly worry about his well being.
The last year has impacted me in such a way that I'm barely able to formulate a blog posting. Chronic fatigue continues to linger. An exhaustion, that despite numerous blood tests, has found no conclusive evidence as to why I'm so tired all the time. It may well be psychological. A condition that has made even switching on my computer a rather daunting task.
I will carry on. The love of my son and all those vital to my life, will help me make it so.
I've been through many a challenge in my life. I survived a total breakdown that cost me my marriage. I survived five weeks in hospital devoid of visitors. Indeed, I nearly died that first week in hospital. One man alone as all around were surrounded by loved ones who laughed, who cried, who hugged. I was the invisible man, drowning in tears that nobody noticed.
That second week in hospital and a nurse came over to my bed. She placed me in a wheelchair and took me to the main desk. I was handed the phone and listened to the voice of my mother. My mother, so far away in Vancouver. What she said would be the start of my renewal. That experience would change my life for the better, forever.
I have to remember how far I've come as I work through the emotional torment of the past year. Focus on how proud I am of my son.
I gazed out upon such magical beauty. Observed the wonders of the rainbow. I listened to the gentle breeze whispering through the open window. The clock ticked its rhythmic tone in the background. A tone set in harmony to the beating of my hopeful heart.
This is my son, Tristan, at two and a half years old. I dearly love my son and that would never be in question. Now my little boy has turned in a kind, pleasant, caring young man. Yes, not only do I love my son, now I like my son.
Thank you, my friend. This therapeutic, reflective post has the comments switched off. All I ask is you spend a moment or two to absorb this posting of one lonely, reclusive man whose spirit will be inspired by the love of a son and the symbolism of a rainbow.
