Symion
By Terri-Marie Cook
I took comfort in my bed, as the weather chilled my soul. The weather wasn’t the only thing that chilled my broken heart those days, but it seems that the brisk, windy, cold mornings were my friend when other’s friendships seemed remote. It wasn’t that my friends had abandoned me, for they were there, they just didn’t understand my pain, my sorrow, and my loss.
My bed seemed like a cocoon as the wind howled against the stone walls of my home, and the windows rattled and creaked in harmony with the gales. I woke that morning with the side gate banging against my bedroom wall, behind my head, for the latch had come away from the side fence yet again. It was a stupid idea on someone’s part to simply drill a hole and expect the fence not to move. And again the slider had released itself, how annoying. Yes, man must have been the culprit, for a woman would have foreseen trouble in its simplicity. None the less it had banged before, another windy day when the winds tossed and moved things around as if refurbishing the land. I’d latched it, but alas it had to be bound with wire to keep it secure. I had yet to amend it. I cursed myself for not doing so.
Rain pelted the window as my tears pelted my pillows. No one heard me cry for there was no one there. Greyness had washed over the earth, and greyness had washed over me. I longed for something better in my dullness, and I knew in time things would improve, just like the weather, sunshine would come again.
Listening to all the sounds billowing around me, I was in no rush to get up, for what did I have to do that day that demanded my attention. No, I would lay and listen, I wondered if others took the time, but I doubted it. I seldom did either, for life had so much living and reason, but that morning, I wasn’t so sure. My reason to get up had lost its urgency, just like the one before, and the few following it. The sounds were interesting, serene at some points, wild and erratic at others. Just like my mind. My mind tried to wrestle and find conclusions to the bewilderment of where I was at, so far there were none.
I used to think I had it all together that was until the break-up of my marriage. Turning fifty I had a husband that I thought loved me more than life itself. And I had the love of two adult sons, my light when everything else seemed dull. I was happy to help mates when they needed it, and I had money to spend. I took pride in my commitments, for I yearned to feel like I was achieving something good in a world so self-centred. My bones were growing old, for the aches and pains could be felt on a daily basis, but still I soldiered on. My body was growing weaker but my mind was forever thinking and planning, but alas in recent days, my mind was resting, for it had grown weary and ached with the sorrows of loss.
I liked my home, practical and neat, but with touches throughout that reflected my personality and style. My bedroom was no different, as I looked around, drawing a sense of reason and trying to find myself. The porcelain doll that stood on the dresser which reminded me of my dear friend Linda. I’d seen the likeness straight away with the curled hair, golden brown locks, and the rose adorned dress that fell in layers like dames wore long ago. There were rose vases, and ornaments next to the doll, and a book lay amid them depicting the word Rose on its cover. I took delight in the flower as a choice, for the smell of a rose can lift you to great heights, and the petals are smooth like satin. They symbolise love and like any love, they have their curse. Their thorns can cause you pain like any love lost. I took my eyes away as I thought of the thorns, which have stabbed my heart and caused it to bleed. My tears are a revelation of those wounds. My mind raced as I thought of her, Symion. The chameleon who infiltrated my marriage and tore it apart with her admiration and manipulation of my husband. I thought of his blindness and felt sorrow for him, for one day he will see, and he will count the cost. I cried some more knowing I should accept things and move on. Dry my tears and find hope in the future. I knew I should concentrate on my business, get up and do some work. Concentrate on my son’s and find the positives in my life, but my pain was just too raw. The pain I felt robbed me of that inner joy as I thought about the loss of security, my financial freedom, and the loyalty of my husband. Here I lay silently crying into my pillow dealing with my loss, knowing I must shed the tears to move forward. Maybe today will be the day I move forward, and I won’t fear the night any longer. Maybe tonight I won’t lay awake listening fearfully for the unknown. Maybe today will be the day I take off those shackles that bind me and I will find a new vitality, a new hope in tomorrow.
© TMC MAY 2009