Yesterday I had a temper tantrum. Kim and I were driving here and there, errands, coffee, spending, and three or four things brought up memories, which of course brought me down. When the mere discussion of cappuccino took hold ::Shoreline, our coffee hut on the corner, velvet couches and free copies of the Seattle Times, baristas with nose rings who made the most amazing foam art in every cup:: I broke down. Only this time I didn't break down into a withered little flower, I broke down into...Rob. A steering-wheel hitting, oath-flying, mad-as-hell grown up having a full on, no holes barred temper tantrum.
My tirade was several minutes long, and when it was over we were somehow parked, engine and lights off, parking brake engaged, and keys in hand, in front of Joanne Fabrics. (How the hell did we get here...?) When it ended Kim spoke, and her words were encouraging, strengthening, and congratulatory! She said Mom, listen to you! You are pissed! You finally sound like the strong, vital woman you were created to be. Listen to all this worth coming out!
It was the first time Kim witnessed in me a step toward healing... a real step, not some namby pamby feel-good step from a self help book. She told me she LOVED this; my vitriol spoke healthy mommy to her. This was new, and it was very good.
It must have made an impression on me: last night I had a dream. It took place, of course, at the ocean. This time, however,there were no teary goodbyes; some dream vacation was not coming to an end. It was actually the last day I ever saw my husband: with his family at the birthday party, only this time we were at the beach. After saying pleasant goodbyes, removing a checkbook from the oven and trying to see if I could cast a giant fishing rod into the surf even though nobody else had ever fished there (I could, and I did catch a fish), Rob and I headed home.
Somewhere down the road real time history repeated itself: I said or did something wrong, Rob got mad and launched into a perfect replica of the assault that sent me on THE WALK. This time however, the ending was different. Kimi was in the truck with us. The harvested, dead apple orchards along the road at the original incident were now in full bloom. And I was empowered. I let loose on my husband, the man who emotionally bruised me for five years, with everything I had; I was a double barreled shotgun and I held not one round back. My daughter and the blooming apple orchards backed me up with their very presence.
Kim spent the night last night. Right now she's in the living room on her laptop; she just brought me a fantastic Kimi smoothie. It's springtime. I'm blogging. It's going to be a great day.
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