Touchstone

“I’m so happy.”

I’ve said this to O often the past few weeks. I suspect that it comes out in a somewhat surprised, wondering way - as if I can hardly believe it. Our peaceful little life has returned. There is no more threat of violence. No more wondering what in the world we are going to do. There were times during the long, hateful summer that I wondered if we would ever be happy again. And we are. I am. And I am so grateful for it.

This is my favorite time of year. Leaves and mums and pumpkins. Cider and sweaters and the first chill in the air. Football and family birthdays and our annual fall trip. It’s my time to snuggle in.

When we were in the worst of our days with the kids and all we wanted was peace – in our home and in our heads – O and I would talk about a trip to Gettysburg. It would be cool, at the end of fall, with the leaves swirling through the streets and winter about to set in. He would spend the day on the battlefield. I would wander my very favorite antiques places for hours. We would meet for dinner at a wonderful little restaurant and then head back to our hotel and crawl into bed where it was warm and cozy and sleep in each others’ arms. That little dream was our touchstone – the place we’d go to in our minds to get us through the ugliness of our reality. There was absolutely no way to make it happen at that point, but it didn’t stop us from thinking about it. It got us through, somehow.

Very soon that dream will become a reality, as today I start to gather books and battlefield maps and throw things into suitcases. And I’m pretty sure that when we get there and are walking through the streets of Gettysburg holding hands, bundled up to ward off the chill in the air, I will look around and not quite believe that we are there. That we actually made it.

But we did. We made it, in more ways than one.

I am so grateful.