by Elizabeth Bridgette

Created on: April 22, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

So self absorbed in my own misery, I missed the impact I had created on those I cared about the most.

Today I packed a simple bag: basic toiletries, different pair of shoes, a shirt, and clean underwear (ingrained in what my mom always taught me as a youth to always have clean underwear in case I'm in an accident). And I was ready to go. I lifted up the trunk and saw the birthday gift I had been hiding from my child for over a month lest she see it before June and ruin the surprise. I hesitated and almost took it out. Just in case I never made it back. But I didn't know where I was going, and the thought of never coming back was too large to contemplate through my already pounding head. So I left it in there. Kind of a self promise that I was returning.

I hugged my dog and whispered in her ear what I always said when I was going on a journey, "love you with my life, Lillabella Louise." She kissed my hand, then went back into her deep sleep. I wish I could sleep like a basset hound. They truly are professors of sleep. Then maybe I could chase the bad dreams out of my head.

I had a marvelous childhood. Well, mostly. The memories are great, unless I dig too deeply. And maybe that's what I'd been doing lately. Digging too deeply and looking and longing for something that could never be recaptured. And instead of looking forward to an exciting future with a family I had built, I was running. And I didn't even know where to. Perhaps back to my childhood site - back home.

There had been many events that led up to today. Being unjustly terminated from my job that I had given my all to, the lose of some important friends in my life, an automobile accident that had led to surgeries, being let go from a non profit board that was important to me, and most recently, being diagnosed with a degenerative, rare facial disease that is disfiguring without massive drugs and treatment. And pain, lots of pain both emotionally and physically. Add to all that, a midlife crisis and here I was, packing my car. With no plans except escape.

My little girl had recently made a comment that mama cried all the time. Which was true by the way. And my husband, while not yelling at me, certainly made a loud commitment to his disapproval of how I was looking at life and why I couldn't just "snap out of it." But I couldn't no matter how hard I tried.

My daughter saw me taking my makeup and questioned me about it. I told her I needed it in case I had to refreshen during the day. But she knew. Somewhere

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