While out grocery shopping with mom yesterday I ran into a former coworker. This lady has always, no matter what, been one of the nicest people I have ever known. Her sweet demeanor one that is honest and flows from a loving heart. Even when she would not like something that I had to tell her back when I worked, she always handled it gracefully. Seeing her was a wonderful gift. We stood talking right there in front of the potato chips for a good while, my mother even passed by and I didn’t see her. I miss seeing people. She did tell me some upsetting news about another former coworker being injured. After giving her my email address and phone number we parted ways. I returned to shopping and still finished before mom. I caught up with her and helped her finish up.
After I got her home and her groceries inside, I drove up to my house and got all my groceries in and put away. I then contacted another former coworker to see if I could find out more about the injured one. Over the course of the conversation I came to the full realization that I don’t miss that place at all. I miss some of the people, but after all this time, I doubt many of those I know remain. The coworker shared a little of what is going on but I didn’t question too much, the interest wasn’t there. I miss those I called friends, not the pressure. Not the heat. Not the stress. Not the being stuck inside for hours on end that seemed to never end. I don’t miss the politics and favoritism. I know all of that can be and more often is found everywhere, but still, I don’t miss dealing with the physical and emotional exhaustion. I do not miss having to pretend not to see or hear snide remarks and actions. Rolling of the eyes or curt responses to questions to which I needed answers. Not having new methods or changes in machinery explained leaving me unable to do my job fully. The time away, has given me opportunity to really see what I refused to admit and acknowledge, that this though at times a struggle, is much better than that.
My son accuses me of having become a recluse. In some ways, he may be right. My husband, long before he died, kept making me promise that after he died, I would find someone else. I could never understand why he would do that, but maybe he knew or felt something. I would promise, but here I sit. Just me, two dogs and a small colony of half wild cats. It isn’t as if I haven’t considered it over the past few years, but I’ve also arrived at a greater understanding of what I will and will not accept. I’ve been called names and had accusations thrown at me. I’ve had people suddenly disappear for months only to reappear and expect me to pick up where the last conversation left off. I’ve had people treat me as if I need taking care of. No, I don’t need a daddy, I have one of those who taught me self sufficiency. I’ve been told I have built walls around me. So much drama, so little patience.
I do see the shares over social media of all the things that people are enjoying. The trips they are taking, the times they get together and have a grand time sharing company with each other. For a variety of reasons, I sit here, taking part virtually. Feeling a bit left out, feeling a bit forgotten, but then I am the recluse. I can expect no different.
What do I have? I have my own home and transportation. I have a large wooded backyard to enjoy. I have family around me. I have a faith that strengthens me. I have memories to cherish. I have a son who is here for me. Those are the important things. When I count my blessings with gratitude, I know I am and will be fine. Anything else is bonus.