Would you pluck a fish out of the ocean and plop it on the sand, expecting it to grow legs to survive? That's how I feel. Like a plucked fish on land. I need to exchange my sea legs for snow boots.
I spoke to my sister when I got into Peoria...She urged me to call my grandfather ASAP. "He's been crying since your car pulled out," she says. "He's not sleeping, eating or going out with friends because he misses you." Why don't you just fillet my heart?
My brain's on autopilot: Make dinner, unpack, get the house in order for the kids, et cetera. I can't let it communicate with my heart much because I'll break down.
Half my heart is floating over the Pacific Ocean, broken in a gazillion pieces to latch onto each family member I love (my stepdad [who's more like my dad], mom, sister, brother, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins)...the other is here with Jeff. It's hard to function with just half a heart!
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