The Mermaid And The Gardener~ Introduction And Scale 1

INTRODUCTION

A few days after Sawyer had passed, I began jotting down the story of how I met and married my husband and twin flame, Jeffrey Shawn. After the first chapter and the introduction, I stopped writing and moved it to my draft folder. That is where it has remained until now. My heart was in too much pain; I had attempted to push through it to no avail. It was too much on me. I have been on a healing voyage for over four years now, and I am ready to share my love story with you. It could be another way to continue my healing because, honestly, my heart desires to write something quite happy. I have to write, and my writing has always been my therapy; therefore, in m, I will attempt this pursuit by plunging back in and seeing where it takes us.

 

I hope you love the story; it makes you smile and inspires you to believe in love. 

ONCE UPON A TIME, IN A LITTLE TOWN WHERE MERMAIDS LIVE ~SCALE I

I took an Uber from the airport to my folk's house at one o'clock in the morning. I had missed my first flight, and in an attempt to believe all things were working together for my good, the friendly airline agent was able to find me another connection.

Phewww... After plopping down in my seat on the Delta 747, (I thought that all of the laws of attraction I had been studying showed signs of working.)

I had two black suitcases with bright blue bandanas knotted to each handle. All that I possessed were in those two suitcases. I had lied to my parents as I knew this wasn't just a little reprieve; I was never returning home, and no one else knew it except for me. I had planned and executed my escape. Inside the zippered pocket of my black suitcase were my birth certificate, passport and marriage licence, {I knew I'd need it for when I did the inevitable, file for a divorce}.

I walked through the door, and my mother took my two suitcases, placing them in the guest room, where only a writer's desk sat, but no bed. "I've made up the couch for you since your brother has the only other available bed," said my mother. My little brother was living at home at that time, and he had laid claim to the other guest room.

My mother had prepared the couch with white sheets {it was linen, oatmeal in colour and entirely new}; she didn't want it to get dirty. My blanket was an afghan that belonged to my brother, crocheted in Gator {blue and orange} colours.

I was wholly exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally. I was leaving my old life behind, and no one was the wiser for it. My parents thought I had come for a much-needed visit and to carry out my very first women's retreat workshop at Chinsegut Hill. That's what I had told them. I had to mentally prepare myself for the endeavour of a lifetime, especially once everyone 'caught wind' of what I had planned. I was going to create a whole new life for myself.

I was angry, bitter, and had thirty-five years of built-up resentment, and I had something to prove. Of course, I love men, but I could honestly see why women married for money and took to having "arrangements." However, I thought to myself, good riddance and piss off! I'd be better off if I never saw another man for the rest of my life. I had been burnt like the blood-red sun and wanted no part of love ever again!

The first week turned into the second week, vacillating from sleeping on the couch to little walks around the neighbourhood. I cried myself to sleep, and for the first portion of my stay, I did my level best to conceal from others the amount of pain I was actually in. I'd cry when no one was around. I listened to Law of Attraction videos at nausea, which made me feel better. I had to gain my strength because I knew all bloody hell on this side of the Atlantic was about to hit the fan.

My little brother was a comfort; and good company, for he kept me from my mired thoughts. I had no idea how I would make a living to provide for myself. I needed money to live, pay for a divorce, get my own cell phone account and find a way to return to Carmel, California. My plan was only a short pitstop at my parents, which would suit me just fine until I was able to get my head on straight and come up with a strategy.

I'd spend evenings watching Gator's football games with my brother, ordering Luigi's pizza and needling him of his undying affections for the television show, "Golden Girls." I never much cared for that show, but he and my mother have an infinite love for it.

My sadness and guilt turned towards my children. My daughter was a sophomore, my oldest son had just returned home from his two-year mission for the Mormon church a week prior, my youngest son was soon to graduate from high school, and my second to eldest son was not as much of a worry; for he had long been out on his own.

There's a fine line between hatred and love, and I was about to discover how true that statement was.