Small Victories

“Mathin made dinner after the horses were tended, but Harry lingered, brushing Sungold’s mane and tail long after anything resembling a tangle still existed. For all her weariness, she was glad to care for the horse herself, glad that there was no brown man of the horse to take that pleasure away from her.” –Robin McKinley, The Blue Sword

I was brushing Chloe tonight, as she purred loud enough to power a small engine. Grooming her is enjoyable because it’s how I always fantasized grooming a horse would be: she stands in majestic stillness as the rubber tines run through her glossy, thick black coat. She has almost equine-like coloring, black with white down her nose, not to mention a frame large enough to dwarf small dogs. I hadn’t brushed her in so long that enough fur pelted off to stuff a small pillow.

I was looking at my husband a few nights ago while he slept. It’d been a long time, months, since I’d really seen him, not out of effort but spontaneous affection. He was wearing his old “Veritas Forum” shirt from the days we’d take the M3 to the Yard to listen to apologetic speakers. He was lying on his favorite pillow and curled up hugging his favorite bear, feet tucked bare against the air and blanket swaddling his middle.

This is how it’s felt waking back up to real life, like glimpses of a more and more whole world as the fog clears. I did the chores again last weekend. I didn’t shoo Winnie away from my lap, and she lay there for over an hour like the old days, head on her paws moving up and down with my breaths. I missed D at night. I turned on music. I talked to the baby.

Maybe the best way to see where you’ve been is to describe what it’s like coming back. You’re more thankful for the people who helped you along through their service or patience, for the grace that got you through. It’s easier to see a purpose in it all. There’s some element of re-self-discovery. Perhaps there’s more acceptance of how things happened the way they did. I think about some of the more difficult things in life and hope it will be like that one day. In the meanwhile, it’s little victories, little moments of insight and quiet bits of gratitude.

Week Fourteen