A Toast to the Posts

What better way to celebrate Independence Day than with a full set of new bedding? That was how it all began, one year ago, my blogging journey. Some people buy fireworks, some people gather with friends to overeat and drink, the only reminder of why they are doing this a cupcake with red, white, and blue frosting. I chose to commemorate the occasion solo, unceremoniously tossing my sixteen-year-old bedding in the garbage, lovingly replacing it with soft, plush, and well-priced (when you’re going through a divorce you have to factor that in) bedding that looks, feels, and smells nothing like its predecessor. No history – bad or good.

When I first conjured up "A Narcissist's Tale," I was angry, bitter, and maybe a bit lonely. I've learned a lot over the course of a year, and the anger and bitterness have abated. Sure, I'm still lonely on occasion, but who isn't? As I reflect on the past twelve months, I am amazed at what has happened, and what has not. I've had one dog die, one go blind. I've watched my oldest daughter graduate from college; I've watched my son thrive and really hit his stride at a school he enjoys in a city he loves; I've watched my youngest daughter blossom as she made a seamless transition to the wonderful (and at times slightly scary) world of high school. I've been on countless disastrous dates and a handful of tolerable ones, and I've rediscovered strong friendships with people who really matter.

I have not yet made it out of the unsettling and unsettled limbo-land of marital dissolution, and sometimes feel no closer to closure than I was a year ago. But in two days, I will finally meet the woman, my husband's attorney, who had him convinced that I -- like all the other wives of her clients -- am a narcissistic bitch who ruined his life and is therefore entitled to nothing but heartache (statutory guidelines notwithstanding). We laugh about it now -- sort of; at least that's progress.

In that first blog post, I spoke of how Manny used his strong sense of smell to adjust himself to my new bedding. Little did I know, back then, that his strong sense of smell would become virtually indispensable as his eyes failed him. Little did I know, back then, that we'd be just a twosome this summer, without Leo joining us at the foot of the bed. We've both suffered loss, but we've persevered. Manny's tail is elevated again, curled up in its familiar habitual smile. If I had a tail, I think, on balance, I'd be wagging it more than I did a year ago. I hope so, anyway.

This July 4th, I'm not quite solo, and I have no plans to purchase anything that might signify my independence. I'll be spending much of it with my mother as she re-declares her own independence, gradually taking care of herself, without assistance, the way she did before the car crash six weeks ago. I'll be spending some of the day with my son, whose smile and sheer passion for life (and irrepressible cynicism) can lighten up my world better than any fireworks show. Tomorrow, my daughter will pick me up at the airport, and we'll spend the next few days preparing for her new found independence as she moves into her own apartment.

No fireworks, no overeating and overdrinking, and no new bedding this year. And no more tales of narcissism -- no matter how tongue in cheek -- with me in the title role. Just an eagle, flying solo, but not, by any stretch of the imagination, alone.