Ten years ago I set out on a journey. I drove across the country in search of a better life. With all my belongings and my cat intact, we moved to a different place and started over again. It was an amazing, freeing experience, and I would do it over and over again. But there was one small part of me that I left behind. A dear friend. An accomplice. A confidant. The plan was to meet at my new location once I got there and set up. I would go first, find a shelter for all of us and then we would be reunited. But that did not happen. I was so hopeful and excited, but one day a phone call came and said that the place back there was still comfortable and the road was long and scary. So it was just me and my cat. We did fine. But the feeling of abandonment did not leave me for years. I bet it was over five years before I finally forgave. And when I did, I wrote this:
We met again and are keeping in touch now. We are both happy where we are and glad to know that each is doing well. I guess you could say it all worked out in the end. But I think what really worked out is that we both learned a lesson about ourselves and the promises we make. Good lesson indeed.