New home, again.

Might be the last one. That’s the plan, at least.

This new place has paths and routes that overlap personal historical places and dates. That’s fairly common nowadays.  Happens as we get older and that’s inevitable.

One of the items I’m trying out again is public transport. It’s been almost a decade since I felt relaxed enough to rely on it.

Almost ten years ago I was constantly on edge, waiting for a call from school or police to alert me of issues at home.

We’ve gotten past that, thankfully.  That’s the plan, at least.

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Funny thing about the past. It doesn’t want to stay there.

As things would have it, I find myself parking at the same bus terminal as I did three house moves ago. I thought I’d never be in the area again.

Different bus route but the same terminal.

And on occasion now, I see the ghost of Painmas Past as i make my way from truck to bus and back.

He’s newly back from overseas, frustrated, desperately clawing back what was stolen from the family. The school and police calls haven’t yet started to come in, but he’s a wreck anyways.

I’d go to him and tell him things will sort themselves out, but he won’t hear me. I’d be just a whisper of hope in a phase to which he isn’t yet attuned.

That’s probably for the best. I’d then have to tell him the cost of sorting out all the mess. He may lose what little shred of hope he sees glimmering in the rubble.  Best leave him to work through this on his growing path with God.

So is it time to relax now?

I doubt it.

That desperate, anxious fella is still me. The clawing has switched to building though.

Pandora’s Box holds hope.  

That’s the plan, at least.