Driving away from the house and farm where two of my children had been born. Ex and I had lived there for twenty years. My whole family was there. Everything I cared about was there, with the exception of my animals. No one said goodbye. No one helped my cargo driver and I to load. They were perfectly indifferent.
I was happy to be leaving. I had been shunned for the entire four preceding months. The people I'd given birth to, raised, taught, nurtured, had gone around as if I was invisible.
From that moment on, I just looked forward. Out of that state, out of that life. Out of that identity. I had absolutely no idea what on earth would happen to my animals and I, but anything was possible. And I aimed to find out how to persevere in my vow to care for them.
I was fifty years old, had no work experience, no college degree, hadn't left Massachusetts in years. Had never owed a house on my own, or done my own taxes. Had never shopped for real estate. or rented a place to live. I felt vulnerable. And determined. I was happy to have stuck to my guns and not allowed myself to be intimidated or overwhelmed with sorrow.
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