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Or at least I think I am on the right path. I saw and heard glimpses of my own self. There is hope.

I’m a creature of habit. I like black and white. Yes or no. In or out. Up or down. In my perfect world, there are no gray areas. I’ve long said that is the main reason that I’m an accountant. Numbers are black and white( or red 🤪 )! They don’t lie. They don’t give you surprises. They are exact, methodical.

As hard as try for that perfect balance, my life is anything but. This last week proved that and sent me once again spiraling into a chaotic emotional state. Over something that many of you may have been able to take in stride. Me? I’m sick of the punches.

It all started last Wednesday morning. Wednesday’s are the very well planned day of every single week that I wake Preston up an hour early. We go for breakfast at a local restaurant and he then goes to work with me at 7:45 and at 8:55, I escort him to art class 3 blocks away. I pick him up at 12:30 and use my lunch hour to take him back home. I’m back at work by 1:15. No reason why every Wednesday’s shouldn’t work like clockwork. Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

Except this past Wednesday.

Preston and I were finishing up our breakfast of champions talking about his most recent painting. I looked up from my plate and he looked pale. I asked him if he was ok. He replied “no”. I half jokingly asked if I needed to call an ambulance, to which he replied “I think so”. He went from talking about sailboats to being lethargic in literally seconds. We spent the day at the hospital. He had what we believe to have been a neurostorm. He’s had them before but not in a very long time.

I was spooked. Still am. These moments never, ever get easier. I was still unnerved from the day I came home from work two weeks ago to find that he was bleeding internally. Our calendar is now packed with a kinda of appointments, follow-ups and specialists. It’s crazy. Me? I was deep in my pity party. I’ve cried for days without even trying to cry. The tears just flow.

In my perfect world, I had asked off for this past Friday to take my Pop and Preston to my nephew’s wedding in Albemarle. When the poop hit the fan, I cancelled my plans to attend and scheduled myself to work to make up for being out with Preston. Thursday afternoon, my office manager informed me that I was not allowed to come in the next day and that I needed to go be with my family as originally planned.

Thursday night, Pop decided that he didn’t think he could make the trip for his own medical reasons. It was me and Preston. Friday morning, I woke up with the attitude that I was getting the heck out of Lancaster and running away for a few days. Preston and I packed a few clothes and headed to Albemarle for the weekend. We had no agenda other than to attend Matt and Laura’s wedding and just relax.

We ended up at a B&B called The 1891 Inn. It’s a quaint home at 427 Pee Dee Avenue, in downtown Albemarle. The Innkeeper is a sweet gentleman by the name of Ron.

Whoever said you can’t run from your problems LIED! This weekend has been one of pure relaxation. Innkeeper Ron has spoiled us with his chef worthy breakfasts. Our suite is something out of a magazine. Robes and all. Our room even has a gas log fireplace. Peace and tranquility seem to pour from the walls. We’re within walking distance of a restaurant called “Five Points Public House”. Let me tell you that it’s so good that every meal that Ron hasn’t fed us, we’ve ate there.

Yesterday, we put a call into the kids to let them no where we were and that mama had not completely gone off the deep end. I shared with him about how wonderful this Inn is and how much it’s helped my frame of mind. My son, Chase, asked if it would be okay for him and his lady, Jasmine, to come and join us.

Last night, we enjoyed time together with them. I wasn’t wound so tight. I found myself laughing and having a good time. Truly enjoying myself, and some of my family. The tears of despair are gone and replaced with peace that surpasses all understanding.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I sure know that God lined up things perfectly to allow this weekend to happen. At the perfect Inn in the perfect town, right in the middle of nowhere.

I’m looking forward to bringing Preston back as often as our souls need it and our pocketbook allow it. Innkeeper Ron and his home are the perfect medicine for the soul.

Albemarle and The 1891 Inn are the perfect place to run away to!

Until next time!

The BeanCounter