In the course of a conversation with my baby sister sometime this past week, I confessed that when this business with my grandparents’ estate is over, my grand plan was to fake my own death and run away forever. I was only half kidding.
This is going to come off as a all bunch of whinging and hand-wringing, but I tell you what–I am tired. I took care of their bills and banking and a great many aspects of their business during the last few years of their lives–as well as the day to day maintenance of their actual lives outside of finance-related things, at least for a while before we got some extra help…and yet, my grandmother has been gone for over a year now, but I still can’t seem to extricate myself from all of it it. They had a will, they had their bank accounts put into a trust, so with all that in place, you wouldn’t think there would be so many loose ends and that it all would be such a pain, but who knows, probably because I am an idiot and didn’t do something just so, this probate and estate situation is really dragging out. We’re also trying to sell their house, and the buyers keep backing out and the one we’ve finally got needs all of these repairs done because it’s some kind of a VA loan…so, as personal representative, I’ve got calls with lawyers, realtors, contractors, insurance people and I am sure I don’t have to tell you how stressful and anxiety inducing I find all of this. I just want this all to be over. I can’t properly mourn my beloved Mawga and Boppa, not really. Not with all of this still hanging over my head. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been doing this forever and there is no end in sight.
So yes, I want to be done with responsibilities. With obligations. With meetings and phone calls and relaying information back and forth and second guessing my every decision and feeling like a failure because I’m not doing it right, not doing it timely enough, not doing it the way someone else might have done it. I want to walk away and never look back and never ever have to think about this again. Faking my own death and running away to be a hermit in the mountains, without another human being (or a telephone) for hundreds of miles around, sounds super appealing to me right now. I want to disappear so that they’ll never find me.
It was with a head heavy and churning with these sorts of thoughts that I discovered the photography of Rosie Anne Prosser via her flickr account late last night. A photographer and storyteller who describes herself as a “Mountain Goat raised in The Black Mountains”, her melancholic landscapes of lonely cliffs, secluded thickets and remote paths, the focal point a lone figure, cloaked in mists and shadows with her back to both the camera and the viewer, enigmatically, introspectively, and perhaps even a bit defiantly gazing off to somewhere else, entirely…
Well, I’m having a hard time articulating how it made me feel. It was just one of those serendipitous moments when you find something you needed to see, just when you needed to see it. Each and every image tugged at my heart and seemed to echo back to me everything that I am feeling right now, and my soul whispered to me in a language tinged with both misery and hope, “I want to go to there.” I don’t know that I can say more than that.
For now, though, you can tell them that I was last seen climbing into these photos. I will be immersing myself in solitude, silence, and still, sunless days. Please don’t try to find me.