Spring has arrived, and Larry called the utility company to have our gas turned off today. I'm kinda sad. OK. Not kinda sad, I'm really sad. Actually, I teared-up a little when I went into the living room and now I'm (unsuccessfully) blinking back tears while trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Let me explain.
A little over a year ago, we had a fireplace wall built in our living room. It has a ventless fireplace with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on either side. We'd wanted a fireplace when we built our place, but decided to wait until we sold our old house and were in a better financial position. It was finished the end of last April--the same week temperatures went into the 80's and stayed there. So, about six months ago, we had the gas turned on and were able to use the fireplace for the first time.
We decided that throughout my chemotherapy, I could use the fireplace during the day to warm-up our living area. (As it turned out, we pretty much heated the house with it, but that's another story!) And that's just what I did. If I wasn't feeling well or simply felt chilled, I flipped on the fireplace. Some dark, winter days, there's really nothing like a fire in the fireplace. Not only did it warm-up the room temperature, it seemed to do something to my heart, too. There were days when I'd have our main floor at 76, 77 or even 78 degrees.
Somehow, it seemed like snuggled up on the couch with a quilt, by the fire, everything was alright--everything was going to be ok. I think in some sort of way, on some days, I depended on that gas fireplace to keep me company, to make me feel loved, like everything in my world was warm and snuggly and safe.
So, today, the gas goes off. No more fireplace. Silly. I know. But I can't help it. I'm gonna miss it and the sense of safety, peace and hope it somehow gave me when I needed it ...