I want to talk about the way
things come undone.
But is it possible
for you to understand? Read the rest of this entry
This story hurts my heart. It is an all too common example of people not understanding the destructive power of mental illness and how to support the people that are suffering from severe depression. Hind sight is 20/20 and it is easy to scream in out rage. But this is only a piece of their story. There is so much untold that we cannot begin to understand the full circumstances of these events. Read the rest of this entry
And now he would never know. There was nothing that could now be said between them. He touch the back of his father’s hand and wished that he had been there when the man had taken his last breath. But what difference would that have made? Could so many years of disfunction be corrected in a single moment? There were so many questions that he wished he had asked his father. Read the rest of this entry
I was at work when I first got the news about grandpa. I was doing my usual puttering about when a co-worker told me that my husband had called. He doesn’t call me at work unless it’s important so, I called him right back. He let me know that my mom called about grandpa. So, I called her. It felt like I was play tag or chase with the damn phone. Mom told me grandpa wasn’t doing well, that he could die at any time. The gripping in my chest was intense. Read the rest of this entry
Sitting on the hard bench, I closed my eyes and muttered along with the prayers I’d heard since childhood. But today was different. Even though everything was the same, it was all different. My brother’s death left an empty space next to me on the bench. People stood in the back; made no effort to claim the vacancy. I’d laid his bible next to me once it was apparent that I would be sitting alone. Read the rest of this entry
Well, I’ll just get the worst of it out there. My grand father died the week of Thanks Giving. I am glad that my mom was able to get out there to see him before he died. I myself did not really know the man. So, my sadness is for my mom. I worry about how much taking this time off will effect her finances. I hope that mom and dad will be alright.
My husband, daughter and myself went out to Vermont for the week of Thanks Giving to visit my husband’s dad and his family. It was a nice visit. Had a shadow hanging over it, but it was still a nice trip.
Since I’ve been back, it has been about the same routine as always.
I believe you did not have a happy life.
I believe you were cheated.
I believe your best friends were loneliness and misery,
I believe your busiest enemies were anger and depression.
I believe joy was a game you could never play without stumbling.
I believe comfort, though you craved it, was forever a stranger.
I believe music had to be melancholy or not at all.
I believe no trinket, no precious metal, shone so bright as
I believe you lay down at last in your coffin none the wiser
Oh, cold and dreamless under the wild, amoral, reckless, peaceful
flowers of the hillsides.
— Mary Oliver, “A Bitterness” Read the rest of this entry
Dreams; such splendor. A door to a place next door that we so rarely open. Except in drifting night, when our intellect slides away, we step through without even knocking; for it is home. It is that place we all begin. A place we know since in the waters and is real to us there, where we can see before our biology gives us eyes. This is the kind of seeing that is true and real. We walk in the yard of next door but never go into the house until the last of our breath draws out the pathway to that second door. Three steps and a small porch hunker down in front of that house and hold an anchor there; in that place of dreams.
Another post from paper…
A boy in my daughter’s calss has died. A brain anyerisum, so at least it was mercifully quick. But how do you reconcile this? How do you comfort your own child when there are no answers to give? The universe is unkind and unfair. There is nothing else to say. It is. And now those left behind must begin the work of grieving and moving on. Sadly, everything is the same. My daughter is silent on the matter. It is hard to know what she is thinking and feeling. I worry for her. This is something no one should be asked to bear. But it has been demanded of us. Selfishly, I am glad that it wasn’t my daughter. Just being reminded of her mortality causes me pain. Such a darkness. The town has come together to support the family as best as can be expected. He always wore an orange bow tie and now there are orange ribbons all over town. Orange will never be the same again.