Tuesday, December 23, 2014


I find myself wondering
over and over
how do I do this? 
how did I get here?
how could this happen?
how can I heal enough
to find a way forward?
how do I find a way
out of the hole grief dug me into at work?

To be the best teacher
I can be, I search for
self knowledge
I try not to sweat the small stuff

And life hands you situations
that are all about the small stuff
The individual, specific, accountability moments
And people who see you as not their problem
scenarios that generate fear
self doubt

I do remember
that the small moments matter
I try to own my mistakes
to learn and grow

and there is fear
and there is loneliness
and there is pain
and there is loss

these things, though
are only
I don't believe that
I can't make anyone else believe
the things I believe.

which leaves me
with an addition problem
and no answer. 

I want there to be a poem, but I'm not sure there is one...I have conversations in my head.  I have these things that rattle around.  Last week, before we were sick, I went to a Christmas party.  There was a family there...two kids walked past as I was talking with the dad.  They were 8 and 6, and I  said "Add one more, 4, and you've got my set." I told him.  He said he didn't think he could handle another...they couldn't do three, as his wife walked over to him.  He told me that he didn't make it to the party last year, but they did the year before.  In my head, I thought, "Well, you might have met my husband then...before he died.  Try handling all three of those kids without a spouse...I'm a widow."

I remember reading so many different things about widows and how, for a while, they want to tell everyone, the mail carrier, the clerk at the grocery store, strangers on the street, that they are widows.  I feel like after over a year and a half, I should be beyond that.  I wonder when that will end.  I don't want it to ever end.  I feel like, if I stop telling people about him, about my loss, I lose the stories and the connection.  How do I talk about him, without talking about how he died?  That he died?  There is that loving phrase..."my late husband"

I don't live in a safe place anymore.  I wonder if I ever did.  I wonder how this works.  I don't understand how to protect myself at work.  How do I handle the fact that I miss to my core the way we touched each other?  I want to hold hands, to kiss, to have a place to rest my head...a shoulder.  And another part of me doesn't even care...that part just wants a naked connection, body and soul. 

The way I love my kids...it is so large.  I look at them and try hard to see them, to honor them, to pause each moment in our lives so that I can appreciate them in this particular here and now.  And it hurts.  And it makes me mad.  And I want to find a way to be grateful.  At least in some small way.  I hurt inside and want desperately to show my hurt on the outside.  I bite my lips.  I do not punch myself in the head. 

Find me.  How do I say that to?  I feel like I am failing.  I feel like I am not as good as others...as I should be...yet I'm doing my best.  What is my destiny?  I don't believe in destiny.  Destiny is a fabrication.  Who am I?  Who am I meant to be?  Who can I become?  How do I get there?

can I get through this
and be the person I want