Happy birthday, Neil

The Bane of My Existence And My Smile In Living Form

Saying the

SAME

Word over and over

And over

And again

Bringing me water “Betuz I want you to be healfy”

You need a password to get through, which I have to support

Because the password is

“Please may can I go through?”

Choosing to use his birthday money to buy everyone something

So

Many

Crumbs…everywhere

Helping to sweep

Throwing the trash into the can

Leaving splatters on the wall

The laugh that giggles to the ends of time

Peeing the bed

Pulling the siblings together with hugs and “I wuv you. You da bess sisser ever”

The screaming, oh the screaming

The small arms that hold me, the tiny chest where I place my head for gentle pats

“The only ting I member when I was baby, is you.  The only ting I don’t member, is Daddy”

We all love you, the brother, the sister, the spirit father, but you

You, my dear, are mine.

not a poem...just trying to survive

I lost my husband to cancer, and I lost my job to callousness.  Long story on the latter.  Suffice it to say it’s gone, I didn’t chose to “resign” but that’s what it says on the letter.

I too often fall back on the phrase “I’m broken” hoping and praying that the broken is “open” and not “apart”.

I need to look at this as another opportunity.  Another chance to learn to care for myself, comfort myself.  A friend said this to me about my kids learning to sleep in their own beds.  They need to learn that skill.  I am not sure how well I learned it.  The hardest thing has been and still remains the long, empty evenings.  I miss my best friend. 

I say that I have no family support.  I have some family support.  But it’s not a parent support.  It’s not the support that puts me above all else.  I often find myself on the back burner.  In fact, I’m lucky if I am on the stove.  That’s okay.  I’m glad to have what I have. 

Everything is overwhelming.  The laundry, cooking, money, hope.  I’m trying to exercise to boost not only my strength but my happy hormones.  I’m trying singing lessons to fill my soul.  But evenings are the hardest.  They are lonely.  Long.  Empty.  Sad.  I spent so much of my life looking for a friend and love to fill that hole that is not personified by nights.  I found him.  So accidentally.  He was the best friend I ever had.  The best lover.  A pain in my ass.  Annoying.  Self-centered.  Giving.  Loving.  Funny.  Talented and determined beyond anyone I’ve ever known.  And he loved me.  I know that says something about me.  I also know it doesn’t matter for steps forward.  I cannot put him on a love/friend resume.  So.  What do I do, besides want to die?  I’d never harm myself in the immediate.  I have thought about it and all I see is my sweet babies waking up and finding me dead and that is my worst nightmare…that I give them the horrible gift of losing their only remaining parent.  That makes me ill.  I have enough strength to see that.  But it doesn’t stop me from drinking and smoking.  And those things, on purpose, will kill me eventually just the same…even worse actually, since they will eventually take over the person I am and make me into a mess of a human.  That will leave them with a shell that they barely grieve.  Been there, done that from the daughter end. 

I’m already doing better than her…than my mother.  I’m dating, singing, traveling a little, staying connected to a community that is diverse and interesting.  But losing my job after losing my husband messed me up.  The job loss was based in people treating me like a liar, an irresponsible, bad person.  THAT put me in the hospital when losing John to cancer and nursing him, giving him shots, caring for him in the messy, scary last moments didn’t.  And there is no one to bitch to about that.  There is no one to yell at.  They treated me like shit.  And I have to move on.  I don’t want them to take my love, my teaching, away from me, since I already lost my best friend.  So I’m still looking for teaching jobs.  As messed up as the system might be…it’s my home.  I know the rhythms, the ups and downs, the little things necessary to make the days work.  I want that familiarity.  I feel like I need it.  That word “need” scares me.  I don’t feel safe needing anything.  Everything can be taken. 

So breathe.  That’s what I come back to, time and time again.  Go to sleep, restart.  But I cannot always go to bed at 8:00 with the kids.  So.  I tried knitting and drawing and braiding.  And I am proud and glad I could do them all.  I have no commitment.  No drive.  Perhaps I make my own drive? 

I’m so glad I have a few friends still willing to listen to me cry.  It’s been 2 years since I lost him.  2 years and almost 3 months.  It’s only been 6 months since I lost my job which was not just a job. 

I know that looking for strength, happiness, and hope outside myself is not particularly productive.  I need to look within.  I’ve done that at different points and am confident that I’m more able to find these things inside myself than many people will ever be…and that is irrelevant.  I need to find more of it, all by myself.  Well, maybe not ALL by myself.  But still.  I need to find a way to reach this place, with empty evenings.  I feel ancient and naïve, incompetent and completely capable all at once.  So confused and confusing.  So lost.  So damn scared.

This grief thing, when compiled with all the shit that life sends a person with unstable working conditions, little functional support, and a lifetime of second guessing every potentially worthy thing that might be inside a self….it kinda sucks. 

All I have is breathe.  Ask for help.  Ask again.  And again.  And if they don’t answer, call someone who has been down a similar path.  And keep breathing.  None of this is easy.  For proof, I still have to find a way to get my kids out of my bed.  Every night.  Even though I want them now and then.  How does THAT work?  See: tons of tears and lots of screaming.

Breathe.  Deeper.  Breathe again.  You’ve got this. 

I am a matryoshka doll
Starting off with a woman
Capable of feats beyond compare
Lifting, loving, mourning
A man larger than life

With shoulders as wide as summer
And imperfect feet stumbling
On dying dreams
Broken toes and swollen knees
Misaligned hips
Still dancing the dance of
Forward motion
Lips upturned in a quiet smile

Second is the inner goddess
Seductress
Barely clothed
Swollen with desire
Searching sexy lingerie stores
For things she will not buy
Stocking up on batteries
And hiding the phone to watch
When skin touches skin

Then there is a creature
Craving profound, recondite
Connections, rejuvenation within
Ruminations, peace in the puzzle
Of word and inspiration not in the
Solutions
But in the searches

Inside here
Is the wounded one
Crushed by the cavalry
Still bleeding on the battle ground
A chest wound
Legs spread asunder
Supine in carnelian crusted
Blades of grass
Willing her sword to find, again,
Her hand
Willing her broken body
Back to strength
Willing to try and die
Again and again in the epic battles
That search, not for dominion, but love
The smallest doll
Sits settled softly
Fire eyes
And hope
Butterfly wings of volcanic
Winds
She has no mouth
Yet tries to scream
A siren song
She feels what they all
Feel
She knows what they
Have done
She bears each scar
And wears the glittering signs
Of heroes and calls attention to none

She is the whirlwind
The child prodigy
The serpent spawned
With angel tongue
And she

Refuses

To die

layers and dances and being an ass

there are some words
that are letters, and not much more

there are other words
that have layers of worlds beneath each sound
each layer harboring a hero, a villain, magic, and mystics

Widow
is such a word

Once upon a time
a lost and broken girl
took steps
staggering and wobbly
like a wet, weak foal
towards the woman she could be...
and the winds blew in
the right
direction...lifting her
and she didn't just walk
she found a way
to fly

and in the happy ending
lived dirty laundry
a lack of money
and words that lacked the luster
of fairy tale beauty
and
there was touch
laughter
and most of all, a willingness to learn

There was a budding
burgeoning moment
where the seedling saw sunsets
and smelled the lilacs
and knew
KNEW
that there was a path paved, rocky, sometimes shadowed
pointed
in the right direction

and the dragons came
the demons
the villains and warlocks and curses and the
blackness

happy endings contain
the possibility of
ending

and so it did

too soon.

too realistically.

and still steps must be placed
down whatever that path still holds

one foot in front of another

black finger nails, polish chipped
sprained ankles in awkward boots with spiderman stickers
is that a job on the horizon?  or is it just
unemployment...
the irrelevance is almost maddening

because your feet are on the ground
and there are little ones surrounding you
there is no option
beyond learning
no focus beyond foundation

there is dance
because that fills you
there is music
because that lifts you
there is laughter
because that defines you

you move
through liquid loss and love and life
where everything
EVERYTHING
congeals
comes together in the strangest ways
spins apart in a pinwheel of color
and your desires and wishes
melt
until the crusting castles
left behind
are the crystallized bits of love and connection and loss and fear
that sparkle with hope

because hope
is what ties it all together

ribbons of multicolored hope
butterfly wings
landing on your elbow
tickling the sensitive skin
but beyond
easy sight

sticky sap residue
from pine cone castles

muddy faces and dirt blackened toes
tangled hair made gorgeous
by THAT smile

It's a dance
All of it
and in every dance,
the beauty comes
from making what might be a stumble
into the most magical
of dips and spins
and pirouettes.

So play that silent song
and dance like an ass

Because THAT
is what will get
you through.

understanding dancing

to understand your heart
fully
is a process in dissection of a living organ
cut it
watch how it bleeds
where the blood runs to...
how it pools

and cut again
a simple, smooth, sensual slice

patch it.  feel it throb, silently spinning in cirlces
of a lonely disco dance
wet, sticky, hot, dying
searching for life
striving to build strength

pumping

to understand yourself
there is a watlz inside a shattered
snow globe
swirling
while water leaks
and small white chunks,
cube-like crumbles of some sort of
plastic
cling to the things
it should be fluttering around

where does it stick?
how to you step around it?
what shall you use to patch the holes both
tiny and titanic

to understand someone else
is to peel your skin
gently remove the muscle and bone
step out, slowly, from your skeleton
let everything else
leak
bleed
swirl down the drain
of everything your heart
thought
it might be able to carry
crashing around a bloody mosh pit, flailing
and refilling
the empty places
of that other place

and still

inside each journey
is a chain...
heavy metal links
binding you
to what you already know
with arms on waist
a sultry salsa dance
with a fine, faceless partner

which in the grand ballroom
you must admit
really isn't much
after all , dancing alone.

bowing...but to what end? Perhaps a view from the guillotine?

perhaps rage
is not always a dragon
flapping wings with a force
to bowl over those attacking
screeching roars and feathering flames
in torrents from dripping fangs

perhaps rage
is also a rope and gag
dropping our hands
limp and useless at our sides
burning, yes
but burning silent cinders
inside where things should be
soft

I sit
my fingers buzz
my feet come close to a tingle
somewhere inside me
a tremendous voice
with no sound
screams loud enough to bleed
so incredibly silently

tendrils of what was
become smoke
from a dream and
pirouette in picture perfect
spirals
meant only to bind me
into
my self-made madman dreams
of
deepest dark

Don't let it in!
But...it is in...it built this house
the bricks of blood and bone
make a special, certain kind of quiet

I have marked myself
with blood
colors holding hope
messages from beyond where
I can reach

the rage still runs quiet
not one swing from my arms
no muscles clenched

and yet

the fight
rages raucous, breaking and rending
while I sit inside and watch
praying

praying that the destruction
is dalliance I do with myself
while others watch
a way to break open in full view

for if the shadows consume
if they overcome, overwhelm, overtake
I worry
perhaps my silence will rule
and the open
will finally close
a curtain call
for the actors I am
telling me it's time
to bow

What is it I need, already??

Ok, fine.  Fine!  First of all, it annoys me that in this blog, I never share my silly.  Perhaps I'm saving it for the living me, not the black lines on a white background place of pouring it all out to figure it out, to exorcise it.  Whatever.

So I really am trying to learn.   It seems that in my blankest moments, the universe keeps placing in front of me, for lack of a better term, carrots.  But it's like they are partly rotten.

First, looking for nothing, just connecting, the shadow of a bear stepped in...stayed in touch...professed to possess a version of caring...gave me a sense of self beauty...reminded me of passion, hope, desire.  It was a lie.  A floating figure unable to flesh itself out, unwilling.

Second, just doing what I do, another moment sharing my desperation, another shadow reached out.  A shadow puzzle, barely held together and blasted apart soon after we connected.  Timid.  Confused.  Mistrustful of self.  Perhaps a puzzle missing some key pieces, as well.  But the shadow puzzle stayed in touch, too...kept connecting.  And this one was flesh.  And smelled good.  Felt good.

But I feel like I need to find a way to be happy without anyone else.  Or one half of me does.  The other half just sits back and laughs gently, shaking her head.  Because I also truly believe that connection, companionship, touch, nearness...all those synonyms are what matter.  They are the meat and the mayo of life...without them, even good bread is dry.

So I get on dating sites.  Which annoy the hell out of me.  And I think about having parties here.  I learned to knit.  I learned to draw.  I learned to braid my hair.  I'm trying to read more again.  Really, all I want to do is just shake the shit out of these illusory demons that taunt me.  Why do you reach out, when all you can give me are tiny bits of only almost lies that aren't really quite lies??

It's so frustrating...so infuriating,  Why can't I just embrace my widows grief?!  A friend told me, with a snarky laugh (because that's what he does) that grieving IS sex for a widow.  I grieve.  I do!  I crumble to to floor on spaghetti knees and ugly cry.  Tears that make my nostrils close and push out the snot.  Like nothing I've ever experienced before, and trust me, I'm a practiced crier.  This is like a new salt language.

It's time.  I know.  But are these shadow touches lessons?  Or are they chances?  Temptations?  Coincidences?  All of the above?  Or just a load of crap and nothing.

I know I am getting better, a teeny tiny bit, at patience.  I want to reach out...always reach out.  Do it now.  Try now.  See if there is something to hold...NOW.  But I'm fighting to hold back because maybe that is what I need to learn.  To chill.  To be chased.

I don't want to be a secret connection.  I want to be someone's girlfriend.  I want to have someone to be excited about.  I want to let my heart jump when the text blings and I want to be able to tell people about it.  I am so annoyed with myself.  I know I shouldn't be.  I just want to be stronger in this regard.  But aren't we all weak?  Don't we all want connection, love, compassion?  It's okay.  It really is okay to long for that.  To hope for that.

Maybe there is a way to long and learn to be strong alone at the same time.  Ugh.  Doesn't THAT sound like a fun two step?

Maybe that's what I need to do...go dancing.