It makes me think, though,
that I should remember that embracing the misery and learning from it
examining it like a cell in a microscope
or wearing it, in moments, like a purple hat
that makes me strong.
I wonder, though, if perhaps that is not the case for everyone?
I don't know...my kids are feeling it this month. I'm not sure I have a poem in me...I just feel like I'm DOING this. I am not making myself anything...I'm putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes the steps go cockeyed and sometimes I step on my own toes. Sometimes I am totally dancing. Perhaps, like my oldest before he learned to crawl, I'm mostly rolling around on the floor, forward, left, backwards...just oval type motions across the floor. But I'm moving...I'm swimming...I'm trying...
I am tired of listening to my own thoughts. I hate it when I think of hospice. I hate it when I think of how things were...the moment when I decided I needed to get significant help, more than could come to the house.
I just have this. I carry it. It won't go away. I just feel so damn angry! That is the hardest emotion for me to manage, I think. I'm NOT angry at John. He would have stayed if there was ANYTHING he could do about it...but I'm angry at Cancer for taking him, at life for making me start over. Damnit, I had an effed up time starting in the first place, and continuing, and then I found such a loving guy. But that is irrelevant. Not insofar as really big things, like my kids or the reality of his love. But because I have to try again. I'm not crazy for loving you...I'm crazy for needing to try again. But I do. And that makes me angry.
Sigh
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