I keep thinking about writing, but I never seem to get to my computer. Our kids started back at school today. Our oldest is in 6th grade, then 4th, and finally 2nd. The oldest two are latch key kids. That is something that never would have happened, if John had lived. I felt him with me today...two butterflies landed on me at our fire drills, and a friend randomly mentioned January 13, which is his birthday.
What does it matter? You clean up as much of the shit as you can, and YOU GO ON. You fail. And you fail again. More than anything else, that IS what life is about. I am a tiny bit ashamed that, after four years, I am still saying this, but I whisper wish that John could try again. And really, I'm not ashamed, but proud as hell because that wish is my way to honor the imperfect love we had for each other. When I miss him, when I feel his energy, when I think of him, laugh about him, cry for missing him...all those moments are ways to keep him with me
I've spent a lot of time over the last several years thinking about how I will need to move forward WITHOUT a lot of things.
And yet, some connections I made this summer helped me to see that, along side those "without" people and things, I have some amazing "together" moments and people too.
Still, the nights are mine. They are long, lonely, lovely.
notes and thoughts from a widow and mother of three
Thursday, September 28, 2017
always forward, always back.
It’s been over 4 years that I’ve been a widow
I connected with a man.
And he is smart and kind and a UU and
I just don’t know that I can do it.
I don’t know that I can ever try again
It’s too hard to get beyond my defenses. I am
Terrified
That everyone I love
Will leave…even if they do not want to
And I am over whelmed by the weight of every day life
As much as I love my kids
I want to give them away
It’s not a poem. It’s
a confession. It’s my ripped up tattered
heart
And it needs to be bagged and trashed
Except that kindness comes my way
And I want to honor love
And hope
And forward motion
Every moment of every day
Is a gift and burden
A chance to try for mindfulness
A slip into the oblivious oblivion
Of a 7 year old’s screams
Louder than the light of the sun
A swaying waltz of missteps melted to
Perfect moments
Where the cool breeze careeses my belly
And fish play a bubble song
Just below my line of sight
Where finger trails of symbiotic
Scintillating, circuitous trails
Draw invisible patterns on barely reluctant flesh
But the sun sets
The sun rises
The silence still screams its stabbing
Whispers
And when I surface long enough to look around
Shattered windowpanes still surround us
So we define what we can
We break...which way
We choose for it to be open and not
Apart
But some days
Distance
Silence
Expulsion
THEY are the screams
Without words
That we must (CAN?)
learn
To dance
To...
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
For Trace
May 22nd, 2013.
July 17th, 2017
4 years, 56 days apart.
His mother died. She hated her name, Theresa.
So we called her Trace
She was tiny
fierce
fairly brilliant
distant
a voracious reader
an amazing mother.
she told me that, when she was young
she would garden
in spiky high heels
and climb out the window
of driving cars on the highway
like the preachers daughter
in Footloose
Setting up the Christmas tree
was an adventure in getting stabbed
a thousand tiny times
since the lights MUST
be wrapped
and wrapped again.
I will say it made for a stunning show
though I let that tradition go
She told me how she did some of the magic things
he never knew:
She was terrified
when he went on biking trips.
A secret whispered in the upstairs library
watching a delicate, slowly spinning
music box, unpeopled bicycles
riding an endless loop
She was terrified
of water and, as far as I know,
never learned to swim
His job was setting himself on fire
traveling to England, Japan, New Mexico
and diving from 10 meters into a 10 foot deep
swimming pool
If he thinks he can, he probably can.
The circle closes
on eyes and dreams, truth
and lies
like it does on every living thing
I miss what never was
and what I hoped for
what she gave the world
and created with her strength
the beauty she spread
with every unshed tear
and each determined step toward the future.
We are here
in time and space
and whether or not we see them
We are not alone.
Our fibers
were spun by them
and every inch of our souls
sing their songs
in tears, sighs, dreams, and giggles.
And the fireflies
will light our way.
The fireflies
will light
our
way.
July 17th, 2017
4 years, 56 days apart.
His mother died. She hated her name, Theresa.
So we called her Trace
She was tiny
fierce
fairly brilliant
distant
a voracious reader
an amazing mother.
she told me that, when she was young
she would garden
in spiky high heels
and climb out the window
of driving cars on the highway
like the preachers daughter
in Footloose
Setting up the Christmas tree
was an adventure in getting stabbed
a thousand tiny times
since the lights MUST
be wrapped
and wrapped again.
I will say it made for a stunning show
though I let that tradition go
She told me how she did some of the magic things
he never knew:
She was terrified
when he went on biking trips.
A secret whispered in the upstairs library
watching a delicate, slowly spinning
music box, unpeopled bicycles
riding an endless loop
She was terrified
of water and, as far as I know,
never learned to swim
His job was setting himself on fire
traveling to England, Japan, New Mexico
and diving from 10 meters into a 10 foot deep
swimming pool
If he thinks he can, he probably can.
The circle closes
on eyes and dreams, truth
and lies
like it does on every living thing
I miss what never was
and what I hoped for
what she gave the world
and created with her strength
the beauty she spread
with every unshed tear
and each determined step toward the future.
We are here
in time and space
and whether or not we see them
We are not alone.
Our fibers
were spun by them
and every inch of our souls
sing their songs
in tears, sighs, dreams, and giggles.
And the fireflies
will light our way.
The fireflies
will light
our
way.
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Reslience
Resilience: the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness
A most desired quality
One, quite frankly, for the ages
A child of long ago, awaiting her father's ship and hoping it comes in soon
A young boy of not quite seven stating his appreciation that his dog is only one,
because that means he has many years before he dies
The core of Odysseus,
surviving his battles and, even more
surviving his return
The rhythm pulsing below your favorite songs
and the leaping loops of alliteration
that lap at the toes of every poem
that has cracked open
your heart
It's my life
so
it's my poem
A soldier's life
and a widow's lot
are not
so different
after all
the world does not operate on rules defining what is right
it spins and turns
topples and twists
unbalanced in the magical night
and we do not get what we deserve
we get
what comes
and what we see, what we choose to see
it's about what we believe
and
like the demigoddess
I believe
in love
A most desired quality
One, quite frankly, for the ages
A child of long ago, awaiting her father's ship and hoping it comes in soon
A young boy of not quite seven stating his appreciation that his dog is only one,
because that means he has many years before he dies
The core of Odysseus,
surviving his battles and, even more
surviving his return
The rhythm pulsing below your favorite songs
and the leaping loops of alliteration
that lap at the toes of every poem
that has cracked open
your heart
It's my life
so
it's my poem
A soldier's life
and a widow's lot
are not
so different
after all
the world does not operate on rules defining what is right
it spins and turns
topples and twists
unbalanced in the magical night
and we do not get what we deserve
we get
what comes
and what we see, what we choose to see
it's about what we believe
and
like the demigoddess
I believe
in love
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
For John and Jacqueline I can
Four years
and my veil is lifted
gently
It seems like I haven't
been able to really
breathe
till now
and now that I can,
the colors are coming back
the pain pricks sharper,
shorter
and oh!
but I shake my head
at the foolish things
I have done
I notice the crowd
surrounding me
and see
how few of them
can even pretend
to understand
and I can hear
hear her
hear her reaching from my heart
down my throat into my soul
some mystical version
of vine like self
I hear her
whispering my need
to be
kind, brave
and the wind taps my shoulder
so I turn my head
oh, yes. Yes, that honors them too
I must also be kind and brave
for Me
and my veil is lifted
gently
It seems like I haven't
been able to really
breathe
till now
and now that I can,
the colors are coming back
the pain pricks sharper,
shorter
and oh!
but I shake my head
at the foolish things
I have done
I notice the crowd
surrounding me
and see
how few of them
can even pretend
to understand
and I can hear
hear her
hear her reaching from my heart
down my throat into my soul
some mystical version
of vine like self
I hear her
whispering my need
to be
kind, brave
and the wind taps my shoulder
so I turn my head
oh, yes. Yes, that honors them too
I must also be kind and brave
for Me
Wednesday, May 24, 2017
brave enough
This grief thing is an emotion with the energy source belonging to a super villain in some show like Flash. It really feels like it never ends.
It feels like I have a cord
and that cord is
unplugged
or perhaps, if not unplugged,
someone attempted to make a type 1 plug fit
into a type 2 socket
So close. But it hurts
and bends
and people
they start to judge you
for not fitting in
they point out every single time
you don't work right
And there's nothing to ground you
no where to recharge
Except it is my heart
my soul
the tips of tired, sacred parts of me
that are disconnected
so much so
I don't know
that I even remember
how to see me.
People search for purpose
make goals
strive for success
and ladder climbing
trophies
and wins
The only thing that makes sense
to me
is a purpose contained
in connections
the light
and the dark
loving each other
loving me
wrapping us all in swirling majestic
dichromatic rainbows
twisting themselves out of half hidden prisms
There is no win or lose
no ladder that does not
eventually
break down
to mulch
I'm trying to open my windows
to let the light AND
the dark in
learn to swim in the seas of saturated
luminosity
without twisting
so fast in the winds of change
that I choke.
*Note: I'm striving for a "happy ending"...although our ends are all the same. I keep asking myself if I can just give up on love...if I can accept a life of just my kids, both blood and classroom. Because of everything, THEY are my purpose, my blessing, my gratitude. However, I know that living only for the children sets a bad example. You can drown and come to hate yourself, which is not a thing to model for growing humans. They learn SO very much from what and how we do, that what we say is close to irrelevant. So...how do I DO this right? I do not know. I thought I was finding my way. I went from barely being able to breathe, to thinking I had found a path, to being sucker punched and all of a sudden hurting more than ever. I realized then, I was breathing fine...so I hadn't slid far backwards. It's just that now that I can breathe, I can also see all the things that surround me. I see loving and distant friends...and I see clearly how much I want a partner and a lover...and how I accept that as okay and healthy. And I see, too clearly, how difficult that path will be to find...I'm keeping the directions for everything now...my kids, my pets, myself, my household, my job...and in the juggling I am dropping. In the dropping, I am tripping. And it is hard, so hard, to get up for the 6,124th time. But, after laying in the dirt for a while, there is nowhere to go, but up.
So...
I ask for help. There is no lesson more valuable to model for my children than basic humility.
It feels like I have a cord
and that cord is
unplugged
or perhaps, if not unplugged,
someone attempted to make a type 1 plug fit
So close. But it hurts
and bends
and people
they start to judge you
for not fitting in
they point out every single time
you don't work right
And there's nothing to ground you
no where to recharge
Except it is my heart
my soul
the tips of tired, sacred parts of me
that are disconnected
so much so
I don't know
that I even remember
how to see me.
People search for purpose
make goals
strive for success
and ladder climbing
trophies
and wins
The only thing that makes sense
to me
is a purpose contained
in connections
the light
and the dark
loving each other
loving me
wrapping us all in swirling majestic
dichromatic rainbows
twisting themselves out of half hidden prisms
There is no win or lose
no ladder that does not
eventually
break down
to mulch
I'm trying to open my windows
to let the light AND
the dark in
learn to swim in the seas of saturated
luminosity
without twisting
so fast in the winds of change
that I choke.
*Note: I'm striving for a "happy ending"...although our ends are all the same. I keep asking myself if I can just give up on love...if I can accept a life of just my kids, both blood and classroom. Because of everything, THEY are my purpose, my blessing, my gratitude. However, I know that living only for the children sets a bad example. You can drown and come to hate yourself, which is not a thing to model for growing humans. They learn SO very much from what and how we do, that what we say is close to irrelevant. So...how do I DO this right? I do not know. I thought I was finding my way. I went from barely being able to breathe, to thinking I had found a path, to being sucker punched and all of a sudden hurting more than ever. I realized then, I was breathing fine...so I hadn't slid far backwards. It's just that now that I can breathe, I can also see all the things that surround me. I see loving and distant friends...and I see clearly how much I want a partner and a lover...and how I accept that as okay and healthy. And I see, too clearly, how difficult that path will be to find...I'm keeping the directions for everything now...my kids, my pets, myself, my household, my job...and in the juggling I am dropping. In the dropping, I am tripping. And it is hard, so hard, to get up for the 6,124th time. But, after laying in the dirt for a while, there is nowhere to go, but up.
So...
I ask for help. There is no lesson more valuable to model for my children than basic humility.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
Where am I?
We are rapidly approaching 4 years. FOUR YEARS. Sigh. I have started trying to donate platelets on a regular basis. Turns out it was me, not Molly, who has a very high platelet count: 420. Higher than 450 is indication that you have something going on that should be checked out, but in the 400's is very helpful. They get the amount they need much quicker. But they have to be careful to not take too much, because only a certain amount can survive. These are all things I learned on Saturday.
My lessons right now consist of relearning how to be here and now, be a widow, a solo mom, be Sabrina, and not be clawing desperately at the life walls that surround me, begging for a way to not have to face any of the things that I have no choice but to face.
I just took a moment to think about whether or not to talk about how the political situation is affecting me. I decided, for now, to leave it. And mention only that my fear about the trajectory of things caused headaches so bad that no medication touched it, I had to have an MRI, they thought I might have shingles, or trigeminal neuralgia, they gave me 4 different prescription medications which did all of nothing so I ended up in the ER. They gave me a shot of valium, which tickled the pain. I'm seeing a chiropractor finally, taking ibuprofen and tylenol in alternating doses and hating the drugs big time. Valium at night if need be, but to be honest, I'd rather drink a little too much wine than screw with a drug like that. So...
Baby steps. That's all I've got. I hid from the pain looking for sexual connections because the power of visceral physical connection hid the pain that made it so I could not breathe. Breathing is pretty essential for life. So I did that dumb thing I revert to...and it, of course, didn't work.
But through those silly and understandable efforts and reading The Little Prince to my class, I had a thought that I hope might be a realization to guide me. It is just this: I would like someone who can tame me. I mean, that's what John did. We didn't have the words for it when it happened. But I figured it out when we planned our ceremony. I asked my friend to read the part of the Little Prince when the fox and he talk about taming...I want someone willing and wanting to come to me at a certain time each day, so that I begin to look forward to their step approaching. And I'd love it if someone could be the kind of person that would put up with my strange and potentially difficult to predict desires for compliments and comfort. And, if that person would also trust in me to arrive for them, hope for me to arrive for them, around the same time...to open their heart, just a tiny bit at a time is fine...so we can learn each other...and trust me enough to be annoying around me...the gift of that would fill my heart and soul to a place of joy. And I would be grateful.
But I can only control me. Not other people. So I don't want to swipe left or right. I guess I would rather be alone? The man at the Red Cross blood donation center, when I told him it had been almost 4 years, quietly and briefly, without judgement asked me "So, you don't want to be with anyone again?" That was the first time I've ever gotten that question. I guess, enough time has passed, and I am not with someone...perhaps it is not about what I want, but what I will allow close to me and to my children. I have never been a planner that way. I never had a type. But I look for a heart. John's heart, oh it sang to me! Which is funny because he was a HORRIBLE singer!!! But his heart...yeah. I always worried I wasn't the right match for him because I am not an athlete and could never keep up with him. Perhaps, what mattered to him and why we made sense, is my heart...perhaps my heart sang to his, too.
Think I could find a way to put that on a dating profile?
My lessons right now consist of relearning how to be here and now, be a widow, a solo mom, be Sabrina, and not be clawing desperately at the life walls that surround me, begging for a way to not have to face any of the things that I have no choice but to face.
I just took a moment to think about whether or not to talk about how the political situation is affecting me. I decided, for now, to leave it. And mention only that my fear about the trajectory of things caused headaches so bad that no medication touched it, I had to have an MRI, they thought I might have shingles, or trigeminal neuralgia, they gave me 4 different prescription medications which did all of nothing so I ended up in the ER. They gave me a shot of valium, which tickled the pain. I'm seeing a chiropractor finally, taking ibuprofen and tylenol in alternating doses and hating the drugs big time. Valium at night if need be, but to be honest, I'd rather drink a little too much wine than screw with a drug like that. So...
Baby steps. That's all I've got. I hid from the pain looking for sexual connections because the power of visceral physical connection hid the pain that made it so I could not breathe. Breathing is pretty essential for life. So I did that dumb thing I revert to...and it, of course, didn't work.
But through those silly and understandable efforts and reading The Little Prince to my class, I had a thought that I hope might be a realization to guide me. It is just this: I would like someone who can tame me. I mean, that's what John did. We didn't have the words for it when it happened. But I figured it out when we planned our ceremony. I asked my friend to read the part of the Little Prince when the fox and he talk about taming...I want someone willing and wanting to come to me at a certain time each day, so that I begin to look forward to their step approaching. And I'd love it if someone could be the kind of person that would put up with my strange and potentially difficult to predict desires for compliments and comfort. And, if that person would also trust in me to arrive for them, hope for me to arrive for them, around the same time...to open their heart, just a tiny bit at a time is fine...so we can learn each other...and trust me enough to be annoying around me...the gift of that would fill my heart and soul to a place of joy. And I would be grateful.
But I can only control me. Not other people. So I don't want to swipe left or right. I guess I would rather be alone? The man at the Red Cross blood donation center, when I told him it had been almost 4 years, quietly and briefly, without judgement asked me "So, you don't want to be with anyone again?" That was the first time I've ever gotten that question. I guess, enough time has passed, and I am not with someone...perhaps it is not about what I want, but what I will allow close to me and to my children. I have never been a planner that way. I never had a type. But I look for a heart. John's heart, oh it sang to me! Which is funny because he was a HORRIBLE singer!!! But his heart...yeah. I always worried I wasn't the right match for him because I am not an athlete and could never keep up with him. Perhaps, what mattered to him and why we made sense, is my heart...perhaps my heart sang to his, too.
Think I could find a way to put that on a dating profile?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)