Rains gently falling begins to pour, and mild contentment after upheaval settles in. The hardest beast to tame has retreated into her cave waiting to emerge with the least little provocation. On a good day, the head (with fangs) is always poking out ready to strike.
It is an unusual summer, not summer really, but a very long spring. Losses pile up as if the winter dregs never left. The usual burst of joy diminished without knowing why. Perhaps it is trying to interact with brothers who I always thought I could relate to because they were the only ones who never touched me evilly.
But in trying, rooms opened yawing with need never met, not for them, and definitely not for me. My guess is that they able to make a family with three of them, and their wives, because they know how to live on the crust of the bread without consuming the soft interior. I cannot do that anymore. I cannot be invisible, nor a doormat to use then wipe your feet on.
Part of life is always loss, living with both the joy of breath, and the sorrow of loss. My prayer to my son and dear wife who suffer the sorrow of losing their son before ever being born. To have to birth a baby already passed at 6 months is a grief to bear, but how to?
Through tears, I bend over the strawberry patch in the warm sun. It is hard to be sad while picking strawberries. The strain of bending causes sweat to drip into my eyes, each swipe of the wetness satisfying. Numbness thaws into grief. Stating to Samuel how much I hate weeding, I find myself down on the grass at the gardens edge digging dirt with a feeling of connection that had been missing. Working out grief in the earth is pastime known well, and it is good to get back to it.
But today is quiet with rainfall and reflection.
I am so sorry for the burdens you bear and I hope your struggles find you some measure of peace and serenity as time moves on. With my love, that is my wish for you. Don
My response: Thank you for that. I am more at peace than ever before, which equates to happy. Patricia : )
Relief arose with a few tears. My needs were spoken and heard. No offers of coming, but it was clear what I’d like even if not provided. It was hard, and not my way to spell out burdens. My life teachings from the origin family is silence. What comes out of my mouth is not what is in my soul. That has become untenable. If it can’t be spoken, it can be written… and was.
Only here where no restraints are felt is a place of freedom. Every time he’d offer a welcome to come visit feelings of guilt came, that the scarce relationship was all my doing. It felt up to me to do something about it. It weighed on me heavily, not wanting to feel a deep, cumbersome, cloying regret if he were to die first.
I have a friend like that, calling when she’d like a warm body to visit decorating her home with her needs being met, but coming here is not on her agenda though if pressed she will.
Laying in bed at the usual wake-up in the middle of the night after using the bathroom, negativity began overtaking me. Rolling over determined not to get up to watch news, eventually sleep came. Perhaps it is the cold, dark days which should be summery, but are as stormy as my thoughts,. Go back to the basics.
Live each moment as a gift no matter how it is wrapped. Often the wrapping is anxiety, so unfold the buzzing crunchy folds by doing things you love. Puzzles calm. Walks open mysteries lost if not out there doing it. Simple daily chores are satisfying when in my body and core. Do not be afraid, be grateful for this gift called life.