The thing that matters persists.

     I was laid off one month ago, so I have had the luxury of the thing called "spare time".  Now that I have finally gotten over being sick, caught up on my sleep and my reading, cleaned the house and took care of my important errands (whew!) things in my brain have finally started to SLOW DOWN.
     I've been reading about the yoga paths, Buddhism and women's magic.  I went to a service at my old church and said the Lord's prayer.  I started meditating.  I "sat with my grief," contemplated Maya and called upon Gaia.  I started going for walks again, each lap a meditation, each step a mantra.  I picked up my guitar yesterday for the first time in awhile; I took it to the park and played my heart and emotion out into the universe on it, tears like boulders rolling down my face.  I have begun trying to learn whatever precious lessons life must be holding for me after such a year.  I know they are there.  They have begun peeking at me around corners in my mind and unlocking hidden doors for me.  I am getting glimpses of truth through the darkness.
     Mom is here with me through all of this.  She helped me flush out a good idea yesterday while I walked.  It doesn't matter if it was illusion of attachment or her ghost or an angel or that I know what she would say because I was lucky enough to talk to her a LOT.  The Thing That Matters persists because I can still feel what it is to love someone that much and have them love me back.  I still feel her love, and when I call her she seems to be there.  Souls or not, love is eternal.

Christmas Blues

I love Christmas.  This time of year has always been strange, mystical, serene and crazy all at once, but in all my memory I think this is my first "sad Christmas".  Sure, nostalgia has kicked in lots of years as I remembered past times, friends gone and magic lost, but this is different. 
Too much is different this year.  My family won't or can't get together for various reasons.  There will not be a big family Christmas.  I'll get to see some of my family, as long as I travel to them, and the others (that I speak to) I'm sending cards that will probably not get there in time. 
This is our first Christmas without Mom.  It's impossible not to miss her, and the closer it gets to...




and that's where this entry ends.  I must have broken down and called it a day, but I will publish it now anyways.  (9/5/16)

11/4/15

This week has been a roller coaster.  For weeks I cried every morning because I missed Mom so much and the pain was just intolerable.  I don't cry every day now, more like 2/3 of them, but lately it is at night when I am trying to fall asleep that I start to remember all of the hard and scary moments of the last year.  They run through my mind and I can hear all the times she screamed in fear or cried the regretful tears of a person who thought they would have more time.  During the day it is easier to go on about my business, not stop and think about anything but work or tv or some dumb conversation. 
When Mom was just sick but not dying or gone, I was still a good listener for my friends.  They would call me to talk about their problems, and sometimes feel bad that they were unloading on someone that was obviously going through some stuff.  It was a distraction for me, so I didn't mind focusing on somebody else's stuff.  Now, however, I find I have very little compassion for most people's problems, unless they are as tragic as mine.  I know that sounds terrible, and I really just am not used to feeling this way.  I am mad that people don't know how I am feeling, but it's only because I don't tell them. 
I packed up all of Mom's clothes yesterday.  I made no plans to get rid of them or anything, just put them in some plastic bins.  I came across her dentures again and wondered for the hundredth time what to do with them, knowing full well that I will probably keep them forever.  I got together the last of the baby wipes and the monitor to give to my brother with the new baby. 

A little poem on grief

It has been awhile since I did any writing.  I have been avoiding it, the same way I have been avoiding answering the phone or taking care of errands outside the house; like I avoid thinking about the past or the future.
I wrote a check at the grocery store yesterday, and instead of just getting the year wrong (first week of January- it happens), I had posted it 9-3-2015.  September?  How did I get that so wrong?  Then it hit me; that was the day Mom died.  Part of me is still right there, frozen in that moment four months ago, telling her she can be free and hoping I am right.


You died and I became a ghost
A phantom of my former self
I wandered drowning through a flood of memories
A hailstorm of images pounded me to dust
Every song a deafening blow
Every breeze a whisper strained to hear
I was the deer in headlights
the rabbit gone tharn
No one could speak to me
I disappeared
and cannot tell if I have been
or ever will be
found.