I Disappointed YOU?

You were angry.

Your hurtful words just flew.

I could feel the sting.

You said I disappointed you.

I was silent.

As your anger pelted me.

I was silent.

And I just let you be.

I just let you rage

Releasing all your pain

Did that make you feel better?

Tell me, what did you gain?

Are we closer now?

No, the opposite is true.

Wondering do you love me?

Wondering do I love you?

Is there any shred of love left?

Any for us to restore?

Was I was silent

Because I don’t care anymore.

Each time you hurt me

I changed

With each lie

I rearranged

I got tougher, harder, meaner,

I grew a thicker shell

I grew wary and untrusting

Frankly, mad as HELL

And now, I disappoint YOU!

How exactly can that be?

Was it while working two jobs?

To provide for you and me?

Or maybe it was my strength

You leaned on without concerns.

Is that why I disappoint you

And your anger burns?

I was silent.

Your words really hit their mark.

I was silent.

Broken in the dark.

 

Advertisements

Breathe

Holidays are tough when you are grieving. I will always be grieving. I try to hold onto the light, the good things – but there is such a gaping hole. According to my grief counselor, I am dealing with delayed grief, or what ever label one attaches. I always feel like I have to be the strong one, the responsible one – so I hold everything in – take care of business. SO – Here I am going through the 3rd Christmas without my son, my only child and – it isn’t any easier for any of us. My husband is hospitalized, so I am holding down the farm. So, I spent the holiday with my animals and a nasty respiratory infection. Finally gave in and went to the doctor. My asthma was flared up and needed a treatment. So I spent my morning in a the medical center, doing a nebulizer treatment – 2 years, 10 months, and 6 days after my son died of a severe asthma attack. Each breath cut through me – I will finally had to admit how guilty I feel – he got the asthma from me, I know it. I feel like it is my fault, my punishment and I don’t know why. No matter how many times I tell myself, it isn’t my fault and it isn’t about me – I can’t stop the thoughts. They attack in waves. I love my GOD so much, and I lean on the GREAT SPIRIT for comfort and healing, and I know HE did NOT TAKE my child, HE received him in love, just like HE loves me.

Still – the thoughts come. My son, a young, successful Emergency Room Doctor just finished a shift saving lives. Why couldn’t they save him? He saved lives. He made a difference in this world. Why is he gone and I’m still here? What do I do? I hate these thoughts – I suppressed them as long as I could – now I have to let them out so I can let them go.

Breathe. I tell myself just breathe and let it go. I needed to lance this abscess so I could get this poison out.

I needed to spend this holiday in my home alone so I could deal with my grief, and not be responsible for anyone else. I don’t have to put on the brave face. I am spending this day in prayer, in healing – just me and my dogs (and hugs on the horses, mule, cat, – and patted the goose). I absorbed their love – pure, honest love.

Maybe, if there is any good that can come of my grief journey – it is to share the revelations – tell someone you love them and give them a safe place to express their grief. Everyone needs to express the dark thoughts without judgement or condemnation or fear of rejection – Don’t hammer a broken person over the head with the Bible. Remember, it is the word of GOD, not a weapon. Instead, Hold their hand and pray with them.

If you are hurting, you have to breathe and let it out – scream it out – curse it out – even break something if it helps. But the abscess never heals unless it ruptures. I hold onto my big Ol’ Charlie Tarheel (My German Shepherd) and I cry and I pray. Strange as it sounds, I believe he is my spirit animal, sent to guide me to a closer spiritual relationship and a stronger faith. That works for me. I pray everyone in pain finds what works for them, to bring healing. Please, don’t give up. Continue the journey.

Prayers.

Christmas breakfast with my furry family

It’s Christmas. So I lit a candle, got out my best cowboy china, and fixed breakfast for me and my dogs, Charlie Tarheel and Baby Dawg. We feasted together on hash and eggs. I even baked a birthday cake for Jesus – but no chocolate for the critters. Then I sang Christmas carols – sorry dogs. But hey, the Bible says make a JOYFUL noise unto the LORD. Doesn’t say it has to sound good – just JOYFUL. So I believe my nasally, flat, off key screechings are pleasing and acceptable unto the LORD. The horses and the mule had a feast too – carrots and apples and granola. Gertie Goose had sweet corn on the cob (hard to find this time of year) and butter bread. Flip Flop kitty had Friskies Shreds, hash, and warm milk.

Everyone got a hug and a scratch. I hung onto my horses neck’s and cried into their manes. I hugged Hector the mule and sobbed on his shoulder. I clutched the kitty and shared my pain. Gertie Goose bit me on the thumb – hey, she’s a goose.

My dogs curled up with me on the couch and absorbed my grief and gave me their love. It seems the more I give my love away – the more love comes right back to me. GOD truly sent me COMFORT and PEACE today. And I will be able to visit my husband at the hospital this afternoon.

Merry Christmas.

Picking up the check

I have been offline for a while – holidays are so hard.

My husband, my porcupine, really got lost in the dark. But this time, he saw the train wreck coming and reached out for help. He is now in the hospital receiving the treatment he needs. Odd as it may sound to some, I am proud of him. He didn’t reach out for alcohol or drugs. He didn’t hurt himself. He admitted his problem and asked for help. That takes courage and I am proud of him.

As he receives the support and care he needs, our loved ones do their best to show they care. They tell me how strong I am – but they forget, I don’t have any other choice. Bills need to be paid. Animals need care. Somebody has to be strong. I know there is love in their words, and I receive them with love – but, forgive me – sometimes I do feel like I am picking up the check. I lost my son too and it hurts more than I can every express. I want to just break down and quit, but I can’t. Too many depend on me. So I trudge forward.

I have to stop this – Just me feeling sorry for myself a little bit. Then I remember, today is Christmas. I have loving friends and family. I have precious memories. True, there are no people here with me right now, but my animals are my family and they are here. My SON’s spirit is here. GOD is here. In my heart, I know Jesus is the one who picked up the check for sins he never committed. I am thankful.

In love with a porcupine

Sometimes, I feel like I am in love with a porcupine, a very cute porcupine. This porcupine has some very, VERY good qualities and a good heart. But it is covered in sharp, painful quills. It just seems like every time I let down my guard and get close – OUCH!!

I want to trust the porcupine – OUCH!! I get stabbed by the LIE Quills.

I want to believe things will change – OUCH!! The addiction quills!!

It hurts.

But I still love the porcupine.

Is it his fault for hurting me, or is he just being what he is?

Is it my fault for trying to love a porcupine?

Or do I just need some sleep?

Going around the same mountain

The Israelites spent 40 years going around and around – I get that.

I feel like I am going around and around the same mountain, and I just can’t get it right.

The same demons keep cropping up – so around I go, making another trip.

I cannot stop a loved one’s addictive behavior. I cannot make the outcome different – so what I am failing to learn?

I see the train wreck down the line, but what don’t I see? Should I just get out of the way and refuse to be collateral damage again?

What about compassion and forgiveness and responsibility and commitment?

Sometimes, I just drop to my knees and ask GOD, how broken do I need to be?

Where is the line? Strong people break too.

Casualties of Grief Part 3

Holidays and Parties – for me – are definitely on the casualty list.  I used to love parties and family gatherings.  In the fall, we would always build a huge bond fire and invite family and friends to the farm.  We would eat my husband’s chili, roast hots dogs and marshmallows – just enjoy.

I have not hosted or attended a party since losing my son – I just struggle being around groups of people.  Truthfully, I cannot get “in the mood” to host a party and I don’t want to attend some one else’s party and bring down their mood.

Has anyone else experienced the awkwardness of the grief journey?  The isolation?  When I encounter people, acquaintances who either do not KNOW or I do not see on a regular basis – there is an awkwardness in our interaction.  I can tell it is on their mind and they feel uncomfortable – and I feel uncomfortable.  Conversation just feels “forced”.

Holidays and party days are ahead – AGAIN.  If I muster the courage to accept  invitations, will I would be socializing with people I have not seen since my son’s memorial service?  Will they feel uncomfortable?  Will I be a dark cloud on the party?

I cry privately.  I grieve privately.   I work to always maintain my composure in any public situation.  I do not want to burden others.  What to do?  Go?  Say no?

Blanket Fort Morning

My  morning began in a blanket fort.

First alarm just went off at 5:30 am.  My mind acknowledged the alarm with a snarky snarl, “I have 20 minutes before second alarm goes off.”

I am snuggled in my blanket fort with the blanket pulled tightly over my head.  It is a soft, cuddly blanket – feels like kittens  – fresh from the dryer last night, smelling sweet.  I want to burrow down into my blanket fort and just think of you.   No grief, no tears, no pain – safe in blanket fort with happy memories.

I remember pulling couch cushions and blankets and turning our living room into a camp site.  I remember looking through the view master at dinosaurs, and pretending they were binoculars and real dinos and we were brave explorers.   I remember the giggles and the tickles – blocking out the whole world in our little blanket fort.

The second alarm pierced my perfect memory – had to finally drag it out of my blanket fort.  But don’t worry, Son, I will be back.  Does anyone else have a blanket fort?

GOD loves me anyway

My grief is not weakness.  My grief is not sin.  My grief is not a lack of faith.  My grief does not offend GOD.  It is a very human response to a very profound, devastating loss.

I am flawed, broken person.  I make mistakes.  GOD knows me and loves me anyway.

I live for somedays.  Somedays, I am OK.  Somedays, I am not OK.  Somedays I make good decisions and I make progress.  Somedays I make stupid decisions and I slide back.  Somedays, I do all that before my first cup of coffee.  I know GOD loves me anyway, that’s why I keep trying.

Some days, I do things I don’t really understand, like carry a pebble around all day, clutching it for dear life.  Someday, I will retire and explore other ways to support my family.  Someday, I will go to the World Equestrian Games in North Carolina – and Someday I will go to Ireland and take my followers along.  Someday, I will be able to devote myself full time to hobby farming and crafting.  Someday I will something- …. Or maybe never, maybe nothing – I really don’t know.

I chose to share my journey, not force it on anyone.  I do not know where this journey will lead me – I don’t have that kind of “written-in-stone” plan.  I cannot look that far ahead.  I may have to change directions, alter my path a few times as I trod along.  I will stumble.  I will take wrong turns.  I will continue.  I will make my journey with GOD, communing with and answering to GOD.

If in my little rantings even just one person can find a pebble they want to pick up and hold for comfort – I am grateful.  If sharing my journey can let them know they are not a bad Christian if they scream out in pain, if they cry in the shower, if they suffer with grief or depression or pain – let them know they are loved as they are– then this is a journey worth sharing.  GOD loves us all anyway.