Playing Hide and Not Go Seek

Gosh, I haven’t crawled into this space in a long time. It's like my hide and never seek spot. A place to lay the tears of my weeping heart and never look back.  It's a comfort zone I have avoided because it is filled with deep pain. Pain secured here, so that I may continue life's journey with a lightened since of grief.  I have a huge load to get rid of right now.

I was thinking of Mom yesterday morning, as if I don't think of her about a million times a minute, and the many new memories I have of her.
 
Mom and Pinoch, the oldest and the youngest. The two who were so much alike in attitude and ways and the way they interacted. The way they accepted and rejected each other. The constant "I'm not playing with you," followed by the shouts of pretend battle. The way Mom would poke him with her cane when he sat quiet (finally), and the game would continue.

I'm going to miss him gathering his "books to read to Granny," Kindle (to play games) and baby to lay on the bed while he kept Granny company as she watched TV in her room.

I sit in admiration at the way the three year old took it on as his duty, to stop whatever he was doing when he'd hear the tap of her cane coming from the other side of the house, and run to turn on the bathroom light. Then run back to grab her hand and walk with her to the bathroom. Or if she ventured out of her room without it,  he would run to get it for her.
I laugh at the memory of the occasions he would run ahead to hide inside claiming he had to go first.  Their verbal battle would always end in laughter and a poke from the cane when he gave in and let her go first.

I think sadly of the few times he would be napping and she would be peeking around the corner looking for his swiftness and asking "where is he?" Only for her face to fall at our answer. I'm going to miss that and so many other interactions between those two. As I'm sure he will, now I watch his face fall when he says, "I only want to talk to her. "

I'm not going to miss how her waning memory had bothered her so much she was beginning to call herself,  stupid.

I'm not going to miss the way she would bemoan the absence of her children.  Those, who she often told me, "Were busy with their jobs and life." I understand that mindset of self comfort. It's life,  people are busy, some can only deal with situations by keeping their minds full, and others are simply pure unadulterated, thieving, best forgotten, lying-assed, pieces of shit, who will not be thought of again. And yes, I do have a few anger issues. At least it's directed at one person.

I'm not going to miss watching her crumble when a Sunday has ended and the meal she cooked wasn't eaten by those she expected to visit or the phone didn’t ring because she didn't receive a call. I'm going to let that crap go, put it here and forget about it.

I'm also going to place the hurt, crushed part of my heart here. The part killed by words aimed to destroy a relationship. When a parent dies, siblings need to handle their own guilt without trying to hurt others.  Nothing will repair it and I don't want that memory.
I want to remember things like, how I was born to rise with the birds and would often go sit on the porch as a child and Mom would chew me out. Worried about me sitting out early in the morning without company and possibly being abducted or hurt. I love how she chose it as her time to leave. Now she will forever be, in my sunrise. Life never ends.

I'm going to miss my mom. Even though she could drive me crazy over who was the boss of whom,  what she could still accomplish,  whether or not she took her meds, and repeating childhood incidents better forgotten. I wouldn't trade the last seven months of being her companion,  whipping girl, and confidant, for anything.

Throwing Rocks at Time

The year is almost over. Thank God. This has been a year from the freakin' pits of hell. Hard and dark.
I can't even tell you how I have hated 2013. A year, in my opinion, that God sat back, nodded at whomever is in charge of bullcrap and sh#% days and said "have at it, do your damnedest ,cause as much havoc and mayhem as you can in her life and then let's see where she stands."

I have to stand on this rock or I will either fall and drown or grab a hammer and shatter it pebble by pebble and start throwing it at that wall standing between me and happiness.

All This Fellow Sees is the Happy

This fellow holds the brochure in his hand, and smiles. I wonder if I should even say anything about it or her to him. There it sat quietly for days. Exactly where I carefully tucked it in the pocket behind the paraphenilia behind the driver's seat, reluctant to bring it in the house. Too afraid of the memories each tiny slice of life would bring, I rarely look at it..well not for too long. Too afraid of the tears, I push it down to suppress memories , he pulls it out and smiles. Where I touch it gingerly and linger wistfully over each picture, this fellow grabs it with both hands , twisting and turning as he recognizes faces and speaks jibberish. I see the past and all he sees is the happiness.. I pray for that mindset.

The Phenominal Mind

There is a phenom of the unconscious mind that triggers a reaction in the human body, the conscious mind struggles to understand. 'It' is the rememberance of time. The time, hour, minute of a loved one's passing. It is that restless feeling that over comes you each month as that certain day looms nearer. It sneaks on you with an overflow of memories and urges to call and/or visit. It brings unexpected sadness and rushes of tears. Makes you wonder why you're suddenly so miserable when you were "fine, okay, and doing so well"...as you like to tell the world. I find this phenom intriguing. I marvel at the working of time on the human mind. The way that cord of relationship and recognition throbs with each of our heartbeats and pulls us a little closer to those going through the same cycle of longing and regret. The way that chord, that sour note of that unwanted, imagined alarm wakes us with the shrill cry, TODAY IS THE DAY!! There is not a day that goes by that I wish a mistake has been made. That I am in a bad dream and none of this is real. Grief takes time to adjust to, time I wish I could snooze through. If only there were a button.

For Want of a Flower

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever. "-Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Feeling of Laughter

So I had this dream the other night , well not really a dream because I don't remember anything specific except the laughter. It was as if the room was full of laughter. I was surrounded and embraced in it. I don't know if I was a part of the joke or the joke. I never saw anyone, I just heard the laughter. And it felt joyous, light, wonderful and I literally felt myself chuckle. The way infants do in their sleep. And then I heard her laugh. It was so clear, so near, as if she were in the room and it woke me. ~~~~~~
The funny thing is, earlier in the night I was telling a very comforting friend how truly sad I was. My every thought of Angela was making me want to cry. My every thought in life and sleep was cocooning me in the urge to cry. I was beginning to feel as if I were smothering...drowning. All I could see was tears. All I could dream were tears and I was crying so hard in my dreams to where my body shook, uncontrollably. Like a toddler who couldn't catch his breath after his wish wasn't met and his little heart was breaking. It was beginning to get worse with each passing moment. And then I felt the laughter. All day.

*On a humerous note: After Angela's passing, our baby sister Pansy found Angela had placed the pictures of herself on her camera.

Days Crawl, Time Flies.

 I can't believe how many days have passed. And yet it feels like yesterday.  Tomorrow it will be a month and yet it feels like one day. The days have crawled along slowly, each as horrifically sad as the other. Time has flown by. All willy nilly without a moment of empathy or sympathy for those of us stuck in a rut of some form or other.
Everyday you remember, feel, relive conversations and interactions and in doing so, you look at the clock and the minutes have gone as if in a whirlwind.  People say, 'time heals' and that's really meant to be comforting, but I don't think its true. I think time teaches you how to bury your emotions. It teaches you how to adjust your mask so no one sees exactly how you feel. Time, gives you the moments to prepare for your Oscar winning performance.  Where you're able to pretend all is well and life goes on a usual. And it does. In those slow dragging days it is best to find something to occupy your mind while your soul and spirit heals. Time won't let you forget, but it will help the remembering not be as painful.