Tears

I spent a long time longing for my family; craving to be held as this child yearned for her mother. Just as she has been relegated to drawing chalk images imagining the comfort she needed, I ran after mirages of what I thought my family should be. Everytime my family looked similar to what I needed I would pound the ground harder but I would arrive to find the hot sand without water to quench my thirst. 

Many tears have fallen for the family that did not exist. Each told a story of sadness, heartbreak, loss; I am an adult, however, and I refuse to be relegated to chalk drawings and lost images. 

My family will be who I choose. They will be those that love me as I am and do not judge my idiosynchracies. I deserve to be loved and I chose to seek those who will love me unconditionally.

Closure

The topic of 'life lessons' is timely, although painful for me to experience and write about.

Life is a finite thing. We are not guaranteed our next breath, our next day, our next family event. In a moment a person can be gone. It doesn't matter if communication and conversations were a common life even because the idea of the person not existing any more can send you (me) for a tail spin, regardless.

My grandmother passed away last friday and we didn't have a good relationship, if you could call what we had a relationship at all. But, she was a holder of information about my dad that I'll never know, there will no longer be promise of hugs, and the possibility of love and understanding. The whole side of my family that encompasses my grandmother as the matriarch never talks with us and the memorial service will, likely, be the only time I will see so much of this side of my family in one place.

The second life lesson is to seek closure. Don't leave lose ends thinking there'll be time to go back to the hard stuff later. One of the most important reasons I am going back to Texas for the memorial service is to find closure for all the ways this family was not, and will never be, what I need and deserve. I will not approach them because I know this isn't what I need. But being able to let go of that childhood fantasy will help me grasp more fully the family that I've created and do have.

Fear

Running a hundred different directions

Without a clear path 

Or staying still for a moment

and being stuck for a lifetime

Going through struggles

with lack of insight

Facing illness

without love by my side.

Never completing something of significance

Living in mediocrity

going insane

not working

Growing old without knowing who I am

leaving behind broken hearts 

and unfufilled dreams.

Giving everything I have during the day

Being surrounded by people

Just to go home at night alone

And to cry from the loneliness.

Fears are the small things

the thoughts that slip in unnoticed 

Unwanted violations

against the light of day.

Paving New Paths

Three weeks ago I was given the task of finding a picture that describes my life. I have, obviously, been procrastinating because I was waiting for a picture to come to me. Who would've thought it would appear through a painting I've done myself while I'm on vacation.


My vacation was a bit controversial. I thought about going a year ago, when a health condition hadn't fully presented itself. Then, this year, even though I had a condition that made it unwise to go on vacation, I decided to go anyway. My doctors and the medical professionals in my life advised against it. So, I had the god guilt because I knew it was not the best decision.

And, I proved myself wrong. It was exactly what I needed. It was a time to relax, get outside my head, think. Being in the woods, without cell phone reception, without contact with the outside world, was so refreshing. Then, in the midst of thinking about going back to my life, I started freaking out. I thought about running. I joked with the staff about hiring me and that I would live out of my suitcase.

The thing is, my problems would've just followed me down to Tennessee. I would have the same issues to muddle through wherever I go. And I realized that I didn't want my life as it was and that I wanted to quit. The time away was a moment of clarity, that I needed to make some changes.

My life is crazy, I'm not living my life in a way that's healthy for me. I don't go home after work, I go to work again. There's no privacy, I live in a shoe box, and I'm constantly on the go. While the house can be normal and quiet, it can also be stressful. I realized, I would rather work 80 hours a week and have a home to go to, then to work 20 and have another job that I live in instead. So, I'm moving. December 1st.

I admit, I felt guilty. I love the women, I love the shelter, but I need my life back. I need to start back on the road that I see before me. I need to cement recovery and pay attention to what my body is telling me. I have to start dealing with my issues, or I will always be stuck in the past.

I got over the guilt. I'm now excited for the journey again. My life, the next two months are hard. But, there's wisdom to be gained in the struggle. And despite the frustration and the knowledge I'm letting people down, I'm at peace. Because, my health is important. What I think and feel should be the direction for my life is more important than other's opions.

I love my life. :)

learning to paint

Paint Brush

Author: Unknown

I keep my paint brush with me 

Wherever I may go,

In case I need to cover up

So the real me doesn’t show.

I’m so afraid to show you me,

Afraid of what you’ll do – that

You might laugh or say mean things.

I’m afraid I might lose you.

I’d like to remove all my paint coats
To show you the real, true me,
But I want you to try and understand,
I need you to accept what you see.
So if you’ll be patient and close your eyes,
I’ll strip off all my coats real slow.
Please understand how much it hurts
To let the real me show.

Now my coats are all stripped off.

I feel naked 

bare 

and cold

And if you still love Me with all that you see,

You are my friend, pure as gold.

I need to save my paint brush, though,
And hold it in my hand,
I want to keep it handy
In case somebody doesn’t understand.
So please protect me, my dear friend
And thanks for loving me true,
But please let me keep my paint brush with me
Until I love me, too.

I've liked this poem since I was in middle school. Of course, in my naive problems back then, I didn't understand all of it's intricate layers. But it was still very applicable, like it is now.

 

I've struggled to let people in, to let them see the real, true me and this poem so eloquently portrays my inner conflict. I still struggle with loving myself, loving my body, enjoying life. I still look to others for protection from the cruel world that doesn't understand. I still hide all that I am from those around me, closest to me, for fear of loss, disapproval, and the 

pain it causes me to do this over and over again.

 What this poem speaks to me is this, keep trying. Keep seeking those you can take the mask off to. Keeping the guard and walls up to everyone leaves you boxed in and alone.  

One Year Later

One year after my dad’s death I am 365 days stronger. I am familiar with heart-breaking acts of compassion, acts of love, forgiveness, and grace. I know what it means to have a father and to have a male figure to hold my hand and just sit with me. I miss my dad. I miss the time we spent together. I’m glad I was able to do the things for him my other sibling’s would/could not do for him. Having to take care of his affairs made a young woman grow up rather quickly. We were mad at each other, for far too many years. But, if only for necessity, all was forgiven. For three weeks we shared hurts and joys and meals.

The month of August was tough on me last year. I flew out to New Mexico on August 1^st to see what was ‘really’ going on. My step-dad had been dying for years and it was my siblings and my understanding that this was another ploy for attention from his estranged children. The next day, while my dad was seeing his primary doctor, I went up to the oncology ward, and I found out, I knew our time was limited. From then until he found out on Friday I had a heavy heart. Our time to make up was no longer a day to be put forward. His time was now a finite commodity…the time to forgive was now.

His sentence was 4-6 months. And our journey to find each other started. During the day I gathered paperwork, made cremation arrangements, arranged for siblings and family to visit. I urged them that this was pressing, that it wasn’t a lie that he was going to die. At night I would stay up with him, get his insulin, take care his needs. We would watch TV together. He would tell me stories about Vietnam. We opened up to each other.

We talked about our anger. Unforgiveness that had been brewing for over 9 years. I talked to him about why I moved out. How my mother’s struggles were affecting me. What their relationship was doing to me. I was too young to do all that he asked of me. He had forgotten why I moved, but never forgot the hurt. I had been forgiving him for a long time for the comments, the hurt he caused in my own life. But, as soon as he denied, or a new disservice happened? I was having to forgive him all over again. During that time, I was able to just throw those things out the window. With only 4 months left I knew if I held on to the hurt we would both lose

Eventually, I flew back home and jumped back into work. I worked everyday to try and save money in order to take time off in a couple months and go back to New Mexico. I applied for a southwest card so I could get a free flight. I called him everyday.

After only 9 days my mom had called me sobbing: they were taking my dad to the hospital by ambulance. She gave the doctor my number so he could explain what was going on, my mom wasn’t able to convey all that was happening. And the doctor called. He explained that my dad wasn’t breathing on his own, that his blood pressure was dropping, that he was on medication in order to keep it up. That night I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. Instead I thought about my dad. I struggled with whether or not I was going to fly out. The next morning the doctor called and said he was on the maximum dose of three medications. They weren’t going to give him anymore; he might not make it through the night.

So I flew back to Albuquerque. In the bed, with all the medications and fluids they were pumping into him, in order to keep him alive, he had swelled up 50%. My dad was unrecognizable. I was strong, I didn’t cry. The only time I broke down was when I told him I would make sure we followed his will. My sisters flew in, and we gathered around his bedside.

The next day, August 28^th, I told the doctors to take him off the ventilator. My mom couldn’t tell them to take him off of life support, to let him die. By 12:30 he was gone. A few days later my dad was in a shoebox. For all the life he lived, his death left him in something that could be placed in a closet and forgotten. I brought my dad back with me when I flew home. My dad wished to be with his mom in Ohio. Security had to ask what was in my bag. On the plane I couldn’t handle another’s luggage on top of my box. My senses were acute. I was hurting and afraid.

Thanksgiving I used my free flight and I did take my dad’s ashes up to Ohio. My sister and I spread them where he desired. Well, the portion that my disobedient self did not spread in the Hudson.

My dad’s death hurt me. A lot. I was forced to do many things out of necessity. I also gained sisters I had lost. I gained strength. I gained insight. Part of the insight was how much I would have loved to be able to send my dad a father’s day card. Because of the unending anger I never did. Isn’t it sad, when a person is gone is when we wish to have the ability to be sentimental? To realize that he will never walk me down the aisle and he will not be able to hold my children. But we also had a wonderful three weeks.

Dad, on the anniversary of your death, I want to say thank you. Thank you for your forgiveness. Thank you for trusting me with your final wishes. I know how much you love me and I’m grateful. Most of all, thank you for teaching me such a true lesson on dying, on grief, and on growing up.