Lyrics

Some song lyrics say what you want to say. I had “heard”this song before but now I “feel” it.

“…Who told us we’d be rescued?

What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?

We’re asking why this happens

To us who have died to live?

It’s unfair

This is what it means to be held

How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life

And you survive

This is what it is to be loved

And to know that the promise was

When everything fell we’d be held…”

~”Held” by Natalie Grant~

The Runaway

Running, running…always running. Have I ever stopped? Has it taken a different form? More than half a century of living, or attempting to live or what has it been? Am I still the same? Am I different?

Memories of a 9 (or was it 10) year old, “running away” cause her “no” wasn’t sufficient. Then shutting up about what happened because she was afraid of the outcome, of the repercussions.

Then her louder “NO” explodes into a cry for help, for understanding, for protection. She finally opens her mouth and speaks, only to be told to SHUT UP.

She runs away attempting to find a refuge, only to end up used and abused and cast away like a used, filthy rag. Really?! She was only 14.

My mind is filled with voices, lots and lots of voices…”SHUT UP!”, I scream.

I’m tired! I don’t want to run anymore. I just want to be STILL…

The Fork

People, places and things give me anxiety. I think I have always been this way, but I’m told that the grief/ptsd makes it worse.

Because I can’t just lock myself in a dark room (although this is very appealing), I’m learning to navigate life and it’s many duties in a way that is “healthy” for me. BUT I seem to be a magnet for…well…I’ll just say “quirkiness”. I think you’ve gathered this from my previous posts –The Sauna and Not A Robot

What does this have to do with a “fork”? Well, nothing. I just needed an introduction 😀

Early morning grocery shopping. “I made it out without having one meltdown…yes!” Making my way through the parking lot, in a race to make it to my car unfrazzled, I look over at a parked truck. What do I see? Double take! “Am I seeing what I’m seeing?” I almost lost it! Not from anxiety, but from laughter…yes, laughter.

By the way, did I tell you I did a double take, and a triple take…and another take, just to confirm what I was seeing. I would say that this is a verifiable fact and not fake news. I repeat, this is not fake news!

The sighting:  A guy sitting in the parked truck busy “grooming” his beard and mustache. You ask, “What’s so funny about a man grooming himself in his truck?”  Glad you asked…are you ready? Here goes, he was using a WHITE DISPOSABLE FORK (in all caps for a dramatic queue) to comb and style his beard and mustache. Yup, he was!

I wonder if he used the fork to eat before or after his grooming time? If you ask me, in my humble opinion I’d say, “please use fork after eating your meal so as to have the oil residue help untangle, smooth and moisturize your beard and mustache. You will create an all day silky smooth look without any frizz,” said in a commercial like voice so as to create a desire for this magnificent product 😉

Ok, back to my normal voice. This was weird and I could not believe what I was seeing, but on the positive side, it sure gave me a chuckle that lasted for the remainder of the day.

Have you seen anything “quirky” or that made you do a double take? Just wondering…

Unfiltered

I HATE that you are not here…that you are gone…that we won’t plan a wedding, a baby shower, a birthday party.

I HATE that your voice is silent…your giggles – oh, how I miss them and your quirky sense of humor, and that you called me weird and crazy, and that you gave me that look; AND that you called me lady, and Mommie.

I HATE that we don’t have “huggie time”, or pedicures, or lunch dates, or pancakes, or cafecito con panecito.

The list is endless…the pain suffocating!

It’s been said that “HATE” is such a strong and harsh word. Well, it’s NOT strong enough!

Don’t tell me you know how I feel when you are holding your little girl by the hand.

Don’t tell me you understand when no one is missing at your table.

In fact, you don’t have to say a word.

That proverbial fishbowl…that pedestal…ugh! I wish I could shatter that unseen glass; to get away from all the hacking eyes…to hide, to breakdown, to simply be! I wish I could take that “pedestal” and throw it against a concrete wall and watch it shatter, break, dissolve into a gazillion tiny pieces.

Maybe this would bring some relief…maybe…such maybe…

A Father

Remember the Dad I told you about?

Allow me to tell you another story. A story about a Father.

Once upon a time there was a Father who had two sons. His youngest son started to get an itch for seeing what was out beyond the home front. So he went to his Father and asked for his share of the inheritance. Funny thing to ask, don’t you think? The “normal” course of life is that one gets an inheritance when the person giving it to you has passed. Anyhow, you can see this son was itching to get out from under his Father.

The Father agreed and off the son went.

And, live it up the son did! Partied and squandered all that the Father gave him and then some. He ended up in the poor house, destitute. He “decides” to go home. He had no other choice. I believe if he did he would still be out “living la vida loca”.

He heads home, probably rehearsing what he will say to his Father.

“…while he [the son] was still a long way off, his Father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him…’Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again’…” -Luke 15:20-23

The contrast between Dad and this Father is night and day.

One Rejects! The other Embraces!

For the “girl” in me, this contrast has given me HOPE!

“A father’s love for his daughter is a preservative against a thousand ills seeking to infect the innocence of her life.” – Byron Yawn