Author: readypen8

Writing to heal, healing to write.

That Day

That long corridor…step by step. Feet as led, heavy, stuck, yet needing to move forward. That closed door…don’t open it! But, it needs to be opened…gasp! Into a cold, morbid room…knotted stomach, stuck to the spine. Was I even breathing?

Barely standing, gasping…wondering, how is this even possible? My legs felt like they would give way…a hand, loving and strong touched me – my son by my side!

There you were…no smile, no rolling of eyes, no “Hi Mom”…no movement, no sound. Your butterfly t-shirt, comfy pants and comfy socks, such normalness…yet, it didn’t seem right. The teddy bear named Gabriel was in your arms. I remember when it was given to you. I remember when you clutched to it, now it seemed, well, not right. I hear, “take as much time as you’d like.” Time…really, “as much as I would like?” Can I freeze time? Can I stop time? If I could, this is NOT the place I would choose.

“Time” ended…the choice was made. My husband, my son and I put our hands on that door, none of us wants to close. That door that will mark the “end” as we know it here on this earth. It closes, it snaps…my heart shatters, again.💔

Just Grief

Doctors try to medicate it.

Gurus try to meditate it.

PAIN…raw, searing pain.

Let me sit in it; let me feel it to the full.

It’s better than not feeling at all.

If I run from it; if I hide…it won’t make it better.

The depth of my love is greater than the pain.

It’s normal! It’s needed!

No masks!

No games!

JUST GRIEF…

I Write…

Thank you to the new follows and likes. Thank you for joining me on this journey (The Journey Begins)

I have a Love of Writing and reading.

I try to practice the discipline of hand writing every day on a notebook. I share some of my writings on this Blog. My blog is not like FB or IG where I share “daily” happenings.

Some reasons why I write:

I enjoy it; it brings clarity to my thoughts; it preserves “the story”; it tells “a story”.

Lately, it’s a way of “emptying” my cluttered brain. Writing somehow helps me make sense (to some degree) of the jumbled up messes in my heart and mind. Sometimes writing gives me peace.  It’s almost as if putting the words on paper, is a physical action that helps me to “let go”.

And so the journey continues, sometimes writing from the past, sometimes writing from the present. No rhyme or reason, simply “writing to heal, healing to write”.

 

Last Breath…

The dawn of another sleepless night. Your breathing shallow, sporadic…every interval, more and more distant. “It” was lurking at every corner, making “it’s” presence known, felt…making my body stand on edge. “It” had been announced months ago, AND, maybe we had “accepted it”, but the thought that “it” was…almost here was just so unnerving.

Your little frail body, almost a shell of what you had been, finally at peace; finally the screams, “Help, me Mom!” had been quieted. The horrible flow of you vomiting your insides had stopped. Finally, you lay oh so peaceful, not writhing in pain. BUT what was the cost?

At times begging The Father to take you already. At times clinging to every last second of life…wishing for one last

…Hug, smile, giggle, even a grouchy face, anything…one last MOMMIE…

I’m playing one of your favorite songs, trying to sing to you…YOU breathed in ANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD it was over!!!

My heart pulverized into a gazillion pieces…

I know You are at peace in the very safest place you can ever be. I know I will see You again. I know…I know…I know…

BUT

How do I convince my aching arms that they will hold You, again? How do I tell my ears that they will hear Your voice, again? How do I tell my eyes that they will see You, again? How do I tell the fragments of my heart to beat, again?

I miss YOU, my beautiful girl ❤

Inquiring Mind

Inquiring minds want to know…I have questions…lots of questions.

I’m thinking that maybe my next “project” will be a “Gym Etiquette Manual”…ha!ha! Not really, but that might not be a bad idea.

To the man who wears only a towel to the steam room – why? Seriously, why? Working out with long pants (pajama bottoms), long sleeve shirt (thermal) and your head and part of your face covered, but you shed it all for the steam room. You do know this is a co-ed gym, yes? You do know that towel doesn’t cover you while you are doing karate kicks?

To the man that wears only long john underpants to the sauna – just not sure what to ask, but that image hurts my eyes 8-\

I don’t know about you, but “if” I have a (clears throat) wedgy, I yank that puppy out promptly cause, well, that’s just what you do. Not this other guy! Does he know? Should I tell him?

So I thought only plumbers aired out their crack. Well, I was wrong…oh, so wrong!!!

To the efficient, new male employee, ummm, coming out of the shower (in the women’s lockers/showers) to find you there just doesn’t sit well with me. Not sure if you read the memo. Not sure this is proper etiquette…just sayin!

Enough inquiries for today. I think I’ll go work on my first draft of that manual 😉

Letter to my Daughter

Hi Angie! I miss you so much. I wonder what you are doing? I wonder if you think of me? I wonder if you talk to God about us? Do you look the same? Well, not like you looked before you left, but like you looked when you were healthy. I miss you! It feels so weird to not have you around. I feel lost without you. Your brother said that you always needed me so now I don’t know what to do with myself. Crazy, I never thought you’d leave so soon, or that you’d go before us. Although, I’m glad you’re in heaven totally joyful and complete. It would have been so difficult for you to see any of us go.

Guess what? We went horse back riding. I know, your thinking your crazy Mom. You’d probably worry about me. You always “took care” of me. I remember when the nurses would come and ask you if you needed anything and you’d say, “I’m fine, but can you bring my Mom some coffee.”

So on our horse riding adventure, as we were all waiting to start the trail, a huge butterfly hovered around us. My eyes filled with tears thinking you weren’t with us, but God sent us a reminder.

I think we did good for your Dad’s birthday. He said it all felt like a dream. He loves horses, you know? Even your brother went. Oh, and he has a girlfriend. You would like her. She is beautiful and sweet. She loves cheese. I can picture you and her eating cheese together, cause you loved cheese, too.

After the horse ride we went for a yummy dinner. Yeah, I didn’t cook, nor did I make your Dad a cake…I just couldn’t. You were the baker of the family. And, you loved celebrating all of us. How we miss you! Our celebrations aren’t the same without you. But we are trying.

Much love and tons and tons of hugs <3<3  ~Mom~

The Dreamer

As it was the custom of that culture the boys in the families would help out their father tend to the land or they would be hired out to other ranchers for meager pay. However, the “dream” was to be able to go to “el norte”. That was the ultimate job! Poverty was part of life in the village, so the only way to be able to take care of ones family was to be seasonally hired to head to “el norte” for a hard job and little pay.

Finally reaching the magical age of fifteen, he ventured out with just the clothes on his back. Little is known of his trek, but he finally made it to “el norte”. His father and three other siblings were already settled in a small apartment. He was so excited to join them. He knocks at the door. He is waiting in expectation. The door opens…it’s his Dad. They stand there looking at each other. The silence is broken with a growl, “What the hell are you doing here!? You look horrible, whose kid are you anyway?” The boy’s shoulders slump, his smiley face turns into a frown, and he stands at the door of his “Dad’s house” for what seems an eternity. He is finally let in…

And so life went. Always pensive, always “away” in his mind. Not sure if that “frown” ever disappeared. Ah, but the moments he would lose himself in his writing or composing were magical. Playing the piano brought him great joy, but the melancholy of his songs was palpable.

Marriage…fatherhood…other endeavors…BUT something was always amiss.

Disappearing at the young age of forty-eight. Never to be heard from or seen. Talks of a torturous death haunt our minds. Did this really happen to you? Are you still alive?

Your hopes and dreams shattered in the canvas of life!