Raw Thoughts

Today no rhyme nor reason…no poems or stories…just raw thoughts and pondering.

A heaviness. A feeling of being in a suffocating bubble. The thought that this bubble is protecting you, somehow shielding you, yet so suffocating…not having the strength to burst out of it, or really not even having the desire to come out.

The feeling that “life” is happening all around you. Like an out of body experience, I’m looking “in” thinking “everyone is so happy”…not feeling left out or wanting to engage…the desire to disappear…it would be better.

Hearing people make plans for the future, while your mind wants to turn off or just make it through this moment. Seeing people look at themselves as they work on that perfect body, while all you want is to get your heart rate up so your body can produce that proverbial natural “happy pill” (endorphins).

The feeling that you dampen everyone’s happy moments, like a wet rag flopping on everyone’s happiness. Dragging everyone down, why not disappear?

Sinking, sinking, yet knowing that you are already at the bottom of this bottomless pit.

Noises, people, laughter, life…can it all just SHUT IT!

The masquerade is sickening…I don’t want to play along…where’s the “shut-off button”, can someone, please, turn “it” off………………………….

The Oldest Girl

Married at 15, having already lived a “full life”.  No quinceañera, no prom, no pictures to capture the accomplishments of her life. The oldest in a large family. Her Momma always busy, sick and/or pregnant. The daily chores overwhelming for anyone, let alone a little girl. In this culture large families were the norm. The eldest would soon be helping out around the house, especially if she was a girl. She did it all, and was a Mom to her siblings, more so than their own Mother. As if the household chores weren’t enough, she would be demanded to help out tending to the land along with her Father and brothers. How did she do it all? She would say with pride, “I was like one of the boys to our Dad.” She took pride in being able to do what the boys could do, at times faster and better. So why did Dad beat her so mercilessly?

Grown up and married now, with children of her own and her own household to tend to. You’d think this would have earned her freedom from all the responsibilities of her “childhood home”. No, not in this culture. The hats just kept piling on.

There was a “hardness” about her, yet the caring soul within her managed to come through time and again. Every now and then a tear dared to escape from her eyes, almost shattering that impregnable armor. With one hard swoop she would yank it from her face in defiance and resolve not to let this happen again. Who told her she shouldn’t cry?

I wonder if all her collections were part of her “living” in a world she had never known; she had never had? There was that miniature tea set in the midst of other miniature figures. There was her collection of Monchhichis (Japanese stuffed toys) – always sitting pretty on her especially made shelves.

Everything sat pretty, clean, protected. The stuffed toys encased in plastic bags to preserve their beauty. Lots and lots of porcelain figurines, especially dolls. She would clean them with care.

What was going through her mind?

What was brewing inside of her?

Forty plus one, was the number of her years. Such a short life! She finally broke beyond repair. Unanswered questions remain…how I miss this beautiful soul!

Choices…Decisions

This picture has always captivated me. I remember looking at this plant and thinking, I need to get rid of this “dead” plant. Then I saw this beautiful flower, almost as if defying the dead, brittle branches around it. Standing straight, showcasing its beauty.

Choices…decisions…

This “walk through the valley of the shadow of death” is incomprehensible. No way can I even try to explain “it” nor do I want to. However, I do need to keep on “walking”, “moving”, “living”. I have choices and decision to make.

Several quotes have captured my attention: “Suffering is a gift. May we suffer well.” * “No matter how dark it gets, love and hope are always possible.” * “Suffering is a gift; in it hidden mercy.” * “Life will continue, will you let it come in?”

My daughter’s race is finished, but mine is not. Will I “live” in a manner that “showcases” my hope and trust in a Living God? Will I stand straight and firm upon the promises of a God that does all things well? Will I “showcase” the beauty of the cross, the hope of the resurrection, the trust in the God who is, who was and who is to come? By the amazing, keeping grace of God – I believe so! I am willing! AND because He lives, I can face tomorrow, and I can rejoice in the LORD today!

Finality

Your time was making its way,

we knew it was coming.

Inching its way…lurking in the corner,

ready to pounce.

That bag…dark, suffocating…so unnatural,

my mind reels at the memory.

A short walk…a distance both finite and infinite.

That van…door closes…gasp!

It drives away dragging every bit of my heart,

shattered, broken, pulverized…

Never to be the same again.

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~

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…