I am not good at crying. I was never comfortable with it. Growing up, when I cried, I was either told to shut up and take it, to be quiet, that I looked funny doing it, or that it made me look ugly. For the last ten years, the ten years since Mom’s passing, I have rarely cried. Now, as I am my dying husband’s care giver, I cry often…not only for what I will lose, but for all that I have lost. My virginity at age five. My son at age fourteen. My hope at age 21. I cry for a father who helped so many and hurt so few. Those few being us, his own family. I cry for my perfectly imperfect mother…a woman who lived in and past fear. I cry for my brother who forced reality down so far that it had no choice but to come bursting up. I cry for my sister. I just cry for all she believes she has lost. I cry for my husband, my one great love, as I watch him try to stay Army strong and dignified. Illness has no dignity. I know as I have been sick most of my life. Death has dignity. Not the moments leading up to it but the passing itself. I held Granny’s hand as she stroked out, then stared into something that I could not see, smiled, and commented that now, after a lifetime of being a stalwart Christian, now she understood. As they say in the South, a Lady always knows when it’s time to leave. I realized while writing this truth that I am no Lady, but I am a woman…a perfectly flawed and naked to my soul, human. You may not like what I have written. You may be uncomfortable with it. But, I have been one acquainted with the world of untruths for far too long. Mulder had it wrong. The truth is not out there, rather it is in us. And, so is God.
I Hate This Day

I can pull, bend, or
fold this day. Contort the hours
in mighty ways. Yet
still I loathe it. I
want silence all around me,
too. Can’t share in haikus.
I Spy with My Green Eye

Strangers in my house
eat my food, cut my clothes, mess
with my meds. I know.
Mulder was right:
Trust NO ONE.
Wishing

Pills, pills, pills, cuz I’m
green in the gills. Look out my
window sill at sun.
Migraine
Ink blot on my sun
Have the last words say, “I’m done.”
You’re the smoking gun.
Sleep Come
My eyes are itchy.
My legs are twitchy. My mouth
is bitchy. Sleep come.
It’s Goodbye for a Little While
My friend is leaving.
I wish her well, say goodbye.
May you find peace, joy.
Too Much Mocolate
100 extra
pounds of Susan on the wall.
100 extra
pounds of Susan. If
forty-four of those pounds should
happen to fall, she
Ate Too Much MOCOLATE!!!
My Little Ones
No stones to mark them.
No lilies to view. It’s as
if nobody knew.
Turn About Is Fair Play
If you’re not quite dead,
come on out! Quit with the fat,
jolly elf! Calling you
OUT!!!
Pretty Little Games

Let’s play a game. I’ll
slide it in. Yes, it’s a sin.
You don’t cry. I’ll lie.