Poet’s Note: I have intense anxiety attacks. I’ve had a horrible one building along with a migraine for 9 hours. I missed an important appointment that I have been waiting for since spring. I finally couldn’t take it anymore and had to write it out. It’s a little better now; Of course I’ve had two doses of meds now and kisses from my service dog and support dog who are curled up next to me on the couch which is some feat considering that they are both big ass dogs. Please, excuse the foul language, but, if you have ever had a major panic attack, you understand. If not, deal with it. I think this would be a good rap, so I’m giving it to the best rapper I’ve ever heard, my friend, Ian Gabriel to do with as he pleases. With all of that being said, there’s one last thing…I’m out. Mic drop…
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.
This blog entry by an amazing artist conveys my thoughts exactly. I am alone this Thanksgiving, and it really had me down until I read this piece by sweet Bridgette. You should check out her writingsand photos.
And, to those who wonder where the turkey and mash potatoes are- they are in your heart, dear one. Thank each of you who read and support my blog. Your dedication keeps me dedicated. Many thanks and blessings to you all!!!