November 2020
It has been over 5 months since I have posted here.
Things are so much the same, yet the children grow taller. And relationships shift or stretch or fade. And every single day I miss my mother. And I am Sad. And I am pissed. And I just keep walking…
Lin Manuel asks:
“Who lives Who dies Who tells your story?“
Is this our legacy, my mother and I?
I want to build palaces out of paragraphs. Cathedrals.
“There are moments that the words don’t reach There’s a grace too powerful to name We push away what we can never understand We push away the unimaginable
Forgiveness, can you imagine? Forgiveness, can you imagine?“
This site began to feel like a place of scattered bricks, but no building. And I do not think that was the point of this exercise that the therapist had suggested.
I wasn’t moving forward. Stagnantly Processing, but not progressing.
So I am taking a break. From therapy. And blogging. And church. And a few friendships.
I will get up each day for the cats and the kids. I will relive my mother’s death each night and day. I will attempt to support my father. I will walk parking lots without kicking cars, only visualizing it. I will teach and I will soldier.
I just have no idea what else to do.
Anger is the easiest emotion.
My oldest daughter read it in a psychology book she found in the basement. And my old colleagues mentioned it when working at the preschool.
And I know it. But I can’t seem to progress.
“There are moments that the words don’t reach“
Anger is easy and there is always another emotion behind it. Vulnerability would help me reach it. But I’m a closed up badger.
I am afraid.
“Let me tell you what I wish I’d known
When I was young and dreamed of glory
You have no control
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?“
When I was young, my mother tucked me in at night. And she would always tell me a story.
I tried so hard to fight for my mother to hold on. But she didn’t. Or she couldn’t.
I am fighting so hard to hold on.
Not That Good Grief 