Tag: sorrow

Addiction

His cadence is shallow –
these are familiar waters

He’ll swear the addiction
saves him from madness

Ignore the wrenching
pain in my heart…

leave to find his next fix,
another page in misery’s tome.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)

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No Words

In light of the recent tragedies in the world…

One Woman's Quest

I have no words
that will change your plight.

I cannot undo the past
nor change the course of your life.

I am powerless to rescue,
fix, or uplift you in your time of need.

Please know that I see you,
know that in my heart I weep.

Know that while I empathize
I can never fully understand your pain.

There is no judgment here,
only heartfelt compassion.

When I reach out a hand to you,
wordlessly, it is out of respect.

I believe in you.
I believe in your strength and your courage.

In my silence, know that I bear witness
to the potential that lies within and before you.

I believe in the power of your own love to overcome.
There are no words to define what is possible in life.

(Image: imgarcade.com)

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Too Far Gone

Been taking inventory,
gathering essentials,
craving nourishment,
coming up lacking –
cartoon version of a former self.

Spirituality, once fiery
now looms over me,
a stilted attempt to uplift –
redefinition of self –
grossly overstated.

I have been locked up,
misread, am unkempt,
a dishevelled mess –
childish demonstrations
proclaiming innocence.

All the while mouthing
nothingness – exaggerated
exuberance, tiring even me –
have destroyed compassion
with carelessness

I would embrace Spirit,
be comforted by that old familiar
warmth, declare faith
and be absolved of guilt,
but I am too far gone.

Sorrow’s Vigil

There is sorrow in the nighttime,
when the light of day has faded,
and the noise of life subsided,
and all the world is slumbering.

Then my heart beats with a single
lone drum, a heaviness weighing
on me, chest punctured with grief,
distractions losing their hold.

There is sorrow in the nighttime,
a deep-seated darkness, void of
hope, the deafening echo of unshed
tears, the brutality of solitude.

When all have surrendered to dreams,
my soul – tired of the daily effort to be
courageous, to smile when I want to
rage, to protect my beloveds – weeps.

There is sorrow in the nighttime,
the grief of knowing that this defective
existence is too much for others to
bear, whose hearts have glazed over,

who will me to wellness, shake
their heads, and spew frustration,
as if I am somehow an accomplice
in this state of vile stagnation,

There is sorrow in the nighttime,
when questions rob me of sleep,
and the passage of time fails to
ease the injustice of so much loss.

And while acceptance is the best
progress, and I know that faith
will sustain me, they are fickle
companions when the sun sets.

There is sorrow in the nighttime
a restless amalgamation of so
much emotional angst, with no
shelter for relief…

 

Chaos Rules

“You’re mother’s in the hospital.”               It’s cancer!              Be brave!              “Your cousins are dead; all perished.”              Don’t speak of it.              You’ll upset others.             “Dad is not what you think he is.”             We have secrets.            Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.            “Your sister is pregnant.”            It’s a disgrace!            They need my help.          “Mother’s back is broken.”           Go away!          I am not wanted.         “Mom is not coping.”         Keep the baby quiet.       It’s all on my shoulders.        Suicide attempts       drug use    more deaths    illness     divorce    sexual promiscuity    breakdowns     insanity     spiraling out of control   Hold it together   We count on you.  I am responsible.  I am strong.  They need me.  Chaos  collusion
runaway rape “I have to leave.” I’ll save you. It’s never-ending.  I’m losing control. STOP!                                                  WAIT!
I AM                                    WEAK
NOT                         ABLE
to
breathe
broken
need
space
I learn to be,
gain strength from
knowledge, baby steps
Let          go
and         let
God         heal
restore                 revival
The Earth beneath me my protector; the sky above salvation; I am safe.

“You’re Mother is in the hospital.”    She wants to die.   I must be strong.
The walls around me crumble…
I am losing ground…
… a child again.

A Witness To Death

My mother told me that when she was a child, she would wake up in the middle of the night to find her mother slaving over the woodstove.  Grandma was a midwife.  Mom said Grandma’s dreams would tell her when a baby was coming, and she would get up and cook for her family, knowing she would be away.

Grandma’s gift passed on to me, with a slight variation.

I first learned about it the night my four cousins perished in a fire.  I awoke in the middle of the night with an awful chill.  When my mother told me the news, I realized that I’d already known about their passing.

Walking home from school one day, at the age of eleven, something unseen stopped me in my tracks.  The image of my paternal Grandmother filled my mind along with the sensation of her love, and a farewell.  I arrived home to find my family gathered around.  “I know,” I said, before anyone could speak.  “She told me.”

Lying beside my ailing sister one night, I had a vision of a spirit.  He told me to listen for the howling of the wolves, and that my sister would pass through the fire on her way to the other side.  I was with her the night an unexpected storm came in.  The wind it brought sounded like a pack of wolves howling outside the window.  I had been holding her hand, but the heat from her body was so intense, I had to let go.  The nurse said her temperature was higher than her thermometer could measure.  She passed away ten minutes later.

Do I believe in life after death?  Yes.  Does that lessen the grief of losing a loved one?  No.

Grief is the natural response to loss.  Life may go on, but the relationship has been permanently altered, and that is loss.

When Dee found out she was dying, she made me promise I would be there to hold her hand.  Death, like birth, I told her, is not something we have control over, but I would do my best.  The call came at 6:30 one morning.

“Dee says it’s time,”  her mother told me.  “Can you come?”

I had children to get off to school, and so it was two hours before I arrived at Dee’s bedside.  She was already well on her way.   With one hand I grasped hers, then placed my other over her heart as I leaned in to whisper: “I’m here.”

Dee’s eyes opened and she took one last gasping breath and died.  Her spirit, like a breeze, flowed through the house, flickering all the candles her mother and sister had lit to mark the occasion.  She was free!

I witnessed the miracle, and then I grieved.