Grief part 1

 Grieving JoJo - I

When I say her death was completely unexpected it sounds naive to anyone who knew her but didn’t know her. My aunt was dying for a long time but she was never a participant of her dying. She was always living. Sometimes it was annoying she was so alive. And she was alive right up until the very moment she left three weeks ago. None of us—not a single one of us—believed she would not come back home then, even if it was for mere days. We were all stunned and shattered—like bulletproof glass blown apart by a hailstorm. It was, and will always be, completely unexpected. 

Today I went to my cousins house for the first time since the night her mother, my aunt and godmother, Jackie, died. I have grieved deeply since her death. Not for her so much—because I  am comforted in my soul knowing she is free from earthly shackles, and breathing deeply, and laughing, and happy. 

I am sad for us. Here and floundering. I am mostly sad for my cousin and her father. I am so terribly sad for them. When I cry, it is mostly for them. 

I took chicken soup and a few gifts with me. And the boys were along too. Nothing like two raucous kids to distract things. But the grief was palpable and heavy in the air like early morning fairy mist. I looked at my uncle and could not imagine a way to help him smile, his pain swelled out from him like a perpetual ragged sigh. My cousins eyes were repeatedly rimmed with tears barely held back by surface tension. I let their sadness settle around me like a thick wool scarf and did not try to make anything better, as I deeply wished I could. I wished I could take a huge shovel and scoop away some of their sadness and swallow it myself, pack it in my pockets and purse, even feed it to my children so that they may feel some relief. I saw my uncle gaze at a photo of my aunt while pretending to watch television. I sat with them—both trying desperately to shuffle time between them so as not to be still or quiet for too long. 

Having lost my father many years ago I am keenly aware of this kind of grief. I have spent a lot of time and energy thinking about it. Almost 27 years. A kind of loss that is so wide spread and intense your mind cannot process it —not for weeks, months, years—a lifetime. So you wake up and think the person is in another room, or on a trip, or just out running errands. You laugh and begin to tell them something they would appreciate. And then you remember—like a great crashing wave. 

I came home and turned the boys over to my husband. I ran a bath and poured wine and cried. I cry almost every night and when I don’t cry I wake up feeling as though I must have been crying in my dreams. 

Jackie was the youngest of two sisters—my mother (the oldest) and Sheila (the middle child) are an enigma of pain that I can not grasp or even touch. They feel they have lost a critical link in their sibling chain and it is counterproductive to share any comforting perspective otherwise. That is all I can perceive for now. Their pain is wrapt in an impenetrable protective shell like stubborn, angry lead. They are more grief stricken than when their parents died. I don’t have this kind of bond with my brother. I do not even know where to begin. For now I am just shrouded. 

Hello blog -- it's 2020-- I reenter -- with new old stuff

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piger mneme

he used to pull his words 

from air i used to occupy

though “occupy” was a long-starved wish

this apathetic muse 

had longed to return to the stars 

and could not be fully freed 

or restrain his words

gleaned from my servitude

he could always create

regardless of my presence

and i would walk the earth 

siphoned against my will

gravity-bound yet unneeded

and he

he conjured words that weren’t his

and were never mine as if

derived from black matter

one day i scattered applewood
and dried peels
it burned so hot

my naivety flew

whisked into the atmosphere

closer to blasting stars

and black holes

from those scattered ashes

across that scorched earth

i crafted a garden

healer, lover, mother 

grown anew 

2013/2020

A Monday morning

“RIGHT HERE AND NOW, as an old friend used to say, we are in the fluid present, where clear-sightedness never guarantees perfect vision. . . . Right here and now, the hour is just past six A.M., and the sun stands low in the cloudless eastern sky, a fat, confident, yellow-white ball advancing as ever for the first time toward the future and leaving in its wake the steadily accumulating past, which darkens as it recedes, making blind men of us all.” (p. 1)

Stephen King and Peter Straub
Black House

Sleep tracking

Last night I swam into a dream so real

When I woke I didn’t know where I was

I thought, if you’re there...
You were there

There’s just no way you didn’t know

How could you not know 

All the light blue was you

Moving about

We have lived in this space for over a year now.  This space I didn't want to come back to and did. This space that I begrudgingly nurtured until I started to love it again on a long term basis. It seemed the dust had just (and finally) begun to settle, I was convinced I could tolerate South Carolina and had accepted it into my "5-10 year plan." Then Rob came home and said he suspected a position in the northeast may open soon, and also that he may be approached about it, and also that he wanted it if he was. I said ok. I don't know any other way to be. Somehow it will end up being a good thing. In the long run.

In the short run. We are moving to New York.

I'm thinking about it like a dream. I'm looking for houses and booking flights and mapping out travel plans and it's like a dream. And I think I have to keep it that way so it doesn't overwhelm me. I do things during the week that are organizational but in the back of my mind "it will make it easier when we're leaving" is the real reason. I think about how to re arrange the house so it will be ready for us when we return at Christmas. I talk in my head to the house and the trees about us leaving. Will you be okay? Have we loved you enough, in this short time, to weather our absence? And sometimes I cry.

Vapor -- and gifts from somewhere else

...a few minutes ago I heard my son faintly talking through the monitor in his room. I went upstairs and barged noisily into his room, ready to scoop him up and continue our day--but he was completely asleep, and didn't budge when I rested my hand on his little back (to make sure he was still breathing of course). He has been talking in his sleep more lately--either that or there is a child ghost chatting away in his room (also not unfathomable in this house). So I tiptoed out and back downstairs.

I walked through the kitchen and absent-mindedly picked up a peach from the fruit bowl on the table, washed it off in the sink, grabbed a paper towel and started walking toward the front door.

As I approached the door I mentioned to Emma (our niece, who is still sitting on the couch) that the thunderstorm was probably sadly going to float right past us without so much as a drop of rain, and without listening for a response (she's 11 and she's on her iPad, sooo....) I took a bite of the peach and pushed open the glass door to our front porch.

Maybe my eyes were closed for a split second. That's how it must have happened even though I sensed light as if they were open. The taste of the peach and the heat from outdoors and the familiar veil that is the smell of the woods surrounding our house -- it all happened at once.

In a split second I was 10 again. I was a long legged tom boy with white blonde hair halfway down my back. My dad and my grandparents were alive and vibrant. I had just gotten a horse that summer and my black cat, who I'd had since I was four, was stretched out on the hood of the dark blue jeep wagoneer my dad bought a few years before.  My little brother was my biggest annoyance and he and my two cousins were also my best friends. I was biting into a fat, pink, freestone peach that had been picked from a tree on my Papa's farm probably that morning and I had just walked outside to find a tree to climb so I could watch the storm roll by from its branches.

And I opened my eyes as if I was waking from a dream and had no control over it. I stood there for a moment, nearly reeling from the wave of memory and nostalgia. Then I walked to the side of the porch, leaned against the bricks and closed my eyes again in hopes of regaining any shard of that gasp of a moment

but it was gone, in a breath...

Sunday

I'm sitting on the side patio listening to the birds and the trees. Henry is still sleeping and I just finished a glass of savignon blanc. Last night we had a family over. A friend of mine, her husband, and their three girls. Henry was in hog heaven. At first my husband and I were bummed that it had started raining before they got here because we had done so much to prep the yard and porches for outdoor time, but after the initial disappointment and introductions and greetings I'm pretty sure no one even noticed. The house was a buzzing circus. It was fantastic.

It rained all night and into the morning. At some point I brought Henry to bed with us and it rained more. Henry had his head buried in Robs shoulder and his feet tucked under my rib cage. The Christmas decision to buy a king bed was a good one.

The birds are singing and the trees seem greener and everything is light and lush.
The forest is happy.

April 2016

There are four drafts of words upon words that I never published here. So much as happened and so much has been felt and all these things are rendered into history. I haven't posted anything since October following our son's birth. All the words and all the time and all the confidence have been mostly poured into motherhood and taking care of a home and family and trying to stay sane and happy. All of that.

This week Henry and I have been outdoors more than inside--even though we are both struggling with a rotten cold that seems to have it's fingers sunk deeply in. I finished the second of two check-log terraces in the side yard of the house where we have been living since last spring. I said I would never live here again--this place where evidence of my childhood collides with that of my own child. These wood floors have felt the stomp of small feet for over a hundred years. So here we are, having been here almost a year after nearly 15 years of absence--our son has learned to crawl and walk and run and talk here, just as my brother and I did.

Last year was a blur. The move was a blur. Now it's spring again, and I have been planting like mad. Henry squeals and runs around in the dirt and tries (usually successfully) to collide with as much water from the garden hose as he possibly can--me wiping snot off his face every now and then with my t-shirt. Our goofy puppy galloping around the yard with a stick or a ball or a gardening glove, or one of Henry's shoes.

I've been thinking a lot about things. That's what I do. I think.

This morning we planted a dogwood tree in the front yard near the woods. I've written poems about dogwood trees and they have been haunting me like shadows scratching a window while you're asleep. There is plenty of haunting here--mostly floating around like lightening bugs, magical, fascinating and ethereal. There are darker things too of course, but they stay in the shadows and you can only see them if you aren't looking. With some experimenting I've found.....well, it's often better to just look, and keep looking. Stare if you must.

It occurred to me this morning that the only side of the house where dogwoods don't naturally grow may be a good place to plant our little tree -- maybe it's good luck to have dogwoods at each of the four corners of a yard. That's why. We have three more trees to plant and I have yet to come up with reasons for where they should be.

That's all for now I think. After a year and a half I don't want to overdo it--not with words.

Where our souls live

Henry Louis
Born Sept. 27, 2014
7:09pm
8lbs 4oz
20.5in

pine cone trees and sap

for starters, my brain cells are not focused on anything other than putting the final touches on a tiny human. so when I described a certain seed to my husband by saying it "looked like one of those that fall from the...you know....pine cone trees"

right

and because I am anti-cable AND not willing to buy an "internet ready device" (though we do have cable internet, which makes me growl just thinking about it), I am a long time Netflix DVD subscriber. All of this results in 9 months of me occasionally (err...more frequently?) making bad movie choices. Sometimes it's not so much a bad movie as it is strings of one genre that no one needs to watch THAT much of...unless it's vampire movies in which case only my husband is not enthused. I usually spend a little time every once in a while arranging our "queue" like a mixed tape, so there is a nice spread of sci-fi, documentary, drama, action, etc.

but as I said in my first paragraph....pine cone trees.

But sometimes it's just a dumb movie. Like last night. We watched "After Earth" with Will Smith and his son. By the way OMG is it not SO CUTE that his son is named Jaden and daughter is Willow...so, like, their names are taken from their parents names but like, the son isn't named after his dad he's named after his mom and same for the daughter, so they're like, so gender progressive and stuff....sigh.

But I actually like Will Smith. I think he's funny. Men in Black, Hitch....they're funny, cute movies.

Anyway, we both knew it was a silly movie -- one of those "brain dead" movies I occasionally throw out there because my own brain cells really don't have the energy to process too many "Enemy" movies, but when I started describing it to a coworker today it sounded so lame! Which doesn't change my emotional reaction, but it's funny to tell....

The point is/was I'm a completely hopeless sap, but I had to put some background in there to get to WHY I bawled my eyes out. I just had a hard time getting to that point because it became a hilarious act just telling it. Paige's commentary added for effect

(semi spoiler alert--as if anyone would care)

ok so they crash land on earth, and everyone dies in the crash except Will Smith and his son. Will Smith is the bad ass but he's got two broken legs so his son, who's kind-of a wimp because he watched his sister die in an alien attack years before and never spent much time with his dad, he has to go to the tail of the ship which broke off somewhere else over earth.....oh, and there was a deadly alien on board but they're not sure whether it survived the crash or not

of course it survived....seriously, this movie got one star on rotten tomatoes

but that's not the point...what I'm getting to is at one point the kid is caught by a giant bird who puts him in her nest I guess for food, but then the nest is attacked by these tiger-hyena hybrids and the boy fights them off because they're eating the baby birds and after they've killed the tigers he sees the mother bird on the ground and she's sad (and later mad) because all the babies were killed. but the boy has to keep going because he's running out of his special inhalers that allow him to breath earths atmosphere

giant bird....tiger hybrids...special inhalers

yep, anyway later the boy finds himself stuck out in the open when earth is freezing over, because it freezes every night

wait, why does it freeze every night?

probably because humans changed the climate with pollution. i don't know.

oh, okay

so the boy passes out because he's caught out in the cold, and you see something dragging him into some bushes. then he wakes up the next morning, obviously having survived, and crawls out of the brambles. and sees that it the giant bird is draped over the brush.

she had covered it with her body and she froze to death to save him.

and I cried for about 5 minutes. it was all.so.sad.

6 days until our due date. will I make it? haha

the end

**update--informed by hubby that my critique of above mentioned movie may have been a bit harsh**

**and, that he cried too**

**also. I really loved I Am Legend**

:-)

http://mic.com/articles/97302/if-we-gave-men-the-same-rape-advice-we-give-women-here-s-how-absurd-it-would-sound

If We Gave Men the Same Rape Advice We Give Women, Here's How Absurd it would Sound         By Julianne Ross  August 27, 2014

Earlier this week, a group of male students at North Carolina
State University introduced Undercover Colors, a new line of
nail polish designed to change color when it comes into contact
with date rape drugs. While many have praised the young
entrepreneurs, some anti-rape activists refuse to fully embrace
the product. They've got a point.

Undercover Colors is simply the latest in a slew of anti-rape products that
don't necessarily make the world a safer place, but do make women's lives
more difficult by adding yet more items to the list of things they "should"
do to avoid rape. The logic of these products rests on some
decidedly problematic assumptions about what causes rape in the first
place, and also suggests that men are unable to control themselves.

Women, like men, have the right to move throughout the world without
constantly fearing for their safety, yet the burden of prevention continues
to fall squarely on women's shoulders. One can't help but wonder,
what would it look like if we talked to men about rape prevention in
the same way we talk to women? 

Thus, in the name of equality, we've compiled some handy tips that
men can use to avoid rape too.

1. Stay inside after dark.

For the safety of women everywhere, responsible adult men should
observe a reasonable nightly curfew.

2. If you must go out, shield your eyes.

Source: Getty

Considering women descended from Eve to tempt men into sin with their
miniskirts and high heels, it's important never to look at them directly.
If seeing a woman is unavoidable, obscure your vision through simple yet
effective anti-rape eye wear such as horse blinkers or glasses in the wrong
prescription.

3. Always be aware of your surroundings.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

If you notice a woman who is by herself, run away. 

4. Wear practical shoes.

On a similar note, comfortable sneakers will facilitate a quicker getaway.

5. Don't drink.

Source: deviantART

In a survey of alcohol-related sexual assault, Wayne State University
psychology professor Antonia Abbey points out that "62% [of date rapists]
felt that they had committed rape because of their alcohol consumption."
As such, men should remain sober at all times. 

6. Consider a chastity belt.

Source: deviantART

Why should girls have all the fun when it comes to obtrusive and often
wildly impractical anti-rape products? Cloaking your dick in metal boxers
before a night on the town is a surefire way to prevent it from accidentally
falling into an unsuspecting vagina.

7. Carry mace.

Source: Giphy

If you find yourself struggling with the urge to rape someone, spray
yourself in the face. Not only will the excruciating pain likely kill your
boner, but the temporary blindness will help you run away before a
woman's outfit can tempt you any further.

8. Be open with your date.

Source: Wikimedia Commons

Dating is so hard! Especially since "date rape" is sometimes just a case
of totally understandable mixed signals. Avoid a potentially awkward 
morning after sexually assaulting someone by being upfront with
your intentions.

———

If this all sounds ridiculous, that's because it is. Rape is not an accident,
and it is not caused by certain outfits, alcohol, mixed signals or dates gone
sour. It is caused by people who choose to rape. And no matter how many
anti-rape products we sell or limiting behaviors we encourage, some people
are, unfortunately, still going to make that choice.

That's why it's so important not to use language that suggests women did
not do enough to prevent a crime that was committed against them.
Because for every woman who "avoids" being raped, what about those
who are less "prepared"? What about those who do take every preventive
step you can think of, and are raped anyway? What about the men who
are raped? Are these survivors somehow more to blame for what happened
to them?

Of course not. Yet that is the narrative that anti-rape products implicitly
endorse. Regardless of their good intentions, in treating rape as something
individually preventable, products like Undercover Colors transfer at least
some of the responsibility from rapists to their victims. However subtle this
messaging may be, it adds up to create a culture that blames survivors
and sympathizes with criminals.

We all want to stay safe, and we want the people we care about to stay
safe as well. If these products help some women do just that, then they
should by all means use them. But we must not laud anti-rape products
as the ultimate solution to this problem. Truly curbing rape means
addressing the myriad cultural forces that lead to sexual violence in the
first place, as well as the systemic injustices that allow it to so often go
unpunished — both of which take a lot more effort than telling women to
paint their nails.

countdown to 40, here we go!

This little dude is running out of room fast. I'm not sure where more growth can be tucked away. And even though he could come at any time now, I still hope to make it as close to 40 as possible. Some days I'm not sure how it's possible, but we shall see. If he's anything like his parents he'll wait until the last minute :) This has been (and is) such an amazing adventure that I used to just dream about! I'm going to bawl when I finally get to meet him :)

below is Henry's "progress" at about 33 weeks -- and I thought I had a good belly going on then... people tell you to "sleep now while you can"....but it seems I'm beyond the point of a full nights sleep and I wonder if we forget that once the full throttle life-with-child begins. The baby-in-tow is in control of every.single.thing. And I wouldn't want it any other way (it will be cool to be able to bend over, move around faster than a waddling snail pace, sleep on my back and return to unpuffy hands and feet...but that list is short). This has truly been a fun and fascinating ride of a lifetime.

Pope Being Poo-pooed By GOP For Being Too Much Like Jesus

yes!

Here:
Pope Being Poo-pooed By GOP For Being Too Much Like Jesus 

and picked up by Time...hah!  
http://time.com/3071054/pope-poo-pooed-by-gop-for-being-too-jesus-like/