Deep Inside Part 1

I have tried to imagine this world, filled with color. One that I think I may have missed out on, hopefully by choice. I've tried to soak in the meaning of life and simply allowing the vapors to permeate my skin, hoping that I'll reach the "full" state. Yet, I yearn or more. I have no words to describe this yearning; just a piece of me wnats something out of this life I don't think I can ever achieve. Right, of course, I want the answers to all my enduring questions. I want a picture of safety and hope, those of which I "know" but can't seen to hold to.

My imagination allos me capture a variety of instances and none of which I am content with; I seem to be on the look out of for more, hopefully swaying in the "right" direction. My minberates the very idea that the past is indeed the past, and amy psychoanalytical babble will not allow these very instances to subside or cease to exist. The past is what I've tried all this time to walk away from, and it keeps chasing me! I want the action to be subtle, like drawing the shade of a curtain and being "done" for lack of a better word. The effort requires much. It requires acknowledgement and letting guilt and shame roll off my entire being refusing to live the rest of my life in this state of protective fear. My silent demands are loud, yet my actions are few. How do you learn to value the person you've put a barge around out of protection? I mean you simply accepted that you were to exist and whatever that looked like was perfectly fine? As I dig deeper into trenches, shuddering with fear I can't help but wonder how this all came about, when did it all begin? In some instances, I ask myself "What have I ever done?" My intenetion was to be seen and not heard and did my best to just keep to myself and this is what you get?

Yet, just as quickly the glance meets the eyes of my mother. I am tempted to remove my eyes from her, yet I remain locked unable to move. As I try to look past the person she tried to be, I carry an emptiness I can't quite explain. I push forward, again, attempting to move my eyes away from this person, for what she was, what..she..si., and now here I am, left with only a legacy to replace the heartache of loss, even if the wording remains simple. I noticed in this moment of imagery I begain to take a step forward, almost as if she is drawing me in, and I resist. Instead, anger fills every crevice of my body and the words "I Hate You" are the the first things to emerge. She was dying, was it easier to be mean and hateful to think eventually this loss would become easier to bear? Time and time again. I put myself in a position of difficult rearing. I refused even those who loved me to guide me down a path that may have been more certain, but who are you kidding; I couldn't dare take another risk. I took risks, in silence. I took risks and the risk which would have been labeled "good" and fair I turned away from, and no one knew quite how to reach me in this state. I refused to allow this outer barrier to be broken. I fought with everything in me, my wit, and my humor to protet "that" person inside a hurting soul.

A Find

What I hope is that YOU have found what you are looking for as you peruse my endless words. Here lies thoughts and feelings that needed a place to reside. The truth hurts and no one wants to involve themselves in those words - so stop reading incase YOU find yourself hidden in these words.

Just so you know.

Another Day

Have you ever been in a place where you just wanted to laugh for an unknown reason? That suddenly pieces of life fit together rather humorously and you have to find reasons to just laugh? I'm there today, and really is has to do more with silence than words.

Words from long ago

I Need You Here With Me
I remember the day you died I didn’t stop to cry You took your last breath And I refused to believe you were dead I waited for you… To breathe again To make things better I prayed you would go You fought long enough I wish I could take that back I need you hear with me You were my life And I failed to see All the things you did for me I never told you ”thanks” Please hear me now Today I miss you Yesterday, I missed you Tomorrow comes and goes Leaving a void that is filled with missing you I need you here with me

Written Long Ago - Posting Now.

My life changed three years ago, April 10. Three years ago says, “Time to move on”. My flesh argues, “It seems like yesterday”. The clock shows 12:00 noon and the sun outside, brightly shining. I sit curled on the blue flowered couch that presses against the white bare wall, on the seventh floor of the Hospital. This floor designated as “Hospice”. People went there to die I didn’t know that. I watch longingly at this frail body, grasping for her everything breath; in hopes, the life changing before me would be a dream. At 2:30 that dream became a reality.
Three days later, a light rain permeates the city limits, a soft breeze to symbolize a welcome home. Many people pile into this place to pay their respect to a woman who brought joy and love to those she knew. Some came with tears and others, brought sighs of relief that graced their weary brows. This woman, too young to die. At 42, no one knows why cancer came and took her away, it just happens. Our cells begin to mutate and some are fortunate to prevail. She did, five long years, but that “stuff” (chemotherapy and radiation) kills all the good in you as well. Cancer, a losing battle, in this case. People knew her time was coming, but she fought a good fight – I thank her for that.
Listen. Songs begin to pour through speakers. Her favorite song, “Because you Loved Me” by Celine Dion is playing in the background. In a single file line one-by-one friends and family came. Some would stop and shake their heads as a single tear fell from their eyes others would not look her way – that memory they could not embrace. Many could not move paralyzed with so many emotions. A slight murmur begins to fill the vacant holes of sadness, “She’s in a better place, she’s not hurting anymore.”
The casket closes; six men dressed in black and white come to carry her to her final resting place. The preacher spoke again, “This is not a good-bye, but I’ll see you again”. With that I placed a single red rose on top of her casket, whispered, “I’m going to miss you, Mom”, and walked back to my car. The rain fell harder now: were they tears of sorrow? Did she cry when we all walked away?