Friday, May 29, 2009

First time for everything

Here goes nothing....

Welcome to the renderings of my life as it exists today. I have been keeping a journal of my thoughts, feelings, insights, since my daughter Mary was killed by a drunk driver on March 31, 2009. They are mostly ramblings of what goes through my mind in the wee hours of the morning, meandering around through pain and tears to questions and memories and poems.

I will start with last nights journal and repost some from past days maybe. Here are some of the characters: Julie, Mary, and Danny (my children) - Kerry (my husband) - Tony (Mary's finance). I will introduce more as time goes by.

Tony came home today. Not his home. His home is no more. Our home, his parents home. Both are his but they are from the past. He and Mary had their home. Now it’s just a house, vacant, cold, silent. He’s searching for a way to find a new home. Not searching for a new home, searching for a path to get somewhere he can make sense of his life. I can see it in his eyes. Coming to our house is probably very uncomfortable for him and brings up way too many memories. Memories are the hardest to absorb right now. Because they mean “the past”. I want “plans” – they mean the future. But I can’t have them. When I remember, I cry, but I can not, will not let myself forget. It’s a “catch 22” as they say.

So…..on to the memories.

As you grow up you take part in traditions within your family. When my kids were little I hoped we would create little traditions for our kids to take with them. One such tradition is NMWYSFTROTDILYJALBMTT. I’m not quite sure how it started but it’s still going strong. We always say “Love you” when leaving the house, hanging up the phone, going to work or school, etc. Then someone would add on “love you more’. Each person would add on something else – “love you more than that”. Till one day Mary said, and I quote, “No matter what you say for the rest of the day, I love you just a little bit more than that”. There was nothing else the next person could say. Then it turned into who could say those words the faster. We still say it. Julie’s kids say it too. And they have their own little good night tradition that I can’t understand at all.

If Mary had a headstone, that’s what would have been on it. I’m so glad she’s not laying in one place forever. She’s not a stay in one place person.

As I “remember” Mary I wonder how many things I am remembering wrong. Does it matter? I used to buy her clothes sometimes from the thrift stores I go to. Something cute, bright, Mary-like. I finally had to quit because our tastes were NOT the same. She would say, “Oh, that’s beautiful. It’s so you.” And I’d say, “but I like it for you”. And she’d say, “oh, no, not me” with a smile on her face.

All these things I am remembering now I used to remember with her while we were laughing about them or crying about them. I don’t like remembering them alone. Each of us has a different perspective on what we remember and when comparing notes we always come up with “Oh, yeah!”, “That’s right”, “It did (or didn’t) happen that way”. Now one point of view is quite blatantly missing. It’s like a missing slice from a cake or a bite out of a cookie. It tasted good but you can never put it back.

Remembering is painful, forgetting is impossible, and there is no happy medium. One day at a time, girl, one day at a time.


I cannot run away, cannot run away, cannot run away from you.

You’re always in my path, always in my view, always in my mind, forever.

No matter how hard I try to ease the pain

Nothing helps, not sunshine or rain.


I see you standing there, see you standing there, see you standing there in the shadows.

You’re playing on my thoughts, playing on my soul, playing on my heart strings.

No matter how hard I try to ease the pain

Everything I do is always in vain.


I try to look away, try to look away, try to look away from you.

You’re reaching for the sky, reaching for the wind, reaching out to touch me.

No matter how hard I try to ease the pain

My life and love for you constantly remain.


I look at all the things, look at all the things, look at all the things around me

You’re part of every crowd, part of every face, part of every sight I see.

No matter how hard I try to ease the pain

My efforts are seemingly profane.


I am following the path, following the path, following the path that I must take.

Will I reach the end? will I start again? will this loneliness abate, years from now?

I must accept the pain I feel to go forward.

And one day you will be my soul restored.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

a pick me up

I have to force myself to continue each day. Otherwise I would sit and look at pictures all day long, blowing my nose, curled up on the sofa with Mary’s “comfy” blankets around me.

I lit a candle for Mary tonight and it was down hill after that. I went down stairs to make room for her things. Yes, I did a little bit over the weekend but not much. So I tried again. It did not work. Kerry and I were arguing, almost but not quite yelling and I ended up laying on the floor crying while he went upstairs. (We kissed and made up later.) Everything I touched reminded me that all these things I have spread out are because of Mary. She got me back in to sewing and making things. I want to keep them and throw them all away at the same time.

In all my years I have never known tears to flow like a water fall. My clothes are soaked. I think I’m holding them back too much and then in one moment all hell breaks loose. Guess I should try not holding it in so much.

While writing this I logged in to Facebook and told the world I was having a bad night. It’s amazing how many people you know are logged in doing the same thing. Lots of Mary’s friends sent me notes and messages about Mary. It was very heart warming. Just when I was falling down, people picked me up.

I need to go to bed to get some rest. I have so much to do. I’m falling behind at work and at home. I will try harder tomorrow to accomplish something, anything. Maybe I’ll cook something. Haven’t done that in awhile. Poor family.

My poems are in pieces right now. Can’t put the words down, can’t understand what I’m feeling.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Time trickles on

In all the years since Mary graduated from Perimeter College and went on to UGA we never went more than a few days without talking or emailing or sending a text message to each other. Even when she went on trips. Partly because of Danny but partly because we just wanted to hear each others voice. It has been 8 weeks since I last heard her voice or received an email or text from her. Eight weeks of solitude or rather solitary confinement. I don’t even dream about her. Her friends do and Kerry did once. I am afraid that my dreams will be about the crash and not her so I don’t know if I want to. Maybe later. I can’t control dreams anymore than I can life. So, I control the controllable. When I wake, sleep, eat, wash, cook, clean, etc. I control my actions but not my emotions. Saturday’s are the worst because that’s when she would get here for the weekend. Then she’d stay till Monday morning and leave real early to get to work. I look for her every Saturday between 11am and noon.

A friend called me today because she had just heard the news. I heard her voice or rather her whisper over her cries and I burst into tears. Neither of us could talk for several minutes. At some point early in our conversation I said something about crying all the time and she said “how do you not cry all the time?”. I remember thinking the same thing when I would talk to Christine. I could only imagine (and I didn’t really want to) what losing a child would be like and I imagined I would never ever stop crying. Whenever we would get together at the very site of her face I would start crying. (Have I told this story before? I find my self repeating things lately.) She would comfort me - ha! How’s that for backward. But now I get it. I was told recently that my mind is using up so much energy building up defenses and walls so it will be able to exist in the everyday world that my body is tired all the time. That I need to rest and eat to keep the energy going until my mind can rest. And that may take several years or longer. Each person is different. So, I was what Christine’s mind needed the defense against. If I had known I’m not sure what I could have done differently. I hurt because Christine hurt so she had to build defenses. And she’s probably still keeping them going. And so, I am doing the same. Especially at work. Life is just going on as before and it really pisses me off but – what can I do?? Nothing.

What happened to our scientists and space and time travel experiments? If we could go back in time would that take away our free will? Would it keep us from being responsible for our actions and relieve our guilt? As will anything dealing with human nature, someone would use it to destroy lives instead of saving them. You just can’t win for losing.

Time Trickles……

I’m stuck in the past with you but

Time trickles on.

I look at unchanging pictures while

Time trickles on.

I hear stories of what happened before yet

Time trickles on.

Memories are redundant, nothing new so

Time trickles on.

Time is my enemy and time is my friend.

This paradox is frightening for me

But it will win in the end.

I see your clothes just laying there when

Time trickles on.

Your sewing needles lay unmoved as

Time trickles on.

Life is replaced by still life pictures now that

Time trickles on.

My heart is standing still right now because

Time trickles on.

Time is my enemy and time is my friend.

One day we will conquer time

And I will win in the end.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Non-existent pictures

Why are there so many stupid reality shows on TV? The only ones I know of that show what reality is are the COP shows. There are some strange dudes on those shows. I can only watch them once in awhile because the reality is so acute it makes you wonder what planet you are on. You certainly can’t be on the same one they are on. They need to make a reality show about the effects of drunk driving, child abuse, pornography, prostitution, kidnapping, etc on every day people. Wonder how that would go over. Beats watching someone eat worms or swim in molasses.

Here’s a reality site for you. I logged into MADD’s site for victim support and healing forums. I did not see much healing going on there. Mostly just other sad, sad stories. Then again, maybe just writing it down (like I do) helps everyone. I could only read a few in their entirety. One man’s entire family was killed. He sends a birthday card to the DD on each of his family’s birthday’s every year and has done so for 23 years. Twenty three years – and he said it hasn’t gotten any better. He’s just better at hiding it. So many stories, many with worse circumstances but not any sadder than mine. There is an on-line chat twice a week. That’ll really cheer me up.

Everybody is looking for help and answers and no one can give them any. Where’s the support? All they can say is “I know how you feel”, “here’s MY story”, “I don’t know what to do”, “Nothing will ever be the same”, etc, etc. And I know EXACTLY how they feel. So, adding my two cents won’t do anyone any good. All of the people who draft the laws should be required to read these stories every day for one full year. That might accomplish something.

As I sit here in the wee hours of the night each week I am serenaded by some birds….in the middle of the night……singing like it was dawn. These aren’t tree frogs. The window is open a little to let the breeze through and a bird is sitting near the window and he is LOUDLY chirping to me. The music doesn’t start until well after midnight and continues long past when I finally go to bed. Wonder what these birds do during the day time. In days past I would have emailed Mary to tell her of my discovery. She probably would have stayed up to see if there were any in NC. Now I’ll have to do that next weekend. We emailed each other all week long. Now when I send her a note it comes back, “non-existent address, try again”. What a description.

Now that Julie created a Facebook account for me I’ve started watching Mary’s account. Friends still comment on her site or talk about her and it shows up there. People still ask to be a “friend” of hers. My site has lots of pictures of Mary and links to GTF, and Donate Life, and events for both. Mary’s 10 year class reunion is coming up soon. I’m pretty sure she was going with her friend John. She would have gone in 3D. Now she’ll be there in 2D and a frame. John is taking some pictures of her with him.

And life goes on………for someone somewhere……for that #$(*&$^# man who turned Mary into a “non-existent 2D picture”.

Thursday, May 21, 2009


If one more person asks me “So, how are you doing?”, I’m going to shoot someone. And I have a license to carry a gun in public places. I’ve never actually had the opportunity to use it, but I have it none the less. These aren’t people closest to me who are looking for something to say and it pops out. And then they curse themselves for saying it. These are the people who truly want to know “how I am doing”. Maybe they don’t realize I can’t answer that question. I just give them a weak smile and turn and walk away.

I’m having a hard time putting into words what I’m feeling lately. I wake up every morning thinking of Mary (as always). Every day starts off knowing it will be without her. Kerry and I say good bye on his way out the door with frowns on our faces. I get dressed and decide if I’m going to wear Mary’s shoes or my shoes. I’ve been trying to pay some bills and make phone calls in the mornings. I just never get around to doing it. Driving to work I talk to myself and cry, wear sun glasses in the door, and sit down at my desk. For the time spent there I get maybe 50% of something accomplished. The rest of the time I’m looking at Mary’s photo gallery. Today Capitol One’s probate department called me about her credit card. The other day it was the life insurance company at her work. It never ends. I can’t read her emails to me over the last few years. Yes, I keep my old emails from family for years. Then I leave work and talk to myself and cry on the way home. It’s like I’m in an alternate reality and I’m trying to find my way back to mine. If I’m not crying I feel numb, like a walking zombie. If I am crying, my shoulders hurt like something is pushing down on them. I have to wash the dishes or we’d have nothing to eat off of. But I haven’t vacuumed or mopped the kitchen floor in weeks. Why should I? What’s the purpose?

Every once in awhile the reality that Mary is gone slips through and it feels like I stepped on a nail and I just shake my head and say no, no, no, over and over.

Maybe it’s anticipation over going to her house. Maybe it’s because it’s time she came down for a visit. Every two or three months they come down. Or maybe it’s just the fact that something is missing from my life that can never be replaced. I can’t fill it in with busy stuff. I can’t ignore it. I can’t make it go away no matter how hard I try. I feel guilty at times that the sun is shinning and I’m out shopping like nothing has happened.

I am so pissed at that man that I could spit nails. I really do hate him. That won’t bring Mary back but not hating him won’t either and right now it helps.

One day I’ll dream about her and she’ll talk to me. I’m waiting for that day.


I happen, you happen, things happen we know

For a reason, or fate, or chaos

I was happy living a life that I loved

With a man that loved me right back

We had plans for tomorrow, next month, next year

Good friends and family surrounded our lives

In bad times and good times we clung to each other

Joyfully making our way through life.

Then you happened into my life, you bastard,

And I happened to be no more.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Did you know?

Sunday was a very strange day. I think I might have glimpsed, for a second, what life might be like down the road. It wasn’t particularly pleasant but it was there. It was a learning experience. And then it was gone. Maybe the future will come and go like that, I don’t know. Maybe Saturday’s explosion allowed it to sneak through. Maybe I need more of that. I just don’t know.

Yes, I like the movie Star Trek I saw on Saturday. But Bonni and I both cried at scenes or sayings that reminded us of either Mary or that day. I guess any movie, unless it’s a slapstick comedy, will have something in it that stirs memories. Mary and I would watch movies and as the plot progressed we tell each other what was going to happen next. Good thing we didn’t go to theaters very often. I could predict better than she could. I told her it was because I was older and had seen more movies. Actually it’s all just a guessing game.

Sunday, again, rained all day. But I could look at her pictures without coming apart. I don’t know what the difference is day by day. Why a sound or a smell or a word will bring tears. Why I can tell stories about her to people and not cry a tear. When I would meet Christine for lunch I was the one sitting in the booth with tears streaming down my face for Rachael and she was comforting me. Now it’s the other way around. I always wondered why I didn’t see her cry. Now I know. There is no reason. It either happens or it doesn’t. Either way my heart is still broken, it still hurts, I’m still angry.

I’m supposed to be writing thank you notes. I’ve written one. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Today we gave Mary’s antique vanity to Melissa. It was one I bought in 1971 when I was going to UGA. It was old back then. Mary loves it. She used it until she went to college. She was making room at their house for that and other pieces of furniture she left behind. ………………….I hate saying WAS. Everything I try to say about Mary is “was” or “used to be” -- past tenses everywhere. I hate that. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Mary IS a sentimental person and loves antiquing for old and unusual items. She told me once that Melissa is too.

I don’t’ think I’ve ever ask “why did this happen”. It just did. I need to get that bumper sticker that says “Shit happens”. That about sums it up. I did get some magnets from MADD that Danny and I have put on our trucks. One in particular says “Someone I love was killed by a drunk driver”. I wish it was larger. I might have to make my own. Why me or why not me, which ever way you say it, means the same thing. If you win the lottery or the anti-lottery, the odds are still the same.

Now I will watch TV until I fall asleep while my husband sweetly snores beside me. And I really mean sweetly. No one gets taken for granted anymore. But I have to admit my patience with inanimate objects is at an all time low. I hope my house is still standing a year from now.

Did you know?

Did you know when you started the engine that night

You’d change the world forever?

Did you know when you put the truck in gear

You’d destroy the hearts of many?

Did you know when you said good bye to your friends

My family and friends would cry endlessly?

Did you know when you thought you were ok to drive

Your truck turned into a weapon?

Did you know when your head shook to clear your vision

My eyes had been crying for the loss of a friend?

Did you know when you turned on the truck lights

They’d be the last thing I ever saw?

Did you know when you opened the window for fresh air

I would draw my last breath that night?

Did you know when you thought you were driving ok

I was on my way home to see my brother?

Did you know when your eyes were getting heavy

I was only ten miles from my front door?

Did you know when you took some deep breaths to focus

I was thinking about my wedding day?

Did you know when you crossed that center line

I was thinking about the love of my life?

Did you know when you crashed into my car

I was dead a second later?

Did you know when you sat on the side of the road

What you had actually done?

Did you know when you started the engine that night

You’d change the world forever?

Saturday, May 16, 2009

wrinkle in time

I thought I could work in the yard this morning but it’s drizzly and too quiet, too calm. Can’t roto-till, can’t spray weed killer. Guess I could wash some clothes or bring down the summer ones from the attic. But I don’t feel like doing anything. I look at Mary’s pictures in the living room and I am sad. There’s a picture with them and Tony’s family standing on the porch. That’s all gone, the smiles, the plans, the happiness, the future. All changed, clouded with anger and hate, and sadness. Not just mine but everyone’s. I can’t take the pictures down. That wouldn’t be right.

I am not having a good day. All the minutes of being calm, cool, and collected have collapsed in unison. The flood surged forth crushing the damn of good intentions. Guess that taught me a lesson. Don’t hold it in. Don’t change the subject. Don’t ignore the pain. I sat this morning for a long, long time crying, rocking, moaning, calling Mary’s name, playing her song Nicole’s friend wrote that we played when we planted the willow tree. I played it loud so it would drown out the anguish in my sobs. I can’t begin to write down what the words I MISS YOU feel like. No amount of activities, sleep, hugs, or medicines can ever extinguish what I am feeling. But I realize now I have to let it out. I have to beat on the walls, rip pillows apart, scream, hold her picture against my heart. The clothes I have of hers don’t have her scent. All I have are the pictures and her ring. She loves that ring more than I can tell you. It belonged to Tony’s great grandmother I think. I don’t know how it came to be made or what it meant those many years ago. But I know what it meant just 6 weeks ago. Six weeks. Time slips by and stands still at the same time. It will stand still for that part of me that is Mary forever.

Do I feel better? My head hurts, my nose is stuffed up, my eyes are puffy, my ears are ringing, my clothes are wet, and there’s still a blank look on my face. But some of the pressure in my chest has shifted and I have taken some deep breaths. I feel different. Now it’s raining softly.

I’m getting myself ready to go to her house in two weeks. If I talk about it enough maybe it won’t be such a shock when I get there. I don’t know if I can go inside but I’ll try. If we were keeping the house I wouldn’t go back for months. This is just one more thing destroyed. Relationships are changing also. For better or worse, some change caused by the events some just nudged on to a faster pace. But all are related to that wrinkle in time, that exploding black hole that has sucked my soul dry.

Julie, Danny, and Kerry are beautiful. They let me cry and hand me Kleenex’s. It is very hard to write the words “Julie, Danny”. I always wrote “Julie, Mary, and Danny or Danny, Mary, and Julie. Our life long code word is DMJMD – Danny, Marry, Julie, Mommy, Daddy.

It’s getting darker outside and the wind is picking up. Storms are coming.

Friday, May 15, 2009

I see you...again

I tried reading the journal a mother is writing about losing her 17 month old daughter the week after Mary. It’s written in a blog on the internet. I had to stop. Even though our children were years apart, we sound just like each other. It was like listening to mirror image of myself. Her death was almost as sudden as Mary’s. She caught an infection and died the same day. But her mother got to say good bye. It was too late but she got to hold her baby, and kiss her, and hug her one more time. It doesn’t make it any less harder for either of us. But I wonder if it would have made a difference for me. I suppose I could have told the funeral home I wanted to see Mary. But I’ve seen too many TV shows about people getting autopsies. I was afraid. I remember thinking those days before her party that she was all alone laying on a cold metal table somewhere and I wasn’t’ there to take care of her. I wanted her home and warm and snuggled in bed. I was afraid if I did see her I would never remember her smiling and happy. I hope I made the right choice.

Many people talk about their loved ones “passing on”. It sounds so nice and comfortable, easy to say. I can’t say it. Mary was ripped from our lives without a seconds notice. Wham Bam Gone. That’s why it’s so easy to expect her to just be standing behind me when I turn around. Like playing peek-a-boo. My rational and irrational selves are fighting with each other again.

My friend came to visit me this week. Tonight we all went out to dinner (Julie and the kids). I talked about Mary the whole night. Gabe looked at me and said “you’re eyes are watering”. I didn’t think I was crying. I said no they’re not. He said again, “there is water in your eyes right there” and he pointed. So now I guess I can cry without knowing it. How odd. Is that a trick or a gift I have been given? Maybe it’s a good thing I wear sun glasses wherever I go.

I was at work for about 6 hours today. I wish I could tell you I worked the whole time. But I didn’t. Concentrating on anything is really hard. I try, I really do. But I’d rather write or talk or think about Mary.

I see you

I see you walking down the trail. Will you walk with me?

Step by step we can walk together, side by side.

Just like kids in a three legged race leaning on each others embrace.

Counter balancing each other with grace.

See how much I need you?

I see you playing in the grass. Will you play with me?

We can toss the ball and let the dogs jump up.

Throw it so high we’re running all around

Bumping into each other falling on the ground.

See how much I miss you?

I see you digging in the garden. Will you plant with me?

We’ll plant seeds and watch them grow.

Water their roots so they’ll grow tall

First in the spring and then in the fall.

See how much I care for you?

I see you sewing at your table. Will you sew with me?

We’ll go shopping for flowers and bows.

String for the purses and yarn for the hats

Zippers to work on and mistakes to laugh at.

See how much I want you?

I see you standing with your arms held out. Will you hug me?

Squeeze me tight and don’t let me go.

Tell me everything will be alright

Then maybe I can sleep tonight.

See how much I love you?

Thursday, May 14, 2009


Please be as patient with me as I am with you.

The Patchwork Quilt

Don’t try to make me smile, you can’t.

Don’t try to cheer me up, you won’t.

But joined together you may become a patchwork quilt

that covers my soul with stories untold

of the life and times of Mary.

Don’t feel bad that I am hurting.

Don’t try to fix that which isn’t broken.

Just keep quilting the love into the patches of the quilt

that covers my soul with stories as they unfold

of the life and pictures of Mary.

Don’t hurry me along the path I walk.

Don’t show me new roads to take.

I need you to give me the freedom to be me so I can rest in the quilt

that covers my soul with stories of gold

of the life and days of Mary.

Don’t tell me what to do right now.

Don’t try to dry the tears I cry.

I’ll wipe my cheeks with the corners of the quilt

that covers my soul with stories of so bold

of the life and will of Mary.

Don’t be afraid if I stagger and fall.

Don’t think I won’t get through this.

Lend me your strength, your will to go on to put in my quilt

that covers my soul with stories to console

of the life and love of Mary.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

reminders, memories, and visions.....

I’m finding there is a big difference between reminders, memories, and visions. Memories are from the past, reminders are from the future, and visions are …unspeakable. I will never face another day without the reminders of what is gone, what could have, should have been. Never visit another place without wondering what Mary would have said about the view. Memories are the still life pictures set in our minds for all eternity. Good or bad, happy or sad, they will remain forever. They get us through or trap us in the “before” time. Visions are the goblins of what happened.

Which is better? Worse? I’m trying to find that place in between. A resting place so I can gather the strength for the reminders.

Amputee’s can feel their limbs years after they’re gone. I can feel Mary. When I close my eyes I can feel Mary’s hugs around my shoulders when she walks in the door on a Saturday morning, my hand touching her cheek to remove the dirt after planting flowers, her breath on my neck as we study the zipper that didn’t fold properly, the love in her voice when she talks about Tony or scolds the kids. These are the “good” memories I guess everyone is telling me about. They come and go but they hurt more than they help right now.

Everyone’s wish is to die peacefully in their sleep. And actually it’s what we, who are left behind, want to have happen to those we love so we can have peace. But this time it didn’t happen that way. This creates visions, and with them the lack of peace, guilt for not being there, questions of suffering, the impossible task of trying to change the outcome, and, of course, the hate. No matter what I read, what is told to me, what I hope happened, the vision of the crash attacks me at any time, anywhere, and it hurts. Hurts for all kinds of reasons. I can actually feel the weigh of that truck boring down on my chest and legs. If I’m driving I have to pull over. Maybe this isn’t healthy, maybe it is, I don’t know. I just know it happens and I can’t stop them. Maybe one day Mary will talk to me and tell me she didn’t feel anything or know anything. Maybe they will stop on their own somehow. Until then, I have to live with them. If ever I want to talk to DUI offenders I will be able to paint a most vivid picture of what will happen. How with the blink of an eye they can change peoples lives forever, but not in a good way. One day I just may do that.

I picked up the thank you notes I had printed. They have pictures of Mary on the front and back. You can frame either one of them. I did this on purpose. The one of the front came off of Mary’s computer. I guess Tony took it but Mary played with it in Photoshop. It is beautiful. So now, once again, I delve back into the consciousness of loss. The beautiful people who took care of us deserve acknowledgement, to know that without them we would be no where. Those that serve, that constantly listen, that forever hug us are what keeps me together.


I birthed you but I did not bury you.

Your spirit can never be put to rest, it is everywhere I am.

In my wordless thoughts, my waterless tears you are present.

As I grow old, you will not.

Your face will never change, your smile is the sunrise now.

Faithful and constant as each day is, without surprise or impulse.

I run away, but find I cannot.

There is no peace in seeing what you’ve never seen, you should have.

They are just reminders, not memories, of what is left unsaid forever.

Tears come and go, but do not stop.

They are for the loss that the world will never know.

Heart pains are present felt by all those you love.

Talking merely echoes the knowledge.

Having to say was instead of is or did instead of does.

This reality is too intense. So, I don’t.

In my dreams you have not appeared yet.

My sleep is ragged, afraid of the pictures that might emerge.

So I nap in chapters of the night not resting, hiding.

My smiles are without heart, empty.

People I love try to cheer me but all in vain.

My pain is their pain and I am sorry for that.

One day you’ll speak my name.

Press on my heart and touch my soul for comfort.

On that day I will rejoice and life will start again.

Until then…. reminders, visions, and memories fill my life.

Monday, May 11, 2009

The unknown is everywhere

Today was long. I was not happy. I did not smile. I did hug, a lot. Hugs are good.

I have to write these things. I have to let them escape or I'd be forever sitting on my sofa rocking back and forth waiting for Mary to come home. And, yes, I do that sometimes but then I write.

The Unknown

I did not know that words could be so hollow

Until you could no longer hear me say I love you.

I did not know that days could be so long

Until night came without you on my pillow.

I did not know songs could sound so harsh

Until your voice was forever silenced.

I did not know tears could burn so brutally

Until I could not stop crying for you.

I did not know pain could hurt so continually

Until I realized that you are no more.

I did not realize the nature of your being

Until I saw the world stop at your death.

I did not know life could be so empty

Until your smile was torn from my heart.

I did not know that I could love so deeply

Until that which I loved was taken away.


Every place I go

Every thing I do

Every sight I see

Reminds me of you

Every cloud above

Every flower that blooms

Every bird that sings

Brings on this gloom

Every walk my feet allow

Every taste I partake

Every leaf on every tree

My senses cannot partake

Every face that smiles at me

Every hug that hugs me back

Every scream trapped inside

Reminds me life is black

Every breath I take

Reminds me you’re not here

Sunday, May 10, 2009



Pick up foot, put foot down

Pick up foot, put foot down

Breathe in, breathe out

Breathe in, breathe out

Take a bite, swallow

Take a bite, swallow

Comb hair, wash face

Comb hair, wash face

Go to bed, try to sleep

Go to bed, try to sleep

Wash clothes, dry clothes

Wash clothes, dry clothes

Clean the dishes, put away

Clean the dishes, put away

Heart beat, pump blood

Heart beat, pump blood

Go to work, come home

Go to work, come home

Sun rise, sun set

Sun rise, sun set

Who cares? I don’t…..

Not yet, anyway.

too many memories

A few years ago I got rid of most all my plants. My deck used to look like the hanging gardens of Babylon in the summer but in the winter I had to find places inside the house. Then I had to water every single one of them. So, I started giving them away. Got down to maybe five and this winter I managed to kill a few more. But lately I’ve been collecting flowering plants much to my poor husbands chagrin. Something to bring some color back. Mary loved flowers. She picked out the house they bought because there were fruit trees, a garden already plowed and ready to plant, grape vines, blackberry bushes (yes, a weed, but delicious) and what seemed like thousands of bulbs flowering everywhere. So, I buy flowers. Now I’ll have to plant the bulbs somewhere because many have finished flowering. They have reached the end of their time too.

I have one plant I’ve managed to keep alive for almost 10 years. The kids gave it to me for Mother’s Day when I was just starting to collect plants. It has split many times but I seem to only have the same size plant as when I started. Mary has hanging plants around her house. One is magnificent, hanging tendrils down over 8 feet. Carol keeps it watered. But for what? I told her to take it and put it on her back porch but she can’t.

Except for these flowers, I haven’t managed to really do anything constructive. Yes, I work a few hours each day or at least I sit at my desk. But something about Mary always seems to come up and I don’t get much done. My walls are still half painted. Thank goodness for auto pay banking or my bills would be past due. My yard needs weeding. I bought a sprayer last weekend and it’s sitting in the box in the garage. I don’t cook much unless there’s nothing for Danny to eat that’s low sodium.

I hate going downstairs to the pool room. Mary’s room is down there but that’s not the problem. She hasn’t really lived in it for almost 6 years. It’s everything else. My sewing table has all the stuff for making her purses. The other table has all the pictures of everyone I was scanning and printing for Christmas. All the “crafts” I was working on she was helping me with. EVERYTHING down there is almost like walking into her house. All the furniture she was going to put into the back of Tony’s truck is sitting there ready to go. Her cups and sauces she was collecting, hanging on the wall. She used to let Cindy drink tea from them. Some of her clothes hang in the closet, her paints and brushes packed away in boxes for the ride to Hayesville.

I have to clear out a fairly large space down there for all her things we will bring back from the house. Her things…, her essence, her being, her life. All packed up and tied with ribbons! Dishes, cook books, tea pots, the clock I made her and the one Tom made. And, most of all the material she has been gathering for her purses. The yarn she has been buying to make hats and gloves and scarves. She crocheted a coat for Taco and a backpack for Choda to carry his food on their hikes. All the organic foods they bought and ate. She started me buying cage free eggs last year. The backpack she bought just 2 days before the accident is sitting on the living room sofa up there. Who will use it now?

I now know several people who have lost children. Like attracts like? They all have kept either the child’s room as it was or created a room just for the memories. I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep everything as it is now because nothing is as it was. I have to clear out her house sometime soon. I have to put everything someplace. No, not a storage place.

The day she died the store called her phone to say her wedding dress had arrived. I left it there for a long time. Michele picked it up for me because they wouldn’t take it back. It’s sitting at her house. I can’t even think about it without falling to my knees. The only pictures I have of her wearing it are ones I took with my phone. They aren’t very good. I haven’t looked at them. We were waiting till the dress came to take better pictures. Now there’s nothing to plan, nothing to get excited about.

I took her rings back to the jeweler to get them joined. Her wedding bank was custom made for the heirloom ring. So now they will always be together. I couldn’t even talk to the jeweler. I just showed him her pictures as tears ran down my cheeks. He was very kind and remembered our name. And I was quiet.

So, tomorrow is Mother’s Day. I have almost every card for every occasion my kids have ever given me. As I was rummaging in my jewelry box I found a hand made tiny envelop with a little letter inside. It was from Mary when she was in middle school. It said, Happy Mother’s Day. She is everywhere in our house. There is never a moments rest from her memory. I see her talking to me but I can’t hear her words. So, today (four weeks, four days, and twenty two hours later) is no better than that day. Just a little quieter.

I hate him. Right now I don’t think I could be in the same room with him We’ll see when August 17th comes.