Julie's Tattoo

Julie got the tattoo she's been wanting.  The initials are for Mary Couey Demarco and the NMW is the family saying we've always had....no matter what you say for the rest of the day......
I didn't think she do it.  Watching needles stick her are not her forte.  I think it's beautiful.  One day I may get a butterfly on my shoulder or ankle or some place that doesn't hurt.  Pain is not my forte.
Michele and I had our first drawing and painting class last week. Drawing is not my forte either.  I just want to splash color on a canvas and see what comes out.  But I guess you have to get the basics down to understand what you are capable of.  So, we're off again tomorrow night. 

Cindy LOVES her dance class and Gabe is going to start Karate tomorrow after school. Last week he was sick.  Wonder what Julie is going to start doing.  Kerry likes playing his poker on line.  Something to keep us all occupied and moving along the path.
Thursday is GTF's Art and Soul event.  Mary will have a table dedicated to her with pictures of her and Danny and lots of "Donate Life" information.

One of the web pages for Mary's scholarship and funds is up and running at UGA.  They are still working on the Computer Science area.  The link is on the right side of the blog.  The picture of her is beautiful!  I have it hanging in the living room on my wall.  

I have to find a gutter cleaning service to replace the gutters on the house and a pressure washing service to clean everything.  My friend Jason is coming over to help me design the back yard. 

This week is soooo busy I don't have time to think.  Maybe that's good, maybe that's bad, I don't know.  Maybe that just makes my "bucket" of grief fill up faster.  I just know when it gets full I explode.  But when I'm not busy it just leaks out all the time.  My poems are gone for awhile - nothing to say - but I love you Mary. 

Had a friend tell me yesterday that "life is for the living" and I needed to live for myself a little.  "Mary would want that".  Interesting how everyone knows what Mary's thinking but me and Tony.  Others have said the same thing.  He said if the situation was reversed, that's what I would tell Mary.  But it's not.  Mary's kindness kept me from saying what I really wanted to say.  Everyone tries to comfort me. It doesn't work, so don't try.  At least not yet.  I just need you to stand my me, not say anything, just be there.

Tonight is not a good night.

Right now, right this very minute, the pain and sorrow I feel are over whelming.  I am trying not to cry but it makes my neck and shoulders hurt not to.  Everything I do these days is attached to Mary.  Not just the parties or scholarships just every day things.  The bracelets I wear 24 / 7 are a reminder yet I can't take them off.  Today I enrolled Cindy in Dance class.  She was SOOOOO excited.  I told her this was Mary's gift to her.  Gabe is going to Karate tomorrow as his gift from Mary.  I'm working on re-doing the back yard as Mary's gift to me.  I can't cry on my way into work because it's not just tears anymore.  It literally takes the breathe away from me, rather like hyperventilating.  And it hurts.  I sometimes wonder if I just ignored my feelings for 6 days and on the 7th let it all out if that would be better than feeling this way every single night.  Some people remove themselves from all reminders just to be able to live.  Will I have to do that eventually.  I feel like I'm turning Mary into a monument instead of a person.  When I see her face lately her smile burns its way into my chest and I can't stand it.  I don't even want to drink beer to forget the hurt.  I just want it to STOP.  I just want her BACk.

All the things I'm helping Julie with has Mary's essence around them. It should be her helping Julie, not me.  They were best friends, mother's aren't the same.  I keep wanting to say, "Mary would do it this way, or that's not what Mary would do".  I'm sure when it slips out it makes Julie feel bad that I keep comparing her to Mary.   Then I start wondering what it would be like if Mary were her and Julie wasn't.  Then all hell breaks loose for even letting my mind wander to that dark area.  I'm sure most parents have wondered what they would do if something happened to their child, just most don't think it would ever happen.  Actually I didn't consider it until Danny got sick.  Ever since there lives a little gremlin in the back of my mind.  NEVER did I ever consider Mary leaving me.  I don't know how people get through life when they've lost more than one child. I cannot fathom it.


Now I have to go to bed and try to sleep a little tonight.  I have to deliver the art work to GTF at noon and on to Dr. Leslie's.  My world seems to revolve around Mary.  Am I hanging on too tight?  Are other's not holding on at all?  What am I going to do?  How do I get through the rest of my life?   There are no quick accurate answers I know.  There are no guarantee's.  There's just life and it sucks right now.

Angels at Night

When I was little a friend and I would put our hands together, palms flat, up in the air, and then with our other hand we would rub the fingers of our hands, up and down.  With our eyes closed it was supposed to feel like a dead person’s hand or a mummy’s (like we knew which was which).  To young minds I supposed it did.  Why we would want to experience that sensation, I can’t remember, but we did.  It is definitely a strange feeling.  Your mind can’t quite grasp what you are feeling with your eyes closed.  Strange how your senses work together for your mind to understand what’s happening to you.  More on that subject later.

 

I’ve been looking through some older pictures of Mary and us and realized that because they are two dimensional and from time past, they don’t feel real anymore.  There is a vacant mummified shell surrounding them.  I guess because I know she’s not here.  We can’t all sit down and point and laugh at the old pictures like we used to and make comments about what, where, when, and why we were where we were (say that three times real fast).  When I see pictures of Julie and the kids there’s a warm fuzzy feeling and I bring them out and show them to everyone.  I take pictures of the kids while they are sleeping angels to remind me why I run around after them when they are awake.  I did that with my kids too. 

 

Each time I look at pictures of Mary my impressions change.  First I could look only at her at a young age, recent pictures hurt too much.  Then I wanted to see all I could of recent pictures of her face, life size, so I could stroke her cheek and hug her to me.  Then that hurt too much.  It kept going back and forth like that for several months.  I have pictures of her in my truck, kitchen, office, backpack, wallet, and bedroom.  Practically everywhere except the bathroom.  I liked the pictures of her with Tony more until I started seeing recent pictures of Tony by himself or with Nicole.  Nothing against Nicole but like she said, they would go places where couples were and then there was “Tony with his sister”.....Probably wasn’t fun for either of them.  But they stuck together like family does.

 

Like I said in my last post, all her pictures are frozen in time now.  I need some new ones, different ones, so I can feel the experience of newness again. 

Smiles

I thought I was going to have to tell you all that Mary’s tree washed away with in the storm this weekend.  Our shed did.  But, waking up this morning with the waters receding I saw some brush sticking up where her tree should have been standing tall.  Yes, yes, yes, it was her tree.  Now it is standing tall.  I made Julie get out of bed and drug her out on the back porch. This afternoon Danny lifted it up after more of the water left the banks.  It is beautiful!!  No leaves but they’ll grow back, bigger and stronger for the wear.  It made me smile this morning.  A real smile.

WHAM!

Before 3/31/09 I would never have believed that I would be able to walk in a straight line, inhale and exhale without choking, or eat ice cream ever again after one of my children had died.  Even though I totally believe you never know what you’re going to do in any situation until you are in that situation, I just couldn’t imagine life continuing without all five of us together.  And so I exist today in total disbelief that I exist today.  I have many things to occupy my days so that I don’t think about 3/31/09 every second of the day but each time there is more than one minute that is calm, THAT’s what I think of.

 

The mere fact that Christine is still walking around astounds me.  It probably astounds her as much as I astound myself.  We do have people who depend upon us and that keeps us walking.  But each and every step is slow and painful.  Each smile or laugh that bursts forth lacks the heart felt spark of it’s intention.  I feel like I’m finding my way thought a forest, walking through the underbrush, no path to follow, stepping in holes, being blindsided by trees, and the darkness is constant, never changing.  Maybe working on the scholarship fund will help, or at least change the view a little.

 

Last night at Mary’s party I talked more about Mary for longer than I have in months.  It was good and horrible at the same time.  Good because ….I got to talk about Mary.   Horrible because… she was not there.  She was posted on the walls, her name across the banners, stuck in the twilight zone watching us.  Maybe she was smiling, maybe she was crying, I don’t know.  But people were thinking about her and talking about her and that’s what counted.  I wish I could have parties for her every 3 months for the rest of my life.

 

We got some money from Mary’s life insurance policy.  There was a little extra because she was wearing her seat belt and the car had an air bag.  Too bad they didn’t help her any.  As I was reading the letter the term “death benefit” kept popping up.  Isn’t that an oxymoron?  How do death and benefit go together in the same sentence in this case? But I guess that’s the legalese.  You know how when you’re sick to your stomach and waves of nausea sweep over you from time to time?  That happens to me when I get a glimpse of the truth that Mary is never coming home again.  It’s even hard to write.  All of a sudden I read something or see something that triggers that feeling and WHAM!  I’m out for the count. 

 

I’m trying to be excited about all the things we are planning and doing for Mary.  But every time I start to smile I get pang in my chest.  I’m not supposed to be happy … because who can’t make her own party.  And I don’t really want to have to have these parties.  But I have to keep her alive, and so I will.

 

Julie gets the results from her MRI today.  I have to see my cardoligist tomorrow.  Danny keeps getting more tired.  Kerry is hanging tough.  The house needs repairing (a gutter on the tallest side of the house fell down after the last great rain fall).  Mary's Party is tomorrow night.

Don’t Worry

 

Don’t tell me not to worry

Rain has to fall, flowers have to bloom

And day turns into night and back to day

Else the universe collapses

 

I worry that your smile may fade

from memories so fresh I can feel the dew

on the mountainside grass

 

I worry that your laughter may quiet

my listening ears as the night frogs song moves

from evening to dawn and stops

 

I worry that your sparkling eyes may close

in my visions so real like the day lily shines for

only a short time in glory

 

I worry that your loving touch may not reach

far enough to comfort me and mine when we

need it most often now

 

I worry that while I don’t want to share your

spirit so fair it needs to be everywhere felt by everyone

to carry on your legacy of loving life with happiness

 

Don’t tell me not to worry

It’s like telling me not to breathe

Death Certificate

We got the finalized death certificate this week. It still said pending under the cause of death.  So I called the funeral home.  The lady said to look on the back.  It says "head and chest trauma" - automobile accident.

I wish I hadn't read that.  I was expecting "vehicular homicide" for some reason.  Now I have more images in my head to contend with.  This is NOT going to be a good day.  So get ready world.   

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.

IT.....What is IT?

I’m changing once again.  I don’t want to be touched or hugged unless I initiate it first.  It almost feels like a burning sensation.  My circle of personal space, as it’s called (I think it’s supposed to be a 3 foot circumference around you), it growing bigger.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture of comfort.  I think my “personal space” has been invaded without my consent and I highly resent it.  He did this to me.  He created the condition in my life, the unwanted dependence upon others, that required physical attention just to exist.  It’s Mary that I really want to hug, touch, feel, hold, not anybody else.  However, I don’t want to let go of my immediate family – I’m too huggy.

 

This is a very strange sensation because I’ve always been a huggy person.  It’s no one’s fault but his.  I’m afraid this growing circle will alienate me from those I love and care about.  Maybe it will change again. 

 

Which makes me ask the question, what exactly are we in control of?  (I was taught never to end a sentence with a preposition but I couldn’t think of any other way to say it.)  Everything you think you are controlling, you’re not.  I can walk or run as I want but I may fall at any moment and break a leg.  That probably won’t happen you say, but watch out, never say never.  I’ve said it two too many times.  Every action you take can have an equal and opposite reaction that puts you out of control.  I can write when I want.  But the computer may die or the power go out.  It’s happened.  I can use a pencil until the point breaks.  I could stick myself and write in blood, but we won’t go there.  I can pee when to I want but sometimes I pee when I don’t want to.  Yep, you too I bet.  How can Mary drive hundreds of miles from northern Va and make it home safe when driving 30 miles she makes it within 3 miles of her home when he takes control of events?

 

Am I being a pessimist?  A defeatist? A skeptic? Or a realist?  Is my cup half empty or half full?  It used to be half full but now it think it’s been flat out drained.  I’m waiting for someone, somewhere to fill it up again.  Or at least lead this horse to water.  Or what’s the other saying....teach me how to fish again.

 

I’ve been collecting donations for the raffle for Mary’s party.  People have been most generous, most amazing.  Even the ones who were not able to contribute were kind enough to just listen to me talk about Mary.  I know one day I’ll be talking about Mary and someone will say “give it a rest” and I’ll say “f*%# you” and go on my merry (!) little way.  But eventually less and less people will even realize that Mary existed.  Each year the nation remembers the victims of 9/11.  I’m not sure the families of the victims really understand how great a gift it is to have the nation, the world, remember those they have lost.  There are small groups, communities of parents who have buried children that get together to remember their children.  But to have MILLIONS of people remember.....

 

“9/11” is now in the dictionary.  There are hundreds of books written about the event.  I’m not begrudging the survivors their memories.  I cried for days after it happened, for people I didn’t know.  I’m not sure if it’s jealously.  Death is a horrible thing to be jealous of.  I guess the same could be said for all the wars we’ve had.  The nation remembers those who gave their lives for our country.  But then, Mary and the 9/11 victims didn’t “give” anything.  Their lives were ripped out of their control (that word again).  I guess it would be nice to have a positive ‘out of control event’ happen.

 

Actually there are some things I do have a positive attitude about.  Otherwise I might drown in a sea of self pity.   

 

“Poor, poor, poor me.     Poor, poor pitiful me”.

 

IT……What is IT?

 

You hurt

You cry

You shut it out

You try to push it away

But it won’t go

It haunts

It claws

It never lets go

But you keep pushing

 

You see

You watch

You close you eyes

You try to ignore it more

But it won’t leave

It stares

It stalks

It pursues your steps

But you keep ignoring

 

You sniff

You smell

You hold your breath

You try to run away

But it won’t fade

It stinks

It rots

It follows your flight

But you keep running

 

You touch

You feel

You hide your hands

You try to wash it away

But it won’t depart

It grabs

It clings

It holds on tight

But you keep washing

 

You eat

You taste

You close your mouth

You try to spit it out

But it won’t melt

It bites

It burns

It’s bitterness clings

But you keep spitting

 

You listen

You hear

You wear head phones

You try to drown it out

But it won’t fade

It screams

It explodes

It probes your thoughts

But you keep drowning

  

It doesn’t bleed

It doesn’t starve

It doesn’t suffocate

It just watches you suffer

Kaleidoscope eyes

Looks deceive, and sometimes that’s exactly what we want them to do.  Ever had a day where you hoped you didn’t look like you felt?  Then they also say that whatever is inside you always find its way to the surface.  I wish they (who ever they are) would make up their minds.  Sometimes I think I’m putting on a pretty good show for everyone and the next minute I don’t give a crap what people think about my disposition.  I’m lucky to be walking at all.  I do find myself snapping at people, short tempered with my family, screaming at the non descript figures in the cars around me.  Guess I’m just basically pissed at the world in general.  How dare life continue without Mary.  How dare I keep plugging along without Mary. 

 

A day, a month, a year, five years, 20 years, it doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last day I saw Mary, I know the longing, the emptiness, the heartache will never go away.  Because that’s what those that walk my journey tell me.  You don’t ever get off this path.  I can’t say the going gets easier because it hasn’t for me.  It just changes, like a kaleidoscope view changes but the stuff inside is always the same.

 

I’ve put up shelves downstairs to hold all the things that are Mary’s.  She has pretty much moved from NC to here.  She lives all over downstairs.  I’ve put her pictures on the walls, her art supplies and fabric are in little cubbies so I can use them.  I found her UGA diploma today.  I think I’ll frame it.  The more things I do that are about Mary the more alive she remains.  I will not give that up.

 

I was watching Benny and Joon for a few minutes and had to turn off the TV.  I started watching it because I like the actors.  But then they showed a car crash scene and their parents were on stretchers and someone covered their heads because they were DEAD.  I never watch movies that depict real events because they are usually sad.  Very few “happy go lucky” movies make it to the big time.  I don’t like crying at sad movies because I have all the drama I need in my own life.  I wish someone would tell the TV movie makers to warn me before they show sad things.  So I flicked the TV off, took a deep breath, and ate something.  I love eating Death by Chocolate ice cream from Kroger.  ( If this was a movie or a book that would be a “plug” – and well worth it!).  It has got to be the best damn ice cream ever made.  I eat a big bowl of it every night.  I can down 2 or 3 half gallons a week (with a little help from the kids).  You’d think I’d weigh a ton. 

 

Julie is going for an MRI on her head tomorrow morning.  If anything else happens to my kids you can just write me off.  I would in the past tell her that “it’s probably nothing – the doctors are just following the normal process for people who have had a migraine headache for over 9 months”.  But I can’t today.  I can’t proclaim mother’s intuition at all anymore.  I will just hold her hand and see what happens.  

 

 

I can’t see into the future

Like I could when you were young

I could tell you what would happen

If you tried to touch the stove

I could warn you not to do that

And you’d listen to my voice

You’d do exactly as I said

There was no other choice

 

But today I don’t have mother’s eyes

Just a hand for you to hold

So when your heart is heavy laden

I will try to be a good safehold.

 

I can’t see into the future

Like I could when you were young

I have to let you go your way

And finish what you’ve begun

I will always share my heart with you

Whether need or nod is called for

But I cannot alter the wrong you bear

My certain answers are no more

 

Today I don’t have mother’s eyes

Just arms to hug you tight

So when your heart is heavy laden

I’ll walk with you into the night.

Wishing don't make is so

In all the many times in as many years that my hubby and children were sick, in pain, in the hospital, I prayed (I really did) that I could change places with them.  I knew, as a patient myself, that being the patient was much easier than being the watcher of the patient.  Even in the presence of terrifying news, there is a strange kind of peace around the patient that somehow ignores the ones with the patient.  So, as I’ve always said, I’d much rather BE the patient than not.

 

I was diagnosed with heart trouble at 15, got my first pacemaker at 20, 2^nd one at 23 (on my 7^th one now) so until Kerry’s appendix burst when Julie was a baby, I had never been on the floor side of the hospital bed.  It’s funny sometimes the things you remember.  His doctor told him “do not pass Go, do not collect $200, go straight to the ER or else”.  We didn’t’ ask “else what?”.  Everything was happening so fast I didn’t have time to be terrified.  While he was being operated on the calm, quiet sound of the unknown started to bear down on me but in a flash he was back and all was well.

 

Mary ended up in Scottish Rite hospital at 11 months old.  I must say that it was the most terrifying experience I had ever had.  It was, again, a louder realization of how important, how precious my children, my family was to me.  At each birth I was awestruck with the wonderment of life.  But when you think you’re about to lose that life, nothing compares to THAT feeling.  Mary was dehydrated from an intestinal virus and couldn’t stop throwing up.  But in my little world, the snug cocoon of my family, all hell was breaking loose and I wanted her to stop hurting, and I wanted it NOW.  Then having to watch the nurses and doctors try to put IV’s in her little collapsed veins in her arms, hands, and feet was about all I could take.  Then next morning all was well and she was happy.  I had been to the edge of terror and back and I did not like what I saw.

 

Mary headed for the hospital every Christmas for her first 5 years.  Danny went once also.  Some where around the 3^rd or 4^th year Kerry got viral meningitis at Thanksgiving.  I had not been at my job at Mizuno but 6 months when I called in one day to say I’d be out until the doctors figured out what he had.  So, back to the edge of terror with 3 small children at home.  I sat by Kerry’s bed watching him shake with the chills, blankets covering him while sweat poured from his face.  They kept giving him spinal taps until they decided it was meningitis.  He doesn’t remember anything.  Yeah, well, I do.  I still remember everything about every hospital event where I wasn’t the patient.

 

Julie’s been the healthiest or luckiest (or whatever) of all of us.  She’s had her share of bumps and bruises, cuts and rashes, etc.

 

And then there’s Danny.  I must say with each hospital trip for my family things have gotten a little more electrifying, mystifying, terrifying.  I used to think I had to ‘be strong’ for the rest of my family.  I needed to be there for them to lean on.  I never thought about who I was going to lean on.  It was all in my perception of what a mother/wife should be.  I was taught that we are the glue.  I didn’t want to be.  I longed for my momma to hold me in her arms again at that kitchen table from my childhood whenever the worst seemed inevitable.  And then it would pass and I was back to being me. 

 

But not anymore.  The worst had happened and I’m just trying to survive.  I lean on anyone that will hold me up.  I don’t say prayers anymore.  Either they don’t help or I’ve been saying them wrong.  I don’t care if someone sees me fall apart.  I don’t care if I cry in public.  I may look pretty scary at times but when the worst happens it is scary.  It’s so much worse than scary.  With each terror moment I’ve had a little piece of me was chiseled away I think.

 

I didn’t even get to go to the hospital for Mary.  She was already on a cold metal slab in a dark lifeless mortuary when we found out.  How about that picture.  No one to hold her tight, to tell her it would be alright.  I see her face in my mind when the crash is happening.  Sometimes I’m in the truck as it’s coming at her.  Sometimes I’m sitting in her seat seeing what she saw, what I KNOW she saw.  How do I know?  There were skids marks left by her car.  If she could hit the break then she knew what was coming at her.  And I can’t get that vision out of my brain.  I don’t know if it will ever go away. 

 

Maybe if I write about it enough it will fade a little.  But it’s hard to write and cry.  I can’t see the screen.  Once I get past the terror on her face I can almost feel the pain, the twisting, breaking, crunching.  Stop, you say?  I wish I could. I wish I could.

 

 

Four Letter Words

 

Pain

Hurt

Love

Hope

Warm

Cold

Cozy

Dead

Life

Gone

Here

Tear

Left

June

Keep

Soul

Time

Ugly

 

Mary

Gobly Gook

Every morning I wake up to the thoughts below.  Every day I ask my self why.

 

I sit in my library and stare at the bathtub lined with Mary’s half full shampoo bottles.  I bake banana nut bread using her mixer and measuring glass.  I see pictures of her wearing the shoes I now don or the shirts that are hanging in my closet or hiding in her toy chest down stairs.  No matter what I use or wear of hers, no matter how long I stare at her picture, no matter if I could read her letters or emails from the past (which I can’t), it doesn’t ease the pain or make me feel any closer to her.  It just doesn’t help at all. 

 

She should be using, wearing, baking, playing, working, hiking, loving as she always did.  As an outsider to this journey before 3/31/09, I never realized how watching the rest of the world carry on with their day (as they should be doing) caused such searing heartache for those traveling this road that I’m now on.  It’s not jealously, not sadness, it’s almost pure hate.... hate that you get to continue life as it was and I have a hole in mine that no one can fix.  And it’s not even the “why me?” syndrome.  It’s more the “why NOT me?” question.  If horrible things can happen to “anyone” and all seem to happen to everyone else, then, why not me?  And now that it has, I hate myself for even visualizing the question that no one wants to ask.  This esoteric, existential, gobly gook of thoughts WON’T GO AWAY.  And for your sake, don’t tell me, god has a plan or there’s a reason for everything.  There’s only one reason – free will.

 

See you in the after life…….

I’m not the person I thought I was and I’m not the person I used to be

I don’t know who I’m turning into but it’s not what I need to see

Laughter doesn’t come very easily

Sadness covers the sun

Happiness is unattainable

Sorrow follows my every move

 

I do the things I have to do to complete a trip around the sun

 

It hurts.

It really hurts to see life carrying on without her

It’s his fault alone, he did the dirty deed

But blame does not produce the peace I want

And peace does not replace the life that’s gone

And life keeps going on and on

 

It hurts.

It’s a mad, vicious circle of time without restraints.

I have to eat, I have to pee, I have to suck in breath

I want it to stop and rewind so new choices can be made

 

This shock, this unadulterated fear

of what’s next keeps me in my cage

It has the prickly pines of terror sitting on my shoulders

ready to dig in

as each second of the day drips by

 

I may plan for the future but I hold no

truth in what I see so the actions don’t

really mean a thing

 

My mask starts to melt sometimes with the

tears that burn their way out

this mask of strength, a pseudonym,

a nom de plume for lassitude, cowardice, and humanity

 

Don’t judge me or pity me lest you walk a mile

in my shoes and

you don’t want to do that

Butterfly Bridges

Butterfly Bridges (for Tony)

 

It found your soul, your spirit calm, and lit upon your hand

Gently waving gossamer wings in an effervescent stance

It tried to take flight but could not leave, the wonder in your eyes like glue

You held your breath at the awesome sight watching its every move

Till I reached out and made a bridge joining our finger tips

 

You smiled at me as it marched across, an emissary on call

Our heads did touch, our mouths agape, hearts silently enthralled

It turned to look into our eyes as if to question our amazement

We did not understand back then, we only had a hint

Love did start with the bridge we made joining our finger tips

 

The bridge of love, it is steadfast

Even when it sways, it lasts

 

So on our way we made our lives, close by but separately

The ups and downs gave way to life, a lacking potpourri

Then one day, alone and sad, we saw each others face

We found ourselves back on that bridge, the lure of a warm embrace

You found my heart so long ago, with the touch of a finger tip.

 

What’s in a touch that lets love pass

Between two souls, its joy so vast

 

Butterfly kisses and fingertip bridges

All for the love of my life.

No good things

I'm sorry, but I don't care how many "good things" people think are happening since Mary left.  I don't care to know aobut them either.  I drop them all in a breath to have her back.  NOTHING good comes out of bad things.  They just look good because the only thing you can compare them to is the bad thing.  Yes, I see things I like happening but, God help me, if it's BECAUSE Mary's gone I'm going to be one pissed off, pistol packing momma, when I get to heaven.  (And that's a pretty big assumption feeling the way I do right now.).  Yes, I have a license to carry a concealed weapon.  Now I just need to find one.


We grasp at all kinds of straws to help understand what happened to Mary.  None help much at all but this is one of the defense mechanisms our minds create.  Maybe I've turned into a cockeyed pessimist but I don't see her in the clouds or in the flowers I planted for her or in the butterflies that float around.  I don't want to see her anywhere but right in front of me so I can grab on to her and never let her go.  That's where I see her, reaching for me, calling my name, asking her momma to help her, bring her back.  But I can't.



So, on to more organizing, more clean up, more things to do without Mary to help me.  She'll just watch from afar, ever so pissed off she can't help.


That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Distractions

So much has happened in three days yet it is all non-descript trivia compared to what a "holiday" weekend should be.  For me, all holidays are not much fun.  Accidents happen on holidays and I hate waiting for the inevitable when it may never happend, holiday after holiday.  But, there you have it.

I still had several unedited boxes from the house in NC sitting in the dining room that I decided I needed to go through so we could actually walk through the room without bogeying around them.  One was the "kitchen" box.  All Mary's cookbooks, nicknacks, utinsiles, cheese board, recipes, and just stuff that you collect when you have your own kitchen, were in that box.  Since I took the mircowave stand and put it in my kitchen I thought it only fitting to put up as many of her cookbooks as I could.  But it's just not the same....   The other box was just stuff that was around the house looking for a home so I put it in this box, pictures, candles, hats, gloves, calendars, postcards, her toolbox we gave her when she moved to UGA, and just more stuff that you collect just by living everyday.  I had to find a place for it.  

Downstairs I still had the box from her desk at work.  I've been making shelves from anything I can find (still making more) so I can organize all my stuff and Mary's things.  This box was sticking out in front of the sewing machine (the antique one I gave her for graduation) calling my name saying "please, help me find a place to rest" so I finally did.   Then there were the boxes and bags with all the sheets, blankets, pillow cases, and towels.  Some I've washed and put away, some I'm putting in the attic, saving for Julie.  Half of them were things I gave her, and now I have them back. I don't like boomerangs.  Once I give you something, I expect you to keep it.

I washed one small comforter and realized when I took it out of the washer that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have washed it.  The stuffing was all bunched up and wadded like lumpy mashed potatoes.  But after drying it the lumps flattened out.  

I signed up for a painting and drawing class with a friend of mine.  Every Wednesday after work we get to travel to another land and try to figure out what it looks like.  We were supposed to do this back in February but life got in the way. 


Got my guitar back from the fix-it man.  Now just need to find my old song book with all the music and chords from college.  I think Danny has it.   I set up my keyboard downstairs so Cindy and I can play it.  Gotta buy a book about how to teach yourself how to play for Cindy.  Then if she gets tired of practicing it will only have cost me $5 instead of $25 a half hour.


It's starting to get hard to look at Mary's pictures now.  They are all the same ones, over and over again.  I've got to find some new ones somewhere so it won't seem so much like time is not progressing.  It just hurts, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, not talking to her yet seeing her picture and clothes and books and everything that made up her life.  Sometimes I cry and cry and no tears come out.  When she was a baby and would get sick at Christmas time she would get so dehydrated that she had no tears.  


My counselor says I am not depressed.  Grieving creates a defense mechanism which is like a blanket or a quilt (remember the poem?).  It only lets reality through when I choose to look under it.  If I see too much I put it down and block out the pain.  I lift it only when I want to or need to.  So far it I haven't had the strength to lift it very much.  But it happens on days and nights like these when there are no distractions.  After I put away 3 boxes I got in my truck and went shopping at the thrift stores.  Bought lots of pretty tops and pants so I can't gain any weight back or I won't be able to fit into them and since I've spent all this money I'd better wear them for awhile.


I don't like to listen to the songs Mary and I liked anymore.  I'd play them in the truck going to work and coming home but now I can't.  I'm tired of crying to and from work.   I just want to get home as quickly as I can.  Have you ever driven somewhere on auto pilot?  Got to where you were going and had no recollection of the turns and stops you made other than knowing you made it safely?  I can't do auto pilot anymore when there are so many people on the road.  


Starting in October I have to work longer hours.   It's not getting back to "normal", it's more distraction.  I wonder how long I can distract myself.  I am working on finding money for the scholarship and things to raffle for Mary's party.  I don't want to do any of it.  I shouldn't have to do any of it.  I want to go back to the future and make some adjustments like in the movie.  Why can't movies be real?   The beers are wearing off so I'd better go to bed while I'm still tired.

HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEE

I'm feeling quite alone tonight, not sure why. The kids are here sleeping peacefully, actually everyone is sleeping except me. I started reading about J D Salinger and his books "Franny and Zooey" and "The Catcher in the Rye ". He was really in to Zen. AND.... he's still alive (at 90) fighting legal battles. He's got more energy than I do.

Everyday I see notices in the paper about other parents who have recently lost children. When I read about them I feel even lonelier and I'm not sure why. It's not that I want to be the only parent that's lost a child, and I don't want to be in a group of people all talking about my child while no one is listening because they are busy talking about their child (as they should be). I just wish I could understand what's in my head. And while I'm at my pity party, how do I reconcile the fact that in countries far away children are dying by the hour from hunger and disease and those parents don't really get a chance to sit around mourning (if the parents exist). They have to continue trying to find food for the remaining children. Have you ever been to a cemetery and seen 6 or 7 little, bitty, baby headstones all in a row from, say, the early 1900's? How in the world did that mother continue to live much less give birth to more and more children only to have them die, one after the other, year after year?

I get the feeling, especially at work, that I should be getting back to living and doing all the multitude of things I used to do. It's not that anyone is saying anything, it's just that I don't think I really ever realized how many emails I typed, questions I answered, projects I worked on, meetings I went to, queries I ran, problems I fixed, all at the same time. And it's not that I'm any great wizard at work, it's just that I AM TIRED of doing things that don't seem to matter to me anymore and there are so many freakin' things to do. They just keep piling up and I can't even get the ONE thing I'm working on finished. Then, of course, there is the fact that I'd much rather work on project for Mary. But even concentrating on those things is hard. What I want to do is sell everything, take the money, buy a 3 room house (kitchen, bath, and bedroom - necessities) and retire to do exactly what I want, when I want, where I want. I want to write but I need time (hours sometimes) to think. I want to paint, to draw, to sew, to play the guitar and piano. I know..... sounds like I want to do as much as I should be doing at work.

I'm really getting tired of my emotions always going up and down, loud and quiet, fast and slow. I know that chemicals in your brain control at lot of your emotions. Depression is an imbalance of these chemicals. Sometimes you're born with the imbalance, sometime situations create them and then they get back in balance. Regardless, I am not in control (me thinks) of the chemicals in my brain and it's pissing me off.

The hardships (?), tragedies (?), challenges (?) I've had in my life are NOTHING compared to what so many more people I know of have and are going through. And yet, people think that I am strong. Well, they are saaaaadly mistaken. I am the weak link in the chain. I want to snap and I don't know what's stopping me. I don't get any joy anymore from reading those cute little idiom's, quips, cliche's in those cute little books I used to read. All those things I'm doing for Mary I shouldn't be and all the things at work I should be doing, I'm not. I can't even finish a poem anymore. They are all incomplete thoughts that need more time or at least clairty. Just a bunch of garbled, jumbled words and feelings that are real but undefined. "Somebody help this boy".

*****************

I can see you laughing

I can see you smile

I can see you running down a country mile

I can love you forever in my heart and soul

I can see you talking in my video's

I play them when I’m when I’m anxious

When I need some peace and rest

When my mind is all a jumble and my spirit’s put to test

And I live for the day when life will become.......

*************************

I’ve cried all my tears in wrapped up in my fears

My soul (heart) is broken forever

I can’t control what god only knows is going to happen tomorrow

So I sing for my life and I dance for my pay

And I hold you so close for another day

The world rushes on and then we are gone

Rockin' On

I’ve been going through our attic in a continuing effort to de-clutter our house. I brought down all the baby “things” of mine and Julie’s that we were saving for Mary and Tony. Then put them together and took them to GoodWill. Some things hurt more to keep than others especially when the future for them has been erased.

I remember sitting on my mother’s lap in the kitchen of our home in south Georgia. It was early, early morning and she always sat looking out the window sipping a cup of coffee. I’d wake up to find her not beside me and run to the kitchen and hop in her lap laying my head on her chest. She would put her arm around me and hold me tight rocking back and forth, with coffee cup still in hand. It was so very peaceful as only a child can know peace. No harm could come in the arms of my mother.

But at some point a mother has to let go to ensure the success and well being of the child she raised. They have to learn their lessons on their own. Then, I’m told, you enter into the “empty nest syndrome”. I haven’t gotten there yet which means I haven’t let go. Woe to my poor children! The problem with adult children is they get to talk smack to you and you can’t spank them. At least I can’t, they’re all bigger than I am. But now I can stick my lip out and they feel badly. Switching places has it ups!

Sunday night was better than Saturday night. I didn’t sleep on the sofa. But Monday brought so many things I wanted to do for Mary’s party that I hardly had time to actually work. I didn’t have time to think about the hurt. I didn’t have time to hardly breathe. I find if I keep ignoring myself I will explode at some point, kind of like a geyser. Just have to figure out how to control the release valve.

Rockin’ On

Rockin’ on....Rockin’ on down this long dark road...Rockin’ on.
Rockin’ strong....Holdin’ tight so I don’t explode...Rockin’ strong

Greatly obsessed, distressed, depressed, maybe even a little possessed
But still.... Rockin’ on

I can’t see the light through the cloudy skies
thunder booms and the lightning blinds
but when I rock my soul I get by.....Rockin’ on

Rockin’ on...Rockin’ on over rivers that drown.....Rockin’ on
Rockin’ slow....time’s too fast, memories shut down…Rockin’ fast

Rockin’ on.....Rockin’ across fields barren and bleak....Rockin’ on
Rockin hard....only to find my life is hide and seek......Rockin’ on

I can’t see the light through the cloudy skies
thunder booms and the lightning blinds
but when I rock my soul I get by.....Rockin’ on

Greatly obsessed, distressed, depressed, maybe even a little possessed
But still….. Rockin’ on