Standing Still at the Speed of Light
Writing, true life, random facts and fiction
I no longer fit.
Every title
Every category
you’ve ever given me
no longer applies
by your terms.
In the same breath
to cross my lips
would be
thank you fuck you
It’s been exhausting to
Please
Defy
You –
much is met with indifference
Horror
Admiration
I shrank to meet your comfort
I bloomed for your
Entertainment
I died a thousand times
To be remade in desired image
Ignored
Bled dry
Imprisoned by Worship
Impaled by disdain
I no longer fit
I will grow
I will learn
Defined
by my own Terms
Goodbye sweet spirit.
We knew each other such a long time. Much mutual admiration for such hard roads travelled. We never really knew each other deeply, I was too young and frightened to invest, I owed you more.
Your art was moving, and spoke of the depth that travelled though you despite all of the challenges that held you under.
You inspired me. I’m not sure if I ever told you. I wish I had. You told me how much you loved Lily and loved hearing/ seeing her growing. I am grateful for this for reasons more personal and complex and that just belong to us ❤️.
The hardest part of this journey for you is done , the broken body that held your determined fiery spirit is now at rest. The chains that held you back are released, you are whole and free.
Thank you my friend, for your compassion, interest and inclusion. Forgive me my failings here, you really do inspire me. The beauty you witnessed and created with pencil to paper will always be a reminder of the big space you filled.
Tonite I look at the setting sun. On my exhale are the prayers for your peace, release and safety in the Mother’s Arms.
I hope in Transition my friend you hear and feel what I mistakenly did not adequately say in life.
Blessed Be Dear Soul. I look forward to the time we break bread together again ❤️
How do we grieve?
I have asked this question once before, when faced with grieving a friendship.
Grieving the living is hard, death has a finality to it, that makes the loss feel different.
How do we grieve those who are at the entrance to the bridge to Summer land? Death not yet here but looming.
How do we grieve the living, when they go on?
How do we grieve the losses in a world not yet ready to come together?
How do we grieve when it feels so lonely, by distance and by heart?
How do we grieve when it feels the losses continue to mount?
How do we grieve when nothing feels right?
How do we grieve when there is nothing left?
We grieve in the moment because sometimes that is all there is. Someday fond remembrances will come. Some day to recall the face will not sting. Some day the sound of the person’s name will not cut. Some day the good that was, will fill the hollow that was left at the end.
This will be how we grieve, howling, silent, still, shaking, until we get to the other side.
Today I broke.
It’s been along time coming, this is beyond the ‘ugly’ cry. This was pure unadulterated rage and disappointment.
Curled up in the corner of the tub, hot water running over me, mixing with the hot tears streaming down my face. The rhythm from the water providing a background to the guttural howl ripping through my throat
Today I can’t. Yet I have to.
Dangled carrot of some normality my brain is refusing, for fear of let down
Trying to reconcile how we treat each other vs the good game most of us talk
Crushed by the weight of constant uncertainty, distrust, disappointment
The chronic pain I thought I had a handle on, has been chipping away at my ability to do my self care, my life
Screaming into the void
Feeling like I’m saying the same thing over and over, on deafness it falls
Today wrap me in softness, sit with me, allow me to cry, allow me to rage, allow me to hurt and not feel guilty for it.
I’m not asking for a fix, I’m not wanting pity.
I’m not wanting to hear it will get better
I don’t want to hear how strong I am.
Today I’m asking to be heard, loved, validated as is. Because today I’m not ok.
You would have been 80 tomorrow. Mother’s Day was yesterday. It has been 36 years.
This is my background noise. Grief, a longing for something I may never have had. The forefront is just a mass of confusion. One I would like to talk to you about.
I thought I had an idea of who I was. I thought I knew the trajectory I was on. And as I sit here, in the ‘day between’ reminders, the month before the 37th anniversary of loss, all I can think is I don’t know.
I don’t know what comes next
I don’t know if I will ever be rid of pain
I don’t know what will happen with my career
I don’t know where I am going
I don’t know if I am parenting adequately
I don’t know if I can heal some of these old wounds
I don’t know who I am
The picture I created in my heart and mind of what I would be when I passed ‘the date’ (you know, the one where I finally became my own adult, the one where I out lived you)
It lasted for a brief time.
I was in adventure mode- I felt strong, unlimited, interesting, amused.
And as fast as that fire was lit- poof- it was dampened
Fear? Pushback? Fall prey to old patterns? Punishment?
I blurred my edges to try to fit. I did not know how to temper my excitement at feeling the most like me I had ever felt. So I apologized. I blurred. I asked. I apologized some more- but it was empty, I had gotten too blurry to matter. I had created and allowed this.
To try to change, I have stripped bare my self- open to examination, picking through. There are more questions than answers. What will it take to sharpen my edges?
This is what I would ask you. I would ask you if you ever felt this? Would you have a story for me? A lesson or example to share. Would you tell me to find my muchness? This phantom conversation plays in the background, like a wish within the chaos.
Is this aging? Is this emerging? Is this crazy? Is this healing?
It is transforming, to what?
I don’t know
A rush of emotion today. I first became a mom almost 28 years ago-
I made one of the best and hardest decisions of my life. That child has grown to a fine man, and I am forever grateful to the Mom I chose for him, she is the template I strive to emulate.
13 years ago, the little bean in my belly was months away from being born, and today my gratitude for the beautiful soul that chose me only grows. There’s been challenges, mistakes, adventures, laughter and frustrations but all of it with love.
36 years ago, the two women who raised me, were lost to me. My Mom and my Nan went to summerland when I was 12, but I can still recall smells, touches, snippets of wisdom and silliness ( although the true sound of the voices are but phantoms). My Nan’s wisdom and curiosity reside in my heart and soul. My Mom’s love and humour I imagine are woven into my life’s armour.
There have been women in my life who have mothered me gently, who have mothered me firmly and offered their wisdom, guidance and love. I hold much gratitude for all of them.
Today is a mix of joy and grief. The intensity of love. ❤️
“But what is grief if not love persevering?” – Vision
We are born of love. Love is our Mother – Rumi
We all have something that we are terrified of. Something that we dread, that we push from our minds, that lays in wait in the dark places.
Sometimes it’s rational fears, sometimes it may appear to be irrational. Sometimes it’s a rational fear that has grown so large it can’t be contained to an ‘appropriate’ size.
I know I’m not the only one struggling. It’s getting harder to speak up because it seems there is no space. Everyone has something. We are all so starved to be heard, validated and soothed. Yet it seems there is very few to listen.
But here I sit in the predawn hours wrestling some of my very specific monsters.
Parts of my career are in flux.
The part where I do not work for myself has me shaken and insecure about my abilities due to ‘ratings on a score card’, the cold devalued feeling that my contributions are now subpar. The removal of any feeling of team. No human emotional considerations, conversations or care.
I wrestle with how my body is not able to tolerate the physical exertion of my career ( where I do work for myself in service of others) to the extent I used to be able to work.
I am still capable, but where my comfort number was 6 it’s now 3-4.
Constant pain to varying degrees.
This is coupled with trying to figure out other parts of my life, relationships with others and myself. I am turned inside out. My contents scattered. My identity wrapped in questions. The assurance I used to get from what I thought I knew, what I thought I was…… no longer valid. Detached
Is this the darkest part of the journey? ( at least until death?) and who is going to come out the other side? Who will shine the light during my dark dismantling?
All the soul wants is to be seen
All the soul wants is to be heard
All the soul wants is to matter
My wounds are such, that when I see them reflected in you, my response is one to want to heal you. To shelter you and let you know there is better.
My desire for connection and the mutual exploration of the deep does not fit.
I am to be taken in doses, as I see I am too much, or is it not enough?
I am told my need to help is not normal, by some even unwelcome- no matter the intent.
Do we not all have the desire to help each other? To care for and nourish each other?
To bathe the wounds in kindness, love and acceptance?
I do not understand why I don’t fit here.
Have you ever been nervous? Not that little bit of jittery catch my breath kind of nervous, but the kind that parallels anxiety so deeply you don’t know if you’re experiencing exhilaration or just an abject ripping apart of your heart and soul.
Every year as my birthday rolls around, this seems to be the overwhelming feeling growing as each year passes.
I try to distract myself with people, places, activities.
But Covid has seen to the fact that I don’t have my distractions, the shut down not only of the world at large, but of peoples minds and hearts because they’re overwhelmed, can at times make it feel like I’m adrift calling out to empty echoes.
I don’t say this for pity, I say this is fact. We are all on survival and I am not special.
Most think that each birthday I have lived should be a victory lap, for the cycles I have tried to break, for making it to an age that I hadn’t really pictured.
I do see each year as a gift, a gift of time with my family, a gift of time to be able to have purpose in the world, to do good things, to help people as best as I can.
But this year, this godforsaken year has been so hard. So many right things to be trying to do, Politic, health and relationship building. Trying to adapt and adjust my own career to what comes next, what I’ll find fulfillment with, where I’ll find my spark.
And today as I sit and look out at the blue sky, and try to fill the landscape of my day with something to make my heart happy, all I can really feel is exhaustion with the underlying electric current of nervousness.
I’m not sure what comes next, I really don’t think anybody is. I just don’t want to lose my drive to get there. Give in to the pain my body feels as I’m trying to coax it to strength and flexibility. Give in to the high anxiety I have been battling. To keep to the positive things I’m trying to do. Who do I want to be, where will I be and who will be with me, this next turn of the wheel? The dogs that are my coffee dates this morning hold no answers.
These are the thoughts I have over coffee before my day begins, I will go to nature, I will touch the ground, I will be thankful for what I have, and remind myself of the joy of curiosity of what’s to come.
Standing Still at the Speed of Light 