Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Of Iron

At the end, I gave it less than a twenty percent chance. Less than the chance of rain the following day. Of your phone going to voicemail when I call. The night of wonderful conversation, great food and shared love. A bright percent sign hung around us in the air like snow on Christmas. Facing the future in a moment. Recklessly throwing your life forward. Happy, excited, grateful and laughing. Goodnight, sweet moon, hold us tight.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

On Sunday


The sun streams through my kitchen window, hugging my wood floor with warmth. The smell of the carrot cake I am cooking fills the air and my house plants, that prefer my company to the open air outdoors, stretch towards the backdoor.

Banishing sorrow like shadows, the sun of this spring day lifts my sprits with a gentle acceptance. It is not the acceptance of defeat or helplessness. It is the trust that even when bad things happen, horrible things; the sun still comes and winter carries forever the promise of spring.

Glancing to my living room window from my computer desk, I see a rainstorm moving over the roof of the houses across the way. I wonder if I was to walk outside, if I might catch the faint smell of rain.

The scent of cinnamon and carrots and baking, which is a little electric, fills each breath. Soon, my husband will return from his adventures, carrying my daughter and the dog that didn't mind waiting in the car. I can't help but watch the window for their arrival.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Of Thursdays

In which the week nearly ends.

It was a room temperature caramel macchiato that took me an entire day to drink. Followed by the Healthy Choice pasta I nuked for a quick lunch at my computer desk while I managed my department. My eyes were burning, my head tight around the temples and I knew, oh I knew, I need to call it early tonight. I need a recharge before I reuse.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

On Disconnect

'Deserve ain't got nothing to do with it."


Oh blog. I wish I could tell you everything. I wish I could lay it all out there. It would be pleasant, I think, for a few. To hand off this weight, shift it to someone else's shoulder. That's one of the hardest parts, I think. I get so angry because I feel so helpless. I'm seven kinds of furious that the world's gone crazy.

Ultimately pointless and helpless. Verging on the point of a pity post again. Wonder how that keeps slipping in here.

Turned on music. Sometimes that helps to write. Other times, a nifty quote at the header can lead the way to deeper places. A picture on occasion will ring a starting bell and off I go. None of that's helping today.

It's a vast rolling sea, turning with a storm. I'm standing on a cliff in a nice, waist length coat watching lightening strike the waves.

I'm grasping straws here. I'm already on the ride.

And there it is. My elusive point.


It'll be ok blog, it honestly will. Some days are harder than others and small things tax you for their time in the lime light. Get it all out of your system now. Cause tomorrow, baby, there's going to be sun.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Of Things Small


Some days have highlights.

I think that most will head to the great unknown with memories of a wedding day, mixed with memories of kids, grandkids, dances, dates, watching the rain storm or roasting marshmallows over a fire.

These aren't the kind of highlights I'm talking about. I'm talking about that flash bulb memory. The one that ignites in you a feeling of awe and comfort. The tiny moment in your day that feels a lot like a visual hug meant only for you.

I'm talking about finding a mushroom in my blackberry plant. The blackberry plant I'm growing in a massive pot inside my kitchen because I was so excited to plant, I did so in my kitchen, weather be damned. I'm not going to lie. I thought it was a piece of trash at first and it wasn't until I went to pluck it off did I, with growing excitement, realize it was indeed the beginnings of what I can only hope is a mushroom forest!

Grow little guy, grow!

Sunday, March 20, 2011

In Support

I waited till it was light out to write this. I waited till my mood was magnesium bright. What I'm trying to write is hard and that's an understatement. If I tried to start this when I was upset, I would break down in to tears before ever getting to the second sentence.

I don't know anyone else out there that has a family member with chronic health problems - with debilitating issues that overshadow everything else. I'm sure if I did, they would agree that its stressful and lonely and exhausting. Maybe they look at other families that don't have these problems with the same wistful feeling I do sometimes. Can't be sure.

I feel like I live in two circles. My small family of myself, Andrew and Aida comprise the inner circle and it's glorious. No stress, no worries. We count our blessings until they are too numerous to count further. The inner circle becomes more amazing when you consider it was created despite of the circle that surrounds it. It's like an oasis in a wasteland or more accurately, a miracle in a curse. That second circle, the one that can't touch but surrounds my family is the circle that is my mom's illness.

I remember I was on Facebook one day, looking through my cousins family vacation. The strangest feeling came over me. A similar feeling arrests me every time someone posts about the support they are given by their moms. It is a feeling of nostalgia. Back right when I started college. Back before things began to slip away at a crawling death speed. It started with bad days once in a few months. Bad weeks fell in to bad months. Months in to years that eat away hope and normality. Calls that should have sent my heart stopping throw me instead in to numb expectancy. "Mom's in the hospital...again."

I've given up on hope that some doctor some where will give us that magical answer we had held out for years ago. That there would be some pill or treatment that would stop the destruction of my mom. The therapies hold out the lies that are a few good days. For an hour, I see my mom, smiling and seemingly capable and I hold on to these memories. I try to use them to wash away the building tide. My mom isn't the person that cries all the time and shakes and looks at you without seeing you. My mom isn't the one that gets so upset she can't string two thoughts together because there was a missed call from her office. My mom, my real mom, is the one that reads Aida stories and offers to help me around the house, even though I know that maybe in an hour or a day or a moment, she will be gone again.

I marvel at her strength. Maybe in her position I couldn't fight as long as she has. My siblings comfort her saying over and over, once this new medicine.. once we get this done... we'll email the doctor, ask about this... it's an empty hope that we only believe on our best days anymore.

I'm crying and I told myself I'd stop if I couldn't write this detached because I endanger my writing with self pity and that's not what I want.