In the wee, dark, hours of early morning, she wipes away her nightly tears, paints on a smile, and gathers her little clan around her. With the love only a mother can give or even fathom, she feeds, clothes, and readies them, to learn, to grow, and to become men unlike their father. With the last tattered bits of hope, she sends them off to the teachers and prays feebly but passionately, for their salvation from a life such as hers. Each son smiling and oblivious to her distress, let’s her hold and kiss them, wriggling and giggling, for a moment. Then they are gone, skipping over hill and heather. laughing and singing along.

She watches listening for one last bit of tune or laughter, then closes the door. Her soft, and beautiful forehead resting against the rough hewn door she begins the first of the days many cries. Sobs rack her fragile body like waves building before the storm. The demons and angels wage their daily battle for her soul as she crawls into the safety and meager comfort of her bed. She will cry for hours, beg for mercy, and release from her horrible loneliness. She will curse and scream, blame herself, not others, for her pain, her utter despair.

In the waning hours of the afternoon, she stumbles to the empty cupboards. A growing lump of despair, and terror, rising in her throat, she gathers what meager crumbs and morsels remain. With the skill and love that only a mother can know, she prepares her son’s their tiny feast. A shout and a crash and they tumble into their simple home and rush to the table. With the abandon and joy only a child can know, they clap and rejoice at their good fortune, devouring her efforts as if they were fit for a king. The tiniest of smiles, from that deep, inexhaustible well of motherly love, flickers and dances on and off her face. Her eyes fill with tears and pride at her brood, such mighty young warriors she hopes will conquer the cruel world that has beaten her down so fiercely. She stands ever so slightly taller, and even the demons stop to marvel. They have seen Charlemagne, Caeser, Attila and barbarians aplenty, but this...this frail, humble, threadbare, creature fights harder, and longer, than all of them together. The angels smile, tears in their own eyes, and whisper softly...”Only a mother can know!”

#mothers #onlyamothercanknow

I want to tell you everything will be okay,

Or “this too shall pass”.

I want to wipe away your tears and pain,

Or at least ease it a little.

But I am just as broken, and lost as you,

And every word tastes bitter,

Useless, and arrogant.

Still, I cry for you, pray for you.

I hold out hope for peace, and love.

For you.

For me.

For us.

#tearsandpain #forus

Do not open your mouth,

If you are going to say the usual things.

Do not smile and nod,

As if everything will get better soon.

Do not hold my hand and pat my back,

With “concern”, “sympathy”, and “Love”.

I already tell myself the usual lies,

I don’t need you to verify them.

Just hold me in your heart,

Love me,

Wait.

#theusuallies #loveme #endinglove

One touch and my world fell apart. A second touch threw every belief into chaos. That final touch burned every bridge behind me. The loss of that touch, and I stand alone.

Standing at my window I stare blankly out at a world so foreign, unappealing, and unavailable, I struggle to breathe. I long for normalcy but the smell of my burnt bridges puts paid to that dream. My body and soul battle for supremacy and leave me paralyzed, unable to move in the only direction possible...forward. Fear, anger, despair, desire, happiness, regret, and shame, all tumble inside me like the laundry in the dryer. I cannot even cry, the last tears having dried on my cheeks days ago. What have I done? Why did I allow it? Why did they abandon me to this anguish and darkness? How do I go on? How do I even breathe? Will no one save me? Even heaven seems silent and I cringe at my lack of faith, my lack of believing. One more touch. Please, one more touch. Sooth my savage soul, ease my pain, give me just one more moment of happiness, one more moment of blissful ignorance, peace.

I leave the window to curl into a ball under my blanket and beg God not to forsake me. I cannot beg for forgiveness as I still long for another touch no matter the cost. I long for the once dreaded sounds of the garage door, kitchen timer, and ball games. I curse the past, the present, and now even the future. I beg the darkness to swallow me, protect me, as if that would end my pain somehow. Why? What did I do so wrong? What did I do to deserve such desolation? Come tomorrow! Come end this terrible day. Come and bring Hope with you. Please, Please, Please, bring Hope. I will cling to the changing of the day and pray for Hope.

(Till then, the rest of you can go to Hell—

--and wait for me to join you soon enough!)

Sorry! NO! Not sorry! Oh God help me!

#thetouch #despair #lostandalone #sorrynotsorry

There was that time I locked horns with my cousin Sheila at the annual family reunion. It was midnight as I recall, and I could not sleep so I snuck out of my cabin and into the camp kitchen. I was just finishing making some toast in the oldest and largest toaster I had ever seen, when Sheila’s boyfriend came in. I was startled and a little embarrassed, standing there in my far too revealing gown. I felt my face flush, and tried no to stare when I realized he was wearing even less than me. He was breathtakingly gorgeous and I had already imagined what it would be like to have him kiss me. OK, so maybe I had imagined a bit more than that. My heart skipped a beat when he came to stand next to me at the toaster and I moved aside to let him make his toast. Instead he leaned in and kissed me! The intensity and suddenness of it buckled my knees. He held me up and kissed me again, this time longer and much....Oh will you look at the clock! I am so late for my dentist appointment! Bye! See you later.

There are moments in life that you immediately know will change everything: Forever. The strange thing is that these moments are rarely gigantic things that signal their approach. No, it is usually a tiny little thing, sneaking up on you that you never even noticed, much less considered a possibility. That unnoticeable and unrepaired rip in the carpet at the top of the stairs…a broken collarbone, three cracked ribs, and a ruptured spleen!

Some changes are shocking, while others are pleasant and welcomed. The sudden arrival of in-laws, or the visit of a friend from across the seas. A summer shower popping up during an unpleasantly hot run. Flowers appearing in a long forgotten and neglected corner of the yard. That first kiss and that first love. Music in general.

Then there are those changes that are both shocking, and wonderful. A mixture of delight tinged with danger or worry. A kiss, a touch, a lover’s embrace. Those strange and marvelous, though often treacherous teenage changes. A body growing into something to be desired, attained, or sadly, taken. Sex in general.

Each change is just as important and necessary as the last, although sometimes we cannot see just how at that moment. A growing, strange new body that attracts a lover, then a partner, and leads to a wonderful new life of experiences and pleasures. That same body that draws an unwanted touch, violation, and such unbelievable devastation. The rediscovery of that body with another who affirms that purity still exists and value is deeper than the violator’s invasion. Just like the forest after a fire, tiny blooms of new growth hopefully, resolutely, spring up to reclaim the dark, dusty slopes.

Little things. I now believe what they always told me: Every cloud has a silver lining; you just have to find it. I will warn you, that is quite often not such an easy trick, and even more often, the lining is so very tiny. In fact, sometimes it isn’t silver at all, but silver-plated, pot metal. Take it anyway, tuck it away, and soon you will be surprised to find that you have a full set of gorgeous silverware! Not so bad after all, I believe.

You may consider this missive as clichéd, overly hopeful, and naïve, and perhaps you are correct, but I choose to hope. Why? Because I gave up hope once, not so long ago, and that life was too dark and painful, so I searched for and found a small grain of hope and planted it again. I have not won the lottery – Yet. Nor have I found “true happiness” or “true love” (whatever that is?) – Yet. I haven't stopped losing, hurting, or feeling distraught. What I have done is to make peace with my life so far, and claimed hope as a companion through the coming years.

I own my pain, disasters, sins, and mistakes. I claim victory over my damaged, violated, heart, and body, and refuse to cower in the darkness any longer. When I stand naked before my mirror, I see a warrior, covered in scars to be sure, but resolute, confident, a little sad sometimes, but always ready to put my armor on and face whatever may come my way. Good or Bad, I will make the best of my life. (Though I may still curl up and cry myself to sleep from time to time. I earned that at least, after all.)

#anewdeclarationofhope #backtoliving #littlethings

I’m standing at the window again. Today there are no passers-by to make fun of or despise, instead the wind and rain lash the house. When I was a child days like this were my favourite and I would climb into bed and curl up with a book. On some days I would run out into the rain and dance around the yard practically naked, grinning and giggling wildly. The cool rain hitting the hot earth created a steam that smelled so wonderful, natural, and comforting. Steam would rise from the ground, and that warmth balanced by the coolness of the rain always sent me into a state of euphoria. When it ended, the sun would slowly dry things up, and birds would sing again as they pounced on insects and worms that had come out for warmth. I would stand naked as mother would towel me off, smiling at my happiness and abandon. Wrapped in the moist towel I would run up the polished wooden stairs to my room and curl up in bed, hugging my legs to my chest, savoring every moment of happiness. Inevitably, I would fall asleep, and dream of so many wondrous things and places. Today my heart aches with the memories.

I cannot explain how or why, but I am now dancing around the backyard, naked as the day I was born. The rain feels amazingly the same, so familiar in the way it tightens my skin, and makes me tingle. I know it isn’t really changing things, but it feels like it is washing away all my cares and worries. I grin that same silly grin, and giggle with glee. Who cares if the neighbors see and who cares what they say. I twirl and dance then plop down into a large puddle in the corner of the yard, laughing and strangely, crying at the same time. I close my eyes and imagine the rain cleansing me. When the rain slows, I get to my feet, and walk back inside. Mother isn’t there to towel me off, so I leave a trail of wet footprints all the way to the shower.

Curled up in my bed, tight in a blanket, I smile wistfully and drift off to sleep. Dreams of freedom, happiness, and rainbows never come. Instead, visions of loss, sadness, betrayal, and fear, fill my restless sleep.

I have learned to take the bad with the smallest good and carry on. They’ll talk about my “shameful escapade” at the pool, and whisper as I go by about how shameful and terrible I am. Sure, it will hurt, but at least I’ll have this memory of my delightful dancing to soothe it a bit. To hell with the bitchy, pompous, gossips. I’ll never be one of them, and finally, I am OK with that. Sort of.

You are so talented!

You can do much better!

Your scores are phenomenal!

Why don’t you live up to your potential?

Why don’t you care about your grades?

Can you see the chalkboard?

Can you hear the teachers?

Are you being bullied?

(yes, by you.)

What was that?

(nothing.)

Speak up, Be strong!

What can we do?

What do you want?

.......

(FRIENDS.)

#friends #therealimportantstuff #needs

I watched a show about midges. What a strange life. Laid as eggs, they float to the bottom of the lake, hatch, burrow into the mud and wait for the perfect temprerature to arrive then surface ten days after that. They fly around and mate as adults for four or five days die and fall into the lake as fish food. I should have been a midge considering the happiest, most oblivious time of my life was pre-adulthood, and five days of wild, judgement free sex, then feeding the fishes? Perfect!

#midges #shouldabeenamidge #finallyalighternote