Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I can't.
Though I want to.
I long to.
But I won't.
All because I am not sure.

What do I do?
Please tell me.
Please help me.

Mom, I wish I could ask you.
Would you know what to tell me?
You would because you love me.
That is all I need right now.

Where do I go when nothing feels right?
How do I decide what is best?
Tell me Mom because I'm hurting right now.
Help me make these jumbled thoughts into good decisions.

Hug me Mom because I need it now.
More than anything I need your hug.
Tell me it will be okay and let me
Lay my head on your shoulder.

I can smell you and see your smile.

Dear Mom,
I need you.
Right now.
I wish you were here.

I really need you.
I really miss you.

My heart hurts mom.
It really hurts.

When Is It Okay To Be Me?

If you ask me how many lives I've lived I couldn't exactly tell you. There are so many.
I've lived the childhood of great adventure.
And the one of immense hurt.
I have been a teenager and done all of those teenage things.
Yet I grew up rather quickly. Maybe I was always older...
My early twenties presented me with death and love.
Both brought their own lessons.
I learned that I could feel more deeply and believe what my heart lead to
I also learned that I could lose what I loved the most in the world
And to not take things for granted.
My thirties brought children and true love was discovered.
Nothing ever rocked my world stronger than the two little girls God put me in charge of...
Yet nothing could ever have prepared me for the heartache it takes to mother those two.
I love them. I dislike them. I am not sure I am doing things right. Yet I know I will not stop being their mom. That is my purpose in life.
Now into my forties I wonder - my kids are turning out okay. They have issues and please school me on any who do not. I have issues and I work them out with several outlets of help because...motheringisfuckinghard.
I have also discovered that I just might want a change of life. You know, the kind that makes you, well you.
I am a nomad. I like quiet. I want silence.I want to be the substance in my girls lives. I want to teach them to be strong, smart, independent, motivated, confident, and self-reliant.
Now - in order to do that I must be that. Isn't it time to finally be me?
The me that I have wanted for so long yet put off.
For what?
Why?
I won't make excuses or reason. I will simply say, I have worked far too hard to make my family into what it is right now. I won't quit being strong for them.
I just wonder, when is it okay to be me?

Life

Life is fleeting, is it not?

Each moment is a step closer to death. The profoundness of that statement haunts me.

There is a book I am reading where they young lady uses a daily mantra to remind herself to be present. She says “I am getting older. My body is decomposing. I am closer to the end”. She also happens to be suffering from leukemia.

Our minds carry tremendous power over us. Oftentimes a mind can create any sort of torment or illness built solely on what it is fed. If a daily mantra of this sort, however present it may make us feel, imparted on our bodies the nearness to death would the body then find a more efficient way to greet death? Similarly, if we fear death daily would that bring death ever closer? Are either of those actual living?

Life is heartbreaking.

Have you ever held the hand of someone you love dearly as they die? I have. 

I watched my mom’s soul rise leaving only a shell behind. Our bodies, as amazing and wonderful as they are, quite simply are hollow vessels that house our spirits.

Death changes you. It changes everything.

The life prior to the death of someone you love ceases and a different one begins.

When my mom died, my circle was broken. My heart was broken, shattered like old glass.

It was empty, I was hollow.

I think about my granny, she is gone and her home will no longer be the place we go home to; that constant no longer exists. Clothes hanging on the line, cedar Christmas trees, her sweetness so gently upon us; none of that will ever be again. The place where my roots were planted will all be dug up and gone.

It makes me sad.

Life is beautiful.
* Looking at sunlight as it streams through the window onto the rug, tiny dust particles floating in the air like fairies in a forest.
* Having my child look up at me with eyes that give me a glimpse all the way through to their souls, their innocence, it takes my breath.
* Walking through a mountain forest on a crisp morning, smelling the laurel and pine, listening to the rustling of some small creature, and a soft breeze breathing a winding path through the leaves.
* Sitting around a fire with people who mean the world to me as love and friendship floats around us like the smoke.
* The youngness I feel whenever I am with my sister – we won’t ever grow old.
* Standing at the ocean with the waves moving sand beneath my feet reflecting on how infinitesimal we are in the universe yet feeling the very wonder of nature as it moves around me.
* Watching the goodness of people in this world and how it overtakes any part of the unkind or hate.
So much beauty...

      
Life is a story.

We are telling our story with each breath and each minute we are here; creating a novel with well-worn pages of who we are. Some lines highlighted while others are too difficult to read; yet we do. Words are written with love, anger, shame, fear, wonder, and tears. Each page filled with notes, edit marks, eraser dust, stains, and illustrations of every single moment of our existence.

I want my book to be beautiful.

When you read it, I want you to understand my every emotion, feel the weight of my tears, and allow the lightness of my smile to linger upon you like a butterfly.