Convergence

Star Friends

 

They converged on my humble abode with dark roast coffee laced with cream, two packets of Sweet and Low and birthday wishes. There was birthday cake, candles and paper plates bearing the face of a goofy faced Easter Bunny. After all it is that time of the year.  That of renewal, and the promise of springtime. One of them apologized for the plates, but I told her they were perfect. One of them brought her children. Two little people that we placed all of our focus on and laughed uproariously at.

I talked to the littles about my broken ankle that had been rebuilt by surgeons and even showed them the secret window that had been sawed into my cast. The youngest one touched my skin and asked, ‘can you feel that?” I stated, “yes I can, and I can even wiggle my toes.” He giggled from the bottom of his toes, which made me do the same. My sweet friends sang to me and fed me chocolate cake drizzled with caramel (my very favorite by the way).

My five friends did their best to take care of me. Whether it was with cake, coffee, pulling laundry from the dryer, sweeping my kitchen floor or getting me a glass of water. After they left I raised my voice to God, telling Him how blessed I know my life is. I felt joy. Not only for them, but for my children and an ex-husband that I will always have a connection with. For my mother, my sister, my brother in law, my friends and all of the ‘other’ children I’ve come to love in the last 46 years of my life.

Life is good when you realize that we must strive for joy, not happiness. Happiness is fleeting. Only joy stays with us forever. A semi-famous writer told me that, and I do believe he is right.

46 years on this planet and I pray for 46 more. As long as I’m not peeing in plants. If I start doing that, take me in the backyard behind the garage and put me down.

Thank you to my five friends and the two littles. You all made my birthday.

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The Divine Truth on Guilt and Triggers

chuvsto-viny

Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element. –Audrey Niffenegger

Trigger happy, gun shy, and a horse named Trigger. I always thought my triggers for addiction were shame, boredom, sadness, and a host of others that aren’t coming to mind as I write this post. Turns out my trigger, my worst damn enemy, was plain old guilt. For my past, present and future. I keep trying to squash it, with humor, food and booze. I keep failing, miserably.  Then, everything turns around. I try to control it with healthy eating habits, exercise and abstaining from alcohol. Fuck not being humorous. Being a sarcastic shithead is my forte!

The truth didn’t come easily. Lessons freshly learned, no matter how important they are, will piss us right the hell off. As the dust settles in our hearts, we become comfortable with the truth. That lie you’ve been telling yourself, will become your saving grace. My moment came, in a confrontational argument with my Adam Boy.

Mom, sometimes I think you wish you didn’t have me.

Son, that is not true. You and your sister are the best things I ever created. Better than any story I could write. Any food over-eaten or drunken bender I’ve been on.  You are of my heart. My soul. I would die for you.

I gave my children the strength to speak out. I never wanted them to be afraid of the repercussions. To feel guilt or shame. I wanted them to know that I loved them even when they were confronting me about my shortcomings. Call me on my shit for the love of God, so I’ll stop being a dick!!!! My son did that. Dear God, I know he’s going to be a great lawyer some day!

Roger Darling left Adam and me outside so we could argue. I kept looking at the back door, feeling, guilty. Guilty because I was talking to my son and not hanging out with him. Guilty because I hadn’t finished the upload of Meggie’s wedding photos on my flickr account. Guilty because I hadn’t scrubbed the bathtub for two weeks. Guilty for not doing the fucking dishes after dinner. Guilty because I don’t act like a typical grown up.

Guilty, guilty, guilty. Blah, blah, fucking blah!

I believe in the Divine. That there are powers bigger than ourselves at play. We have epiphanies and revelations. Moments of clarity, that speak volumes without one word being exchanged. Sometimes they come to us in an argument with another. A blog post written by a dear friend. The tears of a loved one. Or a simple email from a co-worker. These divine moments happened to me, in a span of 24 hours. I can tell you, I have not felt this much peace-in years. Words are finally flying around my head and there is a smile upon my silly face.

Today, is a good day. Tomorrow, I pray is even better. If it isn’t, that’s okay. I can’t let guilt be my trigger. To over-eat, drink to excess, not write or reach out for help. Realizations, be they divine or otherwise are valuable teachers. We must heed the lessons they bring us. If we don’t we’ll never truly live.

You’ll Swoop from Incredible Highs

‎”You’ll swoop from incredible highs when you’re just glad to be alive, to those lows when you wish you were dead. And just when you start thinking that you’ve accepted who you are, that changes, too. Because who you are is not permanent”
— Andrew Davidson (The Gargoyle) 

I’m really busy today and don’t have much time to post but I’ve been reading one of the most incredible books. It’s called The Gargoyle. t from As Long As I’m Singing wrote a top 10 book list that I’m trying to work my way through. Of course I had to read a tragic love story first, because it’s the kind of girl that I am. I LOVE love. Especially impossible love. Redemptive love.

I’ve been thinking a lot about redemption this week. About changes. About why I’m still here. About how I could have killed a 19 year old boy that was just going to get a pizza. About my life. About slowing down. About losing two best friends. About, everything. And re-connection. And love. Of course about love. I forgot about the love for myself. The one person that I’m supposed to support I forgot about. Me.

I’ve been so busy flitting from one shiny thing to another I forgot to take care of myself. To stay in touch with old friends. I forgot about God too. I forgot to pray. I forgot to ask for guidance and forgiveness. I forgot my way. Do I believe my car accident was divine intervention? Yes, I do. I know it was. I could have killed a boy. I could have died. I looked down to fuck with my stupid phone and that was all it took.

I have no lasting injuries from the accident. I actually slept better that night than I had in years. The next day, as I lay in bed listening to Roger get ready for the day, I wrote one of my best posts about comfort. The comfort of him. Of his being in the next room. It really was one of my best. I took a pain pill and drifted back to sleep. Roger went to hang out with my mom. They’ve known each other longer than we’ve been married. It’s a long story of how we met. Some day I’ll tell it to you, I’m sure. After I woke up I called the young man that I hit to make sure he was okay. He was and I thanked God.

I’m still thanking God. For the fact that I was injured and he didn’t have a scratch on him. I thanked God for that young man having the where with all to call 911 while I sat in my car in shock. I thank God for that young man, although visibly shaken, kneeling down and holding my hands while I sat in my car. I thank God for that young man that pulled me out of my stupor and my car. For standing in the middle of the road with me and waiting for the police. He and I didn’t let go of each other.  I asked him how old he was and he told me 19. I reached up and touched his face, and said, “My God, you’re a baby. I could have killed you.” After that the police, ambulance and Roger arrived. It was chaos and I remember nothing.

It took a friend telling me she was worried about me to make me realize that maybe there really is something more to my incredible highs and my incredible lows. My impulsiveness. My need to be always doing something and never slowing down. It’s all about fear. Fear that there is something wrong with me. Fear of not being happy. Fear of growing old. Fear of getting fat again. Fear of fear. Fear of love. Fear of not being loved. Fear of not being pretty. Fear of being full of myself. Fear, fear, fear. Fucking stupid fear!

Talked to Harry and Rory and told them that I forgot about God in all of this. Said I needed to pray. I’ve been praying so hard, it hurts. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to get all Christian up in here and stop saying the F word.  I am a Christian and I always have been. It took me smashing my head up against my driver’s side window and the thought of possibly killing a young man to realize that I need to slow down.

The accident was a divine intervention, yes. It was my epiphany. I’ve been receiving them in so many ways, but I ignored them. I just wanted to keep feeling good. Keep feeling everthing after being numb for so long.

Now I don’t feel good. I feel like shit, and I have to realize it’s okay. I don’t have to feel good all the damn time. Because if we don’t have the bad times, how the hell can we love the good times? How the hell can we tell the difference?

I miss my friends B and K. I sent them a message this morning. Still haven’t heard from them. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will. I know they read me. I hope they know that I love them. They’re my family. My sisters. And I miss them so. Today I’ll pray for them to come back to me. I’ll pray and pray and pray. For them to come back me. And for me to come back to me.

Then She Prays

“Seldom is a wheat field as terribly sown.”

She stands staring at the sky, in a field filled with wheat ready for harvest. She places her hands in it. She grips the stalks in her fingers. Feels the course beauty of it. Smells the wholesomeness of it in the air.  The wind makes it sway to and fro as she releases it. Her head is spinning and she wonders how she got here. All she remembers is running. Away from the pain of the news she’d just heard. Of the phone call and what they said.

She looks up again and sees the blue of the sky. The clouds like cotton. The sun’s golden rays passing through them. It’s like seeing God when she stares at those streams of light. She has to mourn her grief. Her loss. She wonders how she’ll go on without him. Without them. Where does she begin? How does she live?

She raises her fists into the air and wails. It’s not the cry of a small child, but the scream and rant of a wounded animal. She keeps screaming until she is spent. Her hands raised, she keeps cursing at God. She keeps asking why. Finally, her knees buckle at her utter exhaustion. She falls to the ground. She lays in that fragrant and warm wheat field. Finally after many minutes, she gets to her knees, clasps her hands together, and closes her eyes. She feels the breeze blow her hair as if God himself was touching her. Her trembling subsides and she begins to pray.