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Leather Face

I think tonight, just once, I won’t look at myself. Each glimpse, like a dagger in my heart.

I looked in the future, just a dim light. Those I love, falling around me like the years I’ve viewed, seemingly, fleeting.

Each wrinkle on my skin, like pieces of leather, and yet, I have hated the sun all my 36 years. I’ve mostly lived not knowing the kinds of losses others know. For you have to have things and people first to truly lose them.

But now, oh now, the two people I’ve loved truly, melt before my feet while I scrub their kitchen counters hoping, by some chance of rare fate, they will come back to me. But alas, the local news screams in the background, and they, in their weakness, drool on themselves while dozed off on the couch.

My grandma tried to put her pajamas on over her pants tonight, and stumbles on which day and month it is. And for the 13th time today, told me how precious I am to her, and cried. If only she knew, her brown eyes turned blue, had saved my life more times than a few, then maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. But they never come back, do they?

She called me the other night, over and over. Standing at her medication as if frozen on repeat. Did I take my medicine? So it’s…Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday….. and today is..Wednesday? Over and over, I had to explain to her. And I did so, with patience. The next day, she remembered just briefly calling me and cried again. Gave several excuses as to why she just didn’t have a good day that day….

I am constantly reaching. Most times without knowing exactly what I’m reaching for. As if even if someone handed me a star right out of the sky, it wouldn’t ever be enough. A void never able to be filled. A dis-satisfied piece of blob of mere existence.

I’m not angry, and have forgiven most of the causes of my sadness, but they have taught me hard lessons. Ones that will long stick with me, following me, constantly reminding me the paths not to go down, the choices not to make, the people not to trust, what to hold onto, and what to let go of.

Sometimes, I want to jump in anyways, but there’s always hesitations, reservations. The truth is, I find that there are many nights I find it hard to look at myself for many different reasons. I think it should tell me something, but have not yet pinpointed its message just yet. But I’m sure in time, it will reveal itself. And I will record it on my shadow to lug around with me to display spiritually.

I will watch as the grands disappear before my eyes, and in that, I will learn to accept what we can’t keep. And how to truly say goodbye, for the first time, to someone I don’t want to say goodbye to.

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Oh Mama..

asphalt dark dawn endless
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Oh Mama.

I promise my heart is true. Even with that and the stars, this world is cold, and my lips are turning blue.

I tried Mama, I did. To do what must be done. From evening moonlight, to the smooth wee of the morning, and even as I watched the marvelous, bright sun.

But the Earth, she don’t agree with me, and tries to test me so. She begs for me, and tangles me, urging me to go.

I fight and pant, and dry my eyes, before anyone can see.. this beaten soul and wretched mind, and now, there are many real me’s.

Oh Mama, tell me I did it right, and the sky really is that shade of blue. And the birds flying low, and swooping down, are not out to get me and you.

Tell me why each smile is different, but every frown is exactly the same. And remind me always who I should be, should I begin to forget my name.

Oh Mama, these days grow shorter, and the time for forgiveness is cutting down to very few. The time is almost up for us; for them, for me, and for you.

Each moment of joy is more important, than it was the day before. And everything seems to intrigue me, and hardly nothing is a bore.

Oh Mama.. Can you hear it too? The bells chiming in the wind? And the hoot of the owl, when the night grows calm, and angels that they send?

If what I am doing is not enough, Mama, can you tell me what to do? To make it so when I lie down at night, my heart is full of hope, and not this shade of blue….

Oh Mama, you are mine and now, these days, I am a Mama as well… And I wonder one day, will she read these words, and catch the sadness spell?

Oh Mama, if you are here, and I am not, could you tell her one thing for me?

Tell her she was my everything, my heart, and every moment. And tell her everything I did, was for goodness, fullness, and so she would never go through my torment. Tell her the mind is a dangerous place to live, and tell her to step away from it once in a while. To breathe the fresh air that’s left in this foggy world, and to embrace every second of being a child.

Oh Mama.. we didn’t have the best go around, but as a mother now, I forgive in new ways. And I found a way to love myself, in that, miracles, and love is a new word I learned to say……

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Hold On To Me

 

woman looking at sunset
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

When I look back, I should have saw it coming. The drift of the fallen bark, floating down the creek bed that I now sit and stare into. I felt the empty drift in as something in my head screams, “it’s right there”. I’ve no more ever expected anyone to stick around than I have myself to do the same. But he was a wind that I wanted to keep blowing across my face and in my hair. A sound echoing that I just can’t seem to place anywhere else. I wrapped my heart around his smile, and for once, even if just once, I felt safe for a moment.

But isn’t that how it goes when self-sabotaging? You let each moment slip right through your fingers. Why would I ever ask someone to stay in such an uncompleted life? I guess I was thinking he completed it. We should never sit around and dwell on the things we think we deserve. Good or bad. We should just accept things as they are. But if given the chance, I would kiss his lips once more. Without them, my lips a shade of blue, suffocating.

If he could have just waited just a bit longer? But why ask that of someone..

These changes are fast-coming. I can feel them. I will revel in them now…alone. When we say we miss someone, it’s not really enough is it? To lose them speaks volumes of its own. I will try and go at it alone, which is a path I know and recognize all too well.

Have you ever felt so alone and empty that it’s almost like you’re starving, and your stomach is sinking into your back. That growl in your stomach becomes louder than your thoughts, and you have no way to feed it?

I have failed him, and seemingly failed myself. But he failed me too? For if he had not, I would instead be sitting here reassured and loved in person and not dripping pathetic tears down my neck and blowing snot that could clear a room during this sad pandemic.

His face like a constant reminder of an almost, and a memory of kiss, or a drunken night by the fire laughing, talking about the stars, slowly will drift from my memory while I try to hold onto every second of it.

Truth is, I would have spent my life in this chaos and fought through every second of it if it meant the ending was us….

But goodbye is a word I know all too well…

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Worst Case

blue filter me

As you sit, dazed on the front steps, the noises of the wrinkled grump off in the distance on his rusted machinery. You play music in one ear, and listen to your surroundings with the other thinking to yourself, man.. That pill didn’t hit right like it used to. You can still feel. You don’t want to. The stress of each day mounting and you struggle to keep your eyes just barely peeled open each and every day. Smile now, they’re looking. All is fine you say, while your feet are on fire. And just for a moment, you can feel the breeze coming that will spread that blaze.

One hit from a penny pincher. Counting change for the future. A future that is fast changing.

The vibrant garden seeded and grown so beautifully with love wilts quickly, as does your desire and will to tend it. Fast approaching is a day you must face all facts and deal in truth, no matter how hard or fast the rocks will roll down the mountain. And you can no more outrun them than a cat can outrun a wild pack of coyotes.

Alone is not a bad word, nor a bad thing, but the authoritative view and forced fate of alone or being spoken over you is different. Like a magic carpet under you that you have no control over. As they would say, 6 steps forward, and for you, 13 steps backwards.

A bent and broken rod can’t be reshaped in the same form it was. Once bent, it is forever different, as is its uses.

You could blow bubbles of truth that would hurt the masses, but instead are forced to sow your mouth shut while stuffing it with rags for the riches of others. Your turn got skipped, and I’m sorry is an apology you’ve long had to accept without receiving it.

Still dazed on these steps, you think of forgiveness and how far you’ve came within it. Still in pain, untrusting, and at times, completely numb. But in another way, you don’t carry anger for it anymore, just a pinch in the side, or a pin-prick.

Just tell them to hit you again. Hurry. Before long, you’ll be back at the sink, washing dishes, doing laundry while dinner is cooking. Thinking about what you need to do next to keep your mind superbly busy to continue your magnificent escape from these talks the other you has with you about the worst things that could happen, and the helplessness you will feel when they do…..

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Cry of the Blackbird Pt. 2

pawpaw and us

March 2020, my grandfather, still in rehab, watched and listened as the world began to crumble. A plague of sorts, not his first of course, had began to ravish the United States. All the while, my sister and I panicked. We begged my mom and uncle to remove him from the nursing home. It no longer mattered to us that his time in rehab since his hospital stay had not yet reached the 21 day insurance order.

I had already began to see the nightmare that was happening in other states to long-term living facilities, and rehab facilities. They were the first places to begin to be locked down. The patients, like prisoners. No visitors. Families that were lucky enough to have loved ones near a window talking through glass. Confused and mentally disabled patients not understanding why their loved ones or visitors wouldn’t just come inside and sit for a while. Then, like a catastrophe, as one elderly patient got sick, therein followed 10-20 more getting sick. All locked inside with each other. Most facilities such as this, seemingly left to their own devices. CNAs and nurses within the facilities pretty much locked inside with them, their only care.

The days started to go by. Being high risk, I was the first to tell my family, and especially my grandfather and grandmother that I could no longer visit to protect myself and my daughter. It was devastating to me. For years, it had just been myself, and my sister when she was in town, taking care of my grandparents. And there had already been turmoil come between us and everyone else once my Uncle had gotten Power of Attorney.

Everything seemed to be like something out of the twilight zone. A dark cloud of sadness in slow motion. My grandfather’s health seemed to improve. The doctor’s decided to release him. It had already been 2 weeks since I had seen him at all.

On his last week in the rehab facility, very intimidating health officials showed up with orders. They locked down the facility and no longer allowed anyone inside, with the exception of close family. My grandmother faithfully had one of us drop her off each day. She had to have her temperature checked before she could enter the front door. And even after that, the officials would decide if they wanted her to enter.

Finally, one day, my mom and uncle arranged and ok’d it for my grandfather to leave. It was as though the grace of God worked his favor on us, because as soon as we got my grandfather home, the next day they began to lock down the facility completely, just as all of those facilities we had heard nightmare stories about in other states.

We were blessed to have watched such a turn around in my grandfather’s health. He had went from shaking like the tremors of an earthquake, and severe memory loss, along with hallucinations, to back his normal self by the time we got him home. Although, even that is not 100% because he’s 91 years old with Parkinson’s Disease.

In the months since, we have seen a tornado of change. Sacrifices by the plenty. Weeks at a time not being able to be in the same room with the grands. Depending on who had possibly been exposed to the virus.

I think at first, back in April, most of us wanted to believe that this virus had been blown out of proportion, even myself, the hypochondriac that I am. However, it didn’t take long for me to fully convince myself that this was the worst. In comparison with the Spanish Flu, dated in the 1950s, this was our depression.

Around May, my grandmother’s mind seemed to deteriorate with intensity. And her complaints about roaring in her ears also intensified. Her balance was not great, and had not been great since about August of 2019, because of Vertigo and Meniere’s disease, which is chronic. This year alone, I can’t count the amount of times I have thought to myself, is this hell, or the twilight zone??

Because of an extreme fear of birds, mainly fearing that they will defecate on me, lol, I’ve also thought it strange that the thought had to cross my mind that a possible slew of birds were taking over my grandparent’s brains. Crazy yes, but after having them my whole life, and now quickly seeing that disappear right before my eyes, I can’t help but not dismiss any excuse I can come up with to explain to me why they have to go one day.

At the end of May, I decided to visit them through their front door, like visiting a prisoner, wrongly convicted. I had them come to the door and sing Amazing Grace with me in harmony, and had my daughter video it. It is something I regret not doing more when they were in better health, but also something I will always truly cherish. Music is something so expressive in my family, like a letter you’re writing that you never quite finish. And no matter how old I get, I can close my eyes and remember being little and waking up on Saturday mornings, the whole house filled with the smell of bacon and eggs, and hearing my grandparents in the kitchen singing and harmonizing with each other. It is one of the memories out of my dark, harum-scarum childhood, that I will always cherish the most.

I consider myself to be quite a strong person, to a point, but also quite vulnerable at times. Looking past my fears of the birds for a moment, I can’t help but admit, I want to hear them. Even if just for a moment, I wanna know what they are hearing and feeling. And I want to take it from them. I want to see my grandfather working in his shop in the back yard again, or sneaking a dip in the laundry room. I want to see my grandmother laughing so hard at me that she cries, cackling. I want to see her understand when we are making a joke, and for my grandfather to even be able to hear me at all when I am talking to him. My mind stays in chaos trying to discover ways I can bring them back around, even though deep down, I am also trying to find a way to let go and accept that what they are now, is what I am blessed with for however long until their ailments worsen, or til they’re gone for good.

Most people think of cardinals as the spiritual presence of a loved one, but as for myself, I follow the black birds, hiding so I see them, but that they may not see me. I will always see them as the loved ones who are screeching around us, decade after decade, generation after generation, watching us succeed, watching us fail, watching us grow old as they did, and waiting for us to one day, join them…