Posted on by thetruthandtheliesofthejourney

I Have My Mama’s Hands

I have my mama’s hands.

Each little intricate vein running through, just as hers.

I have admired this for as long as I can remember.

We have sat them side by side, linked together by an ancestry of generations.

Both pairs having dug through many trials and tribulations

coming out scared, but still ready to fist forward and fight through another day

Even if that’s the only thing they can manage to do that day.

I have held these mirrored hands as a little girl simply walking across the street,

And I have held these hands to hers as I cried, broken hearted.

And now, I have held these hands until the blood was left only flowing through mine.

As the cool crisp air floats into season, I will wallow in the silence.

The silence that seeps in slowly as we each grow older.

A breeze that slowly runs across each and every wrinkle,

taking its time, getting to know each and every inch of the day’s trials that have been laid across our paths.

The chill across my skin makes each bend of the elbow or knee stiff like an un-oiled wheel.

But even with the feel of an old body lifting me out of bed in the morning,

I will yearn to watch each brightly colored leaf fall from each tree.

A rebirth of nature and a rebirth of the world.

A world that will inevitably go on.. circling in the galaxy as we, in our bubble, grieve the loss

of an impeccably compassionate, perfectly constructed, vibrant angel.

A second chance, over and over, as this planet bows with a humbleness hoping that

we will nurture and care for it once again.

And a second chance, over and over, for a rebirth of our own spirits.

This chill throughout my body reminds me that…… I. am. alive.

So at the end of each day, as the temperature drops, I will watch the sun go down with a

humble heart.

I will sit late into the night, appreciating the quiet and speaking my grateful heart into the universe.

Photo by Luis Dalvan on Pexels.com

Fall, fall, take me to your leader.

Let me bow at their feet with thankfulness for the gift to see through and past my body’s pain, and this life’s

burdens,

straight to the beauty in the chill bumps.

Let me honor these hands, my mama’s hands, by giving them life.

Oh God, give me the chance to use these hands for good in the memory of the one who passed them on to me.

And even as I tremor, and even when I am at my lowest, let the beauty around me humble me….

And my mama’s hands.

Posted on by thetruthandtheliesofthejourney

Forget to Remember

my journey

There are times in an adult’s life where a moment happens, and you are instantly taken back to a time from your past.

Tonight, as I went in my daughter’s room to pray with her, as I did every night before that for 13 years, my back was excruciating, and she moved over to let me lay down with her and immediately decided that she wanted to fall asleep while we cuddle. This was a treasure to me, considering all the nightmarish recent events that have been occuring in our house, which will be a story for another time.

mawmaw and pawpaw

As we lay there, the room became quiet, and I could hear the tv going in the living room that my husband was watching. I began to doze, not fully, but half in, half out, and it was as though a slew of flashbacks came flying in like a projection in my mind. Hearing the tv in my own living room took me instantly back to being awakened in the morning at my grandparent’s house as a child, hearing them both in the kitchen singing beautifully, a perfectly harmonized gospel song of their time. The smell of bacon and eggs filled my nose, and even as a child, although gospel music annoyed me, I wouldn’t want to budge for as long as possible just so I could hear them singing. And also because I didn’t want to get out of bed until right when breakfast was done.

Waking at my grandparents was a far cry from waking at my own house where you’d either hear yelling and bickering, or complete and utter silence because of the separation in our house. And the smell would be that of cloudy cigarette smoke, and mold and must from the lack of cleanliness in the house.

I kept flashing back and forth between opening my eyes briefly to watch my beautiful daughter sleeping, hearing my grandparents mesmerizing voices, and the nightmare that was my own house growing up.

Sometimes, we don’t get to choose what we remember, and honestly, some things, I have worked my entire life to this point trying to forget. However, pain unresolved, is like a new limb for your body. And it is a limb that you use more frequently than the limbs you were born with.

I laid there tonight, begging to be able to stay in my grandparent’s bliss, even if it was just for an hour, and wishing that my daughter could be there with me, just laying there, experiencing one of the rare times of peace of my childhood.

But alas, I suddenly hoped that the moment that my daughter and I were in right then, could be her time of peace when she looked back one day.

I’ve spent every moment hoping that one day, when and if she had unresolved pain to deal with, that I would not be the cause of it. But I would be lying to myself if I said that I wasn’t a vast majority. I will be part of her torment and part of her bliss when she looks back.

I have always tried to be a good mother, but when you are riddled with unresolved internal pain as I am, you are bound to wreck those who surround you throughout your life.

me and journeyI can only hope that with events currently happening, a knee jerking wake up call, that I will be able to redeem a little of myself before she’s grown and gone and old enough to never call me.

And I hope in the process, I find something else to live for so that it won’t be as painful when she goes off to conquer each and every dream that I have always encouraged. Maybe in time, I could forget my pain, and she could remember her happiness………