Spoiler: There isn't one

The losses feel overwhelming today.

I had an epiphany this week; I've spent so much time these last seven months trying to grasp the point of it all, what is the point? and it came to me like a lightening bolt. 

There is no point. We are here for someone/something else's purpose. There is no point for us.

And it was kind of a relief. There is no need to search for an answer when there is no answer. I can wonder from here to fucking eternity about what the point of it all is, but that is a lot of wasted energy when there simply is no point to be found.

 

Me but not me

 I've turned a corner.

Only a few more corners

and I will find Myself again

Myself, but not myself

Me but not me

220 days of tears came before

Non stop ringing in my ears

I strain to hear

to make sense of the sound filling my head

One day of no tears, nothing special about that day

Yet important enough to document in this way

trust no one

I can no longer be your friend. Because you were never mine. You should hurt more than I. Because you have truly lost a friend. I am only losing an illusion a made up fairy tale. But crushed fairy tales hurt too maybe more. I thought death was the greatest pain I would feel in life. Turns out still living is.

The Gaps

the corner I've turned this week leads me to gaps of time where the grief is not all consuming i can go ten to fifteen minutes at a time when my thoughts are with the living i have space to breathe and then i suddenly remember, and sometimes it brings me to my knees. Quite literally more than once. and sometimes i suddenly remember and i am still standing...what is this? I am still breathing...there is a flicker of hope

Week 3

 20 days

Going to work every day. Make it through the day. Get home and cry for hours on end. rinse, repeat.

maybe tomorrow will be different.

Messages from him everywhere I look. But can't find him anywhere I look.

My stupid thoughts on the universe and how it works mean nothing anymore. I know nothing. No one knows anything. 

Week 1 - a fog. shock

Week 2 - sheer and total pain

Week 3 - more tears than I thought a body could hold

quicksand

 I want to go home and crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.

The one thing that stops me is knowing I have to get out of bed again.

Every breath, every step, every motion, is an effort.

Time is slowing down and speeding up with no rhyme or reason.

Like Alice, my world is topsy turvy.

what makes us human

 the fog is beginning to clear

now there is pain

the goal is to not be all consumed by the pain

hold up my head and take a deep breath before the wave of pain washes over me again

accept what is

repeating over and over

thank you for everything. i have no complaints whatsoever.

Sometimes I have something to say

I want to educate myself.  I want to know mathematics, science, sentence construction, and a foreign language. So I've gone to my bookshelf and pulled the M encyclopedia off the shelf. I have read it four times now. I have learned a lot; but no matter how many times I read it, I still have not learned everything I want to yet. My mind yearns for more.

I want to take care of my body. I am sure that mangoes are good for me. I've been eating them for weeks now. Just mangoes. As well as toe touches. So I'm eating something healthy and I'm doing toe touch for exercise. Yet I don't feel all that great. My body yearns for more.

My spirit is craving connection with my creator. So I pray to God and I read the Bible. I study the Bible as the word of God. I feel closer to God, but I don't feel communion with God. My spirit yearns for more.

I have learned over the past five years that to nourish my spirit in only one way is as ridiculous as trying to nourish my mind with one book or my body with one type of food.

When I was growing up in the Baptist church, it was (still is) widely taught and hammered home, that there is only one way to God. Through Jesus Christ. Any deviation from that path is the devil leading one astray. That belief had its grip on me very tightly until about the time I hit my 40's. I truly wish it hadn't taken so long for me to examine this closely held belief. I might've been able to save my daughters from years of spiritual struggle.

What I now believe is that my spirit needs taken care of just as much as my physical body and my mind. I believe there are many different ways to nourish my spirit and I am unafraid to listen, learn and decide for myself what ways are best for me. For me, meditation nourishes my spirit more than prayer. I prefer to sit still, in communion with God. Spirit to spirit. I take that time to connect to the source of my spiritual energy and refuel. I take that time to ask God to use me to help others. When I commune with God through meditation, I feel Him with me all day long. It's so much deeper for me than using feeble words to communicate with him through prayer.

I watch my daughters struggle and I remember struggling like that in my twenties. With good and evil. Darkness and light. Never realizing it was all an internal struggle and not some outside force trying to lead me astray. The church teaches us that we are inherently evil because of Adam and Eve's disobedience to God in the Garden of Eden. That we are not good enough.  I do not accept this as truth. My spirit is neither good nor evil; it simply is. And although I do not yet know its purpose, I do know that it craves to commune with God; who knows, maybe that is the purpose.

Radical Thought

I've been flirting with an idea for some time now. It's been brewing for years, but it has solidified more in the past year. It's the idea of loving my body. I've learned to love myself over the years, it has come slowly with age. I'm 45 years old and I love me. But loving my body has taken more effort...more time. As a culture, we are merciless to women, finding fault everywhere. And even intelligence doesn't seem to be much of a weapon against the barrage of constant messages that tell us we are not good enough. I know. Because I am one helluva smart woman.

I have come to the conclusion that we suppress women's bodies as a way to take away their power. I am an avid watcher of AMC's series Mad Men; and although it isn't exactly history, it reminds me that there are billions of dollars hinging on the fact that we, as women, feel bad about ourselves. As long as we feel bad about our wrinkles, our rolls, our stretchmarks, our straight hair, our curly hair, our light skin, our dark skin, our thighs touching, our thighs not touching, our skin, our lips, and so on and so forth, then our energy is focused away from knowing our true essence and purpose in life. We become so wrapped up in our perceived shortcomings that we forget how truly incredible and powerful we are.

I can remember the first time I felt shame about my body was in the seventh grade. I was in gym and all the girls were being weighed in front of the entire class. I can't recall my weight, but I do recall there was only one girl who weighed more than me, and I remember being humiliated about weighing in front of everyone like that. My friends mother used to tell me not to worry about my weight, it was only baby fat. I don't remember my mom ever saying anything to me about my weight or nutrition. My friends mom was wrong. My baby fat was still around when I had my own babies :)

I grew up with four older sisters. I was the fat one. I heard them complain about their bodies. alot. I don't know what carnival mirror they were looking at, because they were all but perfect. But I imagine, like most of our society, they were comparing themselves to an ideal that was pure illusion.

There was a time in my late twenties when I started to love my body, but I was quickly put in my place by a sister who had grown up not loving her body, even at a size 4, and I imagine that in her mind, if she didn't love her body there was no way someone who weighed 60lbs more than her could possibly love theirs. When I expressed to her that I was comfortable with my size, that I felt more like myself, like me; with a hearty scoff, she conveyed that she believed me to be deceiving myself and her. That one discussion squashed any ideas that I should feel anything but disgust for my 180lb body.

It is a common pasttime for women to complain to one another about their different body parts. We have become so accustomed to it, that we do not even see anything wrong with putting ourselves down and hating parts of ourselves. Stop hating your arms, your thighs, your nose, and start loving them. Love ALL of yourself. In one week I had two sisters write to me with body hate. And although one might say that it was only a small note of self improvement; I know her history with her arms. I've heard it since she was in her twenties ;) I love your arms, they are beautiful. They are great huggers.

But in the end, what I have learned is that the struggle is not with my weight, but the way that my weight, as a woman, has defined how others think about me and how I am supposed to think of myself. There are people who want me to feel shame about my body, and I refuse to oblige them any longer. My body is not perfect for the cover of a magazine (in todays society), but it is perfect for me. Do not let magazines and television dictate to you what beautiful is. There are infinite definitions and examples of beauty on this planet. You are one of them. You are worthy. I am worthy. I am beautiful. My body is beautiful. Do not forget to pursue your dreams because you are preoccupied with false shortcomings of your physical self. Don't fall for it. You have more important things to do on this planet. Don't let anyone take away your power.

Peace & Love (YOUR BODY!)
-Susan

P.S. I bought my first bikini and can't wait to rock it at the beach!

Unfinished...

Today is a Washington day. The sun is shining so hard, doing its best to keep us warm. But the crisp chill is in the air and the wind is blowing. As soon as I walked out of my door this morning, it takes me back to Washington, to my sister.
Washington, in itself, doesn't hold much meaning for me. But it is a dramatic backdrop of unbelievable scenery and fresh air that brings you so close to nature that the memories you make there are imprinted a little harder, a little deeper.
I've been sitting at my desk for a few hours, I go outside to soak in the sun and it hits me again. Tears sting my eyes and my heart.

Aunt Jean

it's been almost a full year.
I cried for the first time.
Really cried.
It came at me out of nowhere.
After work, clothes shed, I open my drawer of nighties.
there is a beautiful lavender folded neatly on the left.
I don't think about anything, I simply grab it and close the drawer.
I pull it over my head and for a moment I am standing in her bedroom
the scent is overwhelming
the only word i can  use to describe the scent is clean. it's not flowery, it's not chemical, it's just her.
And it knocked me on my ass
i fell back onto the edge of the bed
pulled the nightie up to cover my face and breathe her in
and cried
and i knew she was in the room with me
while i cried.

Gulp

My twelve year old daughter has taken to standing in the shadows and staring at me with a Huge grin on her face until I notice her. At which point, I am usually scared to pieces.

Loads of fun!
-susan

ramblings of a crazy lady

I'm sitting here on a Saturday morning.
My house is a wreck.
But a wreck is its regular state.
Even after I clean it, it takes less than a day and it's a wreck again.

I wonder what particular gene other people have that I do not. The gene that makes your house presentable to drop-in-company at all times. The gene that provides for a steady routine of having the kitchen clean before you go to bed at night as opposed to waking up to it in the morning. Or the gene that keeps the dining table always perfect instead of having to be cleaned off each time you want to sit for a family meal.

I have a red tip photinia bush outside my bedroom window. It is almost as tall as the house and it provides a bit of privacy in front of my bedroom window. This way I can open the blinds for the light but not worry about the neighbors knowing the color of my nightie. At the beginning of summer, I trimmed it exactly the way I wanted it with my new battery powered chainsaw. I could walk under the bowing limbs to go around the corner of the house for the water house and water the flowers in the front box. Did I mention it was exactly the way I wanted it?

Well my husband and my eldest apparently worked in the yard this week and decided it wasn't exactly the way they wanted it. I no longer have that beautiful bowed limb to walk under every other day to get the water hose. And the cars that drive by have a great line of sight directly into my bedroom. And it fills me with an inordinate amount of anger and disappointment...which is added to the list of reasons I'm making an appointment next week with someone to talk to.

I think I have a lot of build up that needs to be discussed. I think I am fine and then I open my mouth and nothing good comes out. I don't even realize it until I've stopped talking and I think to myself, geez...everything you say sounds like you are constantly bitching. Which, of course, I am.

Then I try to make up for it and sound manic.

Yes, it's time to speak with a professional and see what's going on.

What is really hard to understand is that when I do my meditations regularly, I am not this way. But I haven't meditated in two weeks. So does the meditation suppress the problem? Is it like taking a drug that keeps me sedated? Is it a form of not dealing with my feelings? Or is all of life just a matter of perception.

My sister recommended a movie to me, Into the Wild. I watched it last night. Great music by Eddie Veder. His voice is like lava. hot. It was a good movie. I liked it. It was based on a true story, about an idealistic kid who read a lot of Thoreau and wanted to get away from society and spend some time in the wilderness alone. He travelled across the country meeting different people and working odd jobs to get him a little further down the road. He ended up hiking into Alaska for four months and starving to death. It seemed like such a waste. He seemed like such a smart kid to do something so dumb. And although the movie kind of romanticized it all, it didn't seem very romantic to me.

Well everyone is up now and I am going to make a cup of coffee and join the others on the patio. I hope you have a good weekend and get everything accomplished that you want...even if that means just sitting in your chair and doing nothing.

peace and love,
susan

Last Night's Dream

It was night and I was standing outside a house, looking through a window at my sister, Julie, sitting at the kitchen table. She was on the phone, talking to our other sister, Michelle. And in the way that dreams are strange, I could also see Michelle. They were talking about me. According to their conversation, I had recently died. I was 21 years old.

I felt a pull. An energy bigger than myself was pulling me away from the window. I knew it was time to go.

I put my hand on the window and quietly whispered goodbye.

I turned around and I was pulled into the sky and everything went black.

I opened my eyes and I was looking down at my hands on a desk. There was a piece of paper in front of me and a pencil in my right hand. A female teacher at the front of the class said to write our names on our papers. My hand starting writing without my minds permission. It wrote the name Angelia, quickly, as though this hand had written this name thousands of times before. It then wrote an N....and as my mind took control of my hand, I turned the pencil over, erased the N, and wrote Cogar.

Was that a cool dream or what?!!

peace and love,
susan

Sweet Nothings

I have an eleven mile, beautiful drive to work through the countryside. A field of cows, a field of sheep with a lone donkey, some mornings I can drive eight of those miles without seeing another car.

Last week they were working on the road. About half way to work, I had to stop with three cars and wait for the crew to let us pass. As I was sitting and waiting, my attention was drawn to the car in front of me. It was an old blue cadillac, big as a boat. The driver was an older man, wearing a cowboy hat, Junior Brown style.


 

distinct style

When the car came to a stop, I got a glimpse of a Walker hound when she sat up for a few seconds in the front seat. As we continued our drive in to town, the hound laid down and the man would turn his head toward her on the front seat and would speak to her and he was even singing to her at one point. It was very endearing and I couldn't stop smiling. When we got to the stop sign at the other end of my usual morning commute, and I saw him leaned over sweet talking his companion, it dawned on me that something may be wrong. I then had thoughts that he was talking her into holding on, that she was surely sick and he was taking her to the vet on the other side of town. So as he drove past the street that I work on, I continued to follow him, I had to know if he was stopping at the veterinarians office. And sure enough he does! I pull into the Shell station and I park so I can see through the bushes. I think to myself if he carries her into the office in his arms then it's bad, it's real bad. But maybe he's just coming for a shot, or some flea medicine, or...or....   Then he get's out of his car, he's wearing starched jeans and tucked in shirt with a belt and boots. He walks around the car and there is another car blocking my view, so I wait with bated breath for about twenty seconds. Then I see he has her on a leash and he leads her to a little patch of grass so she can tinkle. She is tail wagging happy. And why wouldn't she be when she has a handsome fella to sing to her on the way to the doggie doctor?

With my morning stalking complete, I put the car back on the road and continued on to work.

Peace and Love,
susan

Be Ready

Myself has been slowly slipping away over the past month. I can't put my finger on exactly when it started moving away from me, only that the past two weeks it has been very apparent that I am no where nearby.

I signed up for a retreat this morning. It's a TM retreat NW of San Antonio at the end of the month. I need a tune up. I am very excited about it and can't wait to share with you my experiences and I hope to have myself back by that time.

One of the benefits of TM is learning the difference between your mind and your spirit. When I was younger, I thought my mind was my spirit. Boy, was I dumb. Ha, I ain't like that no more. (one of my favorite Bette Midler songs). It's very beneficial to me when my mind starts talking crazy stupid noisy meaningless garbage to be able to 1) know those thoughts are simply neurons and electrical impulses 2) they are not me, they are not my spirit and best of all 3) I can quiet the thoughts and plug in to my spirit. 

Have you ever heard anyone call the television an idiot box? Truth right there. But sometimes I feel like my mind is an idiot box. It just goes round and round and comes up with nothing but noise. Just noise.

I've started watching an HBO Series called The Big C - hereafter. I watched the season premiere last night and it had so much truth in it that I cried a little bit. I look forward to watching more. Truth is good. Why is it sometimes others can voice our truth better than we can? I mean, I felt those same things, but wasn't able to verbalize it or even write it here in my safe, truth zone. Isn't it interesting that someone else could be holding your truth right now and they and you don't even know it. Not until you hear it in their dialogue, or hear it in their music, or see it in their art, or see it in their eyes. And when you see it, don't deny it. See it for the truth it is and claim it if it is yours. Be ready.

Peace and Love,
Susan

Ode to JOJ

James Odis Johnson.

I've known Jamey since I was 20 years old and went to work for the lab. He was a lab supervisor and I was the secretary. We didn't really work together much at the beginning. We were all so young. The lab techs used to call him Dad. It was an exciting time with the company; a time when the supervisor would not go home until every last field tech had come in off the road; a time we worked together as a team, when you did your job, and then helped everyone else until it was all finished. I typed reports on a typewriter, I ran TSS's, I knew how to take off and calculate BOD's; we were more of a family then.

When I'd been here a few years, Jamey and I started working more closely together on reporting. I finally had a computer to do my reports, and Jamey checked those reports. I know his signature as well as I know my own. We were both easy going and we worked well together. He liked to make things easy for people. He laughed alot.

The years passed, we all got older, our children got older. Jamey was very proud of his children. All three graduated from college, his son has plans to get married. When they all moved out, things got a bit rough for Jamey. The past three to four years haven't been so good for him. He was unhappy all around and couldn't seem to find himself. Using all the wrong tools to look. He was lost.

When work gets muddied with people you love, it gets hard. Not impossible, but difficult for sure. In the end, he left the company. Only two months ago. He died Wednesday morning.

I will remember the good times.

They Grow Up Fast!

      This picture was taken in August of 2005. My little blue eyes was only four years old. I can remember how her little hands would feel on my neck. Little baby hands, the sweet smell of baby sweat and sunscreen in the summertime, tying little sneakers. Baby sweat and sunscreen is a particular favorite of mine. I would hug her up, close my eyes, and breathe in her childhood.

     She's going to be twelve this summer. She puts on makeup at home, and has gotten around the rules a couple times and worn some at school. She shares clothes and shoes with her 21 and 23 year old sisters. She has A's in school and one B. Don't dare ask her if the B is in math or science, that makes her indignant that one would assume it is math or science that would be her troubling subject.

    

   She is growing up and I am hanging on to those last few kid years. I've signed her up for two different girl scout camps this summer. One close by and the other on the coast. I keep telling myself, she's only 11, she's only 11. But she's only one inch shorter than me and can really take care of herself. She gets up in the morning before I do, because after all those years of having to threaten her to get her to bathe, she now gets up early and showers daily. There are some advantages to growing up.

Spring Madness

I've been getting my hands dirty! I can't stop!

Yippee!

I am coming to you this morning from my back yard. The house is still asleep as they had a late night at the Supercross races. But the birds and I are bright and cheery in the morning sunshine!
Whilst they were away yesterday, I had a couple friends over to do a "little" yardwork.
And there has been an amazing transformation take place on my tiny piece of property.
It's like a blank canvas, just waiting for an artist's brush.
I get to be the artist!
Do I want green grass to grow there? Do I want azalea's here?
What am I doing just sitting here typing?!
I must create!