sueeeus

I’m tired, I’m worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes
To keep on breathing
I’ve made mistakes
I’ve let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world

And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn
Cause I’m worn

I’m feeling worn today.  As though the myriad fragments of thoughts of recent sorrows and former sorrows are all pooling together and finding their way to the surface, wanting to break through.  I’m feeling like a meltdown is pending.  Or else in progress.

I know that I’m tired, physically, and that a good long sleep would likely make these feelings go away.  Maybe they’re not so large at all, and would be nothing, if I could rest some more and let them drift off to a safe and peaceful place where they can feed my wisdom, but not hurt my heart.

So many of us are working through such struggles.  Some of monumental proportion. Some, not so much, but in their own estimation, they are monumental.  The struggle exists for us all.  Add to that the burden of misperceptions and misunderstandings.  All these unnecessary emotional struggles!

I think about the role I’ve played in other people’s lives.  The things I’ve done to give a helping hand.  Small things.  Big things.  In some ways and at some times it’s been sort of like helping a child learn to swing or ride a bike.  I give them a push, get them started, explain how to pump the legs or pedal the bike, so that they can go forth on their own.  Sometimes a push is all that’s needed.  And sometimes the push does little at all.  If they just move forward on the original momentum without adding their own force of pumping or peddling, whichever the case may be, inertia eventually wins and all things come to a stop.  In real life, with my own kids, in the same example of trying to teach them to swing or ride, I find myself frustrated when they give up and don’t try to propel themselves.  They want the easy road.  Mama, keep pushing!  But I don’t want to push any more.  I want them to learn and become self-sufficient.

In the adult world, I guess the wise thing to do is acknowledge that when another has allowed inertia to set them back to where they were, the consequential struggle isn’t my responsibility or my concern.  It would also be wise not to conclude that my efforts were ever wasted.  I shouldn’t rue the choices I’ve made, because always, in some manner, something positive and good comes.  Even if it doesn’t look like it, or seem possible.   Always it does.  Always.

It’s hard to watch the struggle.  I don’t know why so many people don’t believe in themselves.  What is there that can’t be done?  So much can be accomplished if one just tries.  Maybe we don’t know where to start, or how to start, but if we just try, we can get somewhere.  Maybe it’s not the right direction.  Then adjust.  And maybe that’s not quite right.  Adjust again.  Just keep on.  Almost anything is possible.

Of course, this only pertains to the struggle of managing our own lives in the realm of things that can be controlled.  It has nothing to do with the struggle of coping with things that are dumped on us from who knows where for who knows why.  Like cancer.  Or mental illness.  It’s an unfair battle.  The only thing I can see there is to do, for those who are caught in this kind of struggle, is to fight, and keep on fighting.  My heart aches and weeps for the unfair battles like these that people are thrown into.

I’m struggling with my own job of single parenting.  Wanting to nip things in the bud, and not knowing how to.  Wanting to impart harmony and peace, cooperation and consideration.  Not knowing how.

I’m struggling with my own sense of self.  I know who I am, but I wonder if anybody else does.  I spill out pages upon pages of words that describe my emotional being.  I have this cloud of emotion I’m swimming in right now, and I can’t fathom anybody else being able to understand it, and therefore understand me.  And that adds a sense of loneliness to the whole mix.  But why would it even matter if anybody understood what I feel and why?  This is just a part of me.  It’s my own journey.  It’s mine.  Why would a sense of loneliness even surface?  By definition it’s supposed to be singular.  Because it’s just me, and I am only one.  And that, by extension, makes me wonder how togetherness is possible, when it’s almost impossible to completely understand one another.  Maybe that’s the crux of it.  I want to understand (everyone, everything).  And I want to be understood.  It seems that I want the impossible, therefore the crushing awareness that what I want I can’t have.

I don’t know.  I’m blathering on about I don’t know what.  Today is my departed brother’s birthday.  Probably that has much to do with what I’m thinking and feeling.  He would be 44 today.  I miss him.

And I’m tired.

I’ve written about ripples before, how one thing impacts another and waves move ever outward, the whispering breath of my spirit carried out into the world, brushing gently against all in its path.  A kiss on the horizon that finds its way back to me.

There is a song that moves my heart.  When I hear it, the strains fill me, move me, cover me, and touch my very soul.  Everything about it speaks to me, as though it was written just for me.  Not long ago, I mentioned this song in conversation, and remarked that it’s one of my favorites.  It comes up on my Pandora mix every once in a while, and it almost always makes me cry.  It just takes me to that place.  The other day, a friend shared this very song on Facebook, especially for me.  That ripple had made its way back to me.

Late at night, after the kids had gone to sleep, I sat cradled in the hammock swing on my porch, breathed in the crisp autumn air, and listened.  Over and again, I played that song.  Tears fell.  I went inside the music, and sobbed, from the very core of me, releasing my self from myself.  I thought about my life, and who I am.  I thought about what I want.  I thought about love, what it is, and where it comes from.  I thought about my place in this earth, the mother I am, the life I lead, the responsibilities I shoulder.  All the while, the music played, and tears rolled down my face.

I sobbed my heart out, and decided that it really doesn’t matter if the man who fits ever appears, because I’m beautiful through and through, in my heart of hearts where beauty matters.  In that place, I am pure and innocent, and in that place I am love.  It’s not about all the men who have gone before.  It’s not about anything but me.  In that place, I see my self.  I see someone who is worthy of my love.  I stood naked in front of my mirror, while the music played.  I touched myself.  I moved my hands all over my body, slowly, looking at the curves and the shadows, looking through unveiled eyes at something beautiful, as tears rolled down.

I must have listened to that song thirty times or more.  I cried my heart out, and touched myself, looked at myself with respect and regard, all the while loving myself.  I know who I am.  I saw myself, maybe for the first time, for the beautiful woman that I am.  I saw myself, perhaps, as those who love me see me.

A small spark flickered inside of me; a glimmer of life reborn.  Tears streamed down my face and I knew.

when oceans rise

I am healing.  I can heal.

Lead me where my trust is without borders.

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander.

I will call upon your name.

Keep my eyes above the waves.

My soul will rest in your embrace.

I am yours and you are mine.

When oceans rise, my soul will rest in your embrace.

Fifteen, twenty, twenty five years, or more –scars from so very long ago.  I am healing.  God is speaking to me in ways that most people wouldn’t understand, in ripples and waves that make their way back to me.  I see where I am, and where I am going.  It likely won’t make sense to anybody but me, but it doesn’t have to.  This is my journey.  I am going to walk down this healing path for a while.

I am not afraid.

I am not alone.

Sometimes, it seems as though sorrows come in waves.  Recently, there has been news of friends, and friends of friends, people around my age, losing their lives to cancer or sickness, and in one case, suicide.  Lives lost.  Yet, at the same time, there has also been news of friends, and friends of friends, surviving cancer and surviving the brink of suicide.  Lives won!

One thing that news like this does is help me put my own life into perspective.  How am I living?  Am I wasting precious moments of my life, or am I living my life fully?

For a very long time, now, I’ve lost my smile.  I wasn’t actually aware of that, per se, until a year and a half or so ago, but once it occurred to me, I scrolled through picture upon picture and saw that it was true.  There are many pictures in which I’m smiling, but the smile is hollow.

Without knowing what else to do, I sought to at least put a little more effort into taking better care of myself.  I’ve taken some small steps and some big steps, and I’ve made some progress.  I’ve been trying to answer the question of how I want to live.  What do I want for myself and for my family?

It’s interesting how things can change so dramatically in an instant.  I’ve been in a sort of doldrums state for such a very long time, where I couldn’t even begin to imagine what sort of life I want for myself, other than simply know that the life I’m living is not the life that I want, or more to the point, the life I’m living is not quite complete.  If I tried to give the matter thought, I couldn’t imagine any kind of scenario that would work, that would even be possible.  My age, my children’s age, my work, my responsibilities.  My life is so full that there is barely any room to breathe, yet still, there persists an aching, yearning need for connection.

Somehow, in the midst of everyday life, the heavens have opened up and rained down on me.  In the course of doing those things which are within my reach, I’ve made new connections, new friendships.  I’m starting to meet other parents, and slowly building a sense of community.  By the simple act of letting myself settle in to this country home and this small community, the community has opened up to me.

I love where I live.  It’s beautiful and peaceful.  For the first time in my life, I feel as though I have a home.   In fact, I feel as though I am home.  It’s something I’ve been missing for so long!

And look!  A genuine smile!

I’ve been on a home organization frenzy recently, which includes an attempt to organize my photos.  As I browsed through them, I started to see some of them differently.  Namely, pictures of myself from a year ago.  Was that really me?  Who was that?

I’ve been on a journey to find myself for some time now.  I know I’ve been singing that tune for ages, but it’s different now.  Now I see where I’ve been lying to myself for ever, where I’ve disregarded and dishonored the very essence of my self for the better part of my life.  Not that it’s been wrong to put others first.  I’ve done well for others.  I’ve helped others.  I will still do so.  At my core, I’m a helper.

The thing that I noticed today is that I’m no longer hiding behind denial.  I dishonored myself.  I let myself go.  I loathed myself. I don’t know why.  I can’t say.  I can’t see.  Only that I did it.  And even so, when I buried myself so deeply, wherever it was that I’ve been (buried under a hundred pounds of fat), still, there has always been a part of ME, the real, authentic me, looking for a way out, looking for the light of day.  She wanted to live.  All along, she wanted to break free and see the light of day.  So today, with the recognition and acceptance of what I’ve done to myself, I also give forgiveness.  Because I love myself.  I wasn’t loving myself, but now I see that love and forgiveness go hand in hand.  And just like that, I’ve forgiven myself and discovered that I love myself.  I’m coming home to me.

I want to clarify that this isn’t at all about being obese, or becoming obese.  And it’s not at all about losing weight, either.  It’s not about the age old misconception that, oh, if only I could or would lose the weight, I’d be happy.  Losing some weight has given me the courage to look at myself, and to see myself.  So this is about getting lost.  It’s about fear.  It’s about hiding.  It’s about the emotional, not the physical self.  Only the emotional problems had a very physical manifestation.  As they do.

There aren’t very many people (and by people, I mean dear friends) who knew me before I lost myself.  In fact, I can only think of three —Dindu, Suse, and my sister S.  These people have loved me for most of my life (and I them).  It all happened so long ago.  I don’t even know when.  Or why.  I know of times and events that caused things to escalate, but the beginning?  I don’t know.  My sister thinks it started when I had an abortion.  She could be right (she’s usually right).  She used to say, “Sissy, that’s when you lost your mojo.  Where is my sissy?  I want my sissy back.  I miss her.”   She’s been saying that for years.

So I’m coming home to me.  Those words stir the memory of a song from my youth.  In my heart and in my head, I hear Hosea.  Come back to me with all your heart –don’t let fear keep us apart.  Trees do bend, though straight and tall –so must we to others’ call.  Long have I waited for your coming home to me and living deeply our new life.  The wilderness will lead you to your heart, where I will speak.  Integrity and justice, with tenderness you shall know.

I’m on my way.  Home to me.  My arms are open.  I feel the sunlight on my face.

let the light shine on me

I’m like the very hungry caterpillar.  I’ve eaten my way through the difficult parts of my life, and trapped myself in a nearly impenetrable cocoon.  And now, I’ve started to nibble my way through these walls and I can see the light of day.

Some day soon I’m going to find my smile.  I’m going to become a beautiful butterfly.  And then?  Then I will FLY!

In the spirit of the new year, the idea of a gratitude jar (making the rounds on FaceBook) caught my eye.  Good things, blessings, happy moments — these things are written on pieces of paper and stored in a jar.  At the end of the year, one can open the jar, revisit the moments and count one’s blessings.  Literally.

I love it!

I chose a translucent jar, so that I could see the blessings grow.  (Besides, I found it on clearance for $3.50.)

But I’m a yin yang kind of a girl,  so I thought I would round out the concept with another jar.  You know, for the icky stuff.  It’s sort of a psychological exercise, and it’s not a bad thing at all, once I thought it through a bit.  The idea is to write down the things that make me frown, cause me stress or anguish, and put them in the jar.  I chose an opaque jar with a narrow neck, so the notes can go in, but they can’t readily come out, and they can’t be seen.  At the end of the year, perhaps I will set the thing on fire for a touch of finality to letting the hurtful and dark things go.  It’s all about letting them go.  Writing them down gets them out of me.  It takes the energy that might otherwise deflate me, and puts it away.

In essence, this exercise symbolically magnifies the goodness and diminishes the badness, and wraps it all up,  happy and sad, in a thing of beauty.  And that?  Is a good thing.

captured thoughts

My body is changing.  My physical form is occupying less space in the universe, and with this slow transformation there is a new self-awareness dawning.  How can I explain this?  It’s almost as if, for all the years –so many years!– that I’ve been taking up so much space, there was a gaping chasm separating my self, the real me, from my self, the physical me.  Maybe I wouldn’t, or maybe I couldn’t look at the latter.  Maybe it was just too much.  This is not who I am, I’d say, and I’d turn the other way.  But the problem is –was–, that we live in a physical world, so there is no escaping the physical self.  That is what manifests.  And what of the inner self?  Where did that one go?  That one who might have been beautiful, smart, capable, excellent.  That one is smothered by the shell that is manifested in the physical.  I spent years struggling with self-acceptance.  The dichotomy between who I was and who I appeared to be was too great.  E R R O R.  C A N N O T   C O M P U T E.

It’s so very easy to soothe this unrest, this distress, with all manner of deflections and cover-ups.   Fill one’s every moment with something, anything, so that you don’t have to think about yourself, and the Grand Canyon that separates your self from your self.  Be a super achiever.  Move mountains.  Consume mountains.  At the end of the day, though, there remains a deep and aching sadness, because you can’t really cover up the Grand Canyon.  It’s still there, and no matter how hard you may try to justify or explain or deflect or deny, the truth of the matter is that it is still there.  You can’t escape from yourself.

Grand Canyon

What I’m beginning to notice, as I sit for a moment and gaze down at the legs folded beneath me, is that the chasm is closing.  Ever so slowly.  But it’s closing.  Because when I look down at my physical self, I see my physical self.  And I recognize a faint glimmer of my self.  I can look at the legs beneath me and say, “Oh!  That’s me.  I’m sitting here.  Those are my legs.  They are attached to my body.  They are a part of me.”  And that is the beginning of acceptance.

Two things come to mind as I reflect upon these things.  Why does it take a lifetime and a radical change to deem oneself worthy of one’s own acceptance?  And why is there a chasm at all?  It’s clear to see how the chasm has grown, but not so clear to understand where or why it began in the first place.  The whole matter is tragic.  Such a waste of life.  Such a waste of beautiful moments, beautiful thoughts, beautiful breath.  Such a waste.

I don’t know who will emerge once the chasm has healed, but I do know that I will embrace her, because she will be whole.  She is who I am.  She is the real me.  Hello, old friend, I will say, when we meet.  I’ve missed you.

You asked me if I wanted you to stay or if I wanted you to go.  I told you that I don’t like it when you give me ultimatums.  Where is the ultimatum in that, you asked.  It’s in the mere fact that you asked a leading question with only one acceptable answer.  Rather than just enjoy the fact that you are were here.  If you’re here, you’re here.  Why would I ask you to go.

You asked me if I was willing to do whatever it takes to keep this relationship alive.  I answered, “probably not”.  I answered that because I don’t know what you mean by “whatever it takes”.  No, I’m not willing to do whatever it takes.  If it means slitting my wrists, no, I’m not willing.  If it means compromising my relationship with my kids, no, I’m not willing.  It’s an absolute question to which the only answer I can give that won’t be untruthful is “probably not”.  It doesn’t mean that I won’t do anything.  I have done SO MUCH.  Do you even know?  But that was then and this is now.   And you said that was enough of an answer for you.  And off you went.  Again.

I can’t even count how many times you’ve walked out my door.  How many times you’ve hung up on me.  How many times you’ve lied to me.  Yes, I know you’ve lied to me.  Maybe not so many times that I can’t count them, but you have lied.  You speak of how much I hurt you, and I don’t think you have even a remote idea of the hurt I feel and have felt.  Nor do I want you to know.  That’s more than enough for one person.  I sense the pain you feel, and I have my own pain too.  It’s always magnified.

I wish you understood me.  You speak of partnership, and you see my unwillingness to go where you are, but it seems that you don’t see your own unwillingness to go where I am.  I told you where I have to be.  I am standing where I have to be.  I am a mother.  My children are demanding and I am trying to do my best to raise them well.  It doesn’t mean that I think  you’re not good enough for me, for us.  It doesn’t mean that I reject you.  It simply means that I choose them.  I have to choose them.  There. Is. No. Other. Choice.

Do you hear me?  They are demanding.  DEMANDING.  The stamina required of me to maintain composure and remain firm and kind and loving and gentle and solid and good and strong takes nearly every bit of will that I have.  I am weary.  I am ragged.  But this is my prime responsibility and this is what I must do.

This doesn’t mean that I don’t love you, that I don’t value you, that I don’t see your worth.  It just means that I have absolutely no idea how to balance life with a relationship, children and work.  I can barely, barely manage to hold it all together with just children and work.

What you need and want and require in a relationship I cannot give.  I am sorry.

I don’t know what else to say.

I am sorry.

What do I need?  I need a friend.  A shoulder to cry on.  Someone who’s interested in how my day went.  Someone who’s content in knowing that I’m a friend, that I have a shoulder for them to cry on, and I’m interested in  how their day went.

You’ve been distancing yourself from me for some time now.  Do you think I didn’t know this or feel this?  Of course I did.  You said you were doing this to prepare yourself to break up with me, because this relationship isn’t working for you.

So now you’ve said it.  And now you may go.

I wish you well.

You posted a quote on your Facebook wall this morning:

Watching you walk out of my life hasn’t made me bitter or cynical about love, but rather, it has shown me that if I wanted so badly to be with the wrong person, how beautiful it will be when the right one comes along.

I read it and thought, yes, how beautiful it will be for you when the right one does come along.  Because I am not the right one, as much as you think that I am.  And I think that somewhere deep down in your heart, you know it too.

Is this the last goodbye?  I don’t know.  I’m not going anywhere.  I am here with my kids.  This is where I will be.

If you ever need a friend, or a shoulder to cry on, or someone who’s interested in how your day went, give me a call.

I am happy to bid adieu to 2012.  I would say that 2012 took me for a ride, but it would be more honest to say that I let 2012 take me for a ride.  I could call it the ride of a lifetime.  Woohoo!  Put a bright spin on it.  A ride indeed.  I think I may have experienced some of the highest highs and the lowest lows of my life in good ‘ole 2012.

It’s all good, really.  My life is full.  My children are happy and healthy.   We have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies, and warm beds to sleep in.

There is beauty and wisdom in all things, no matter the circumstance.  It just takes a certain perspective to be able to see it.

I won’t say that losing one’s children to the slaughter of a mad man has any beauty in it, but the shock and the horror force (some of) us to take note of our family circles, be more vigilant, hold our children more, and be more grateful for every little moment, and embrace it all.  Even when we’re at our wits end and drowning in frustration.  All these things are trifles.  I want to drink it all in.  Treasure. Every.  Moment.

The time that the children are children is fleeting.  I blinked my eyes and see so many of my nieces and nephews and my friends’ children are already grown.  Grown!  Where did the years go?

My hair is turning (more) gray.  My skin is starting to show its wear.

Professionally, I did well in 2012.  I had some lofty goals and I had actually admitted defeat to myself as well as my boss that it was unlikely that I’d be able to finish the super project before the end of the work year.   I pressed on, and somehow (by the grace of God and the skin of my teeth) I did it!  I felt like a superstar, and it was a great sense of accomplishment.  I don’t think it really mattered much to anyone but me, that I finished by the deadline, but it did matter to me, and I was/am pleased with myself  –pauses to pat self on back.  I suppose I ought to acknowledge that being a superstar for a moment barely compensates for all the days that my performance was distracted and disjointed from the emotional fray that I was buried in for the better part of the year.

Spiritually I’ve had some growth in 2012.  Not the sort of growth that a mainstream Christian might acknowledge or agree with, but I’ve learned some things and for that I’m grateful.  I thought that I wanted to settle into a church family, but realize that I’m truly not drawn that way.  I love the people, I love the worship.  But I belong to a church that is not made with hands, and that church is my home, wherever I am.  I don’t hunger for the company of a congregation, and I’m secure in the knowledge that I am a child of God.

This year has been a rough ride for me emotionally.  I’ve endured much.  I’ve made my loved ones endure much.  I tried so very hard to do more than I am able to do.  Like that image of a circus performer spinning plate after plate after plate.  I had so many plates spinning, but I just couldn’t keep it up, and they all came crashing down.  Lord, how I tried.  I gave it a good shot, though!

Physically, the twists and turns and ups and downs have taken their toll.  Whereas I’ve maintained my weight for most of the year, the past few months have seen a dramatic change in overall physical well-being.  From the moment that I made the decision to re-find myself, I’ve put on weight and my blood sugar has climbed.  Something’s got to give, I suppose.  I’m trying not to panic.  I’m attempting to take it in stride and breathe deeply, knowing that things will settle once I get a stronger grip on the emotional side of my life.

So where am I now?  I don’t really know.  In transition, I suppose.  I’m not settled.  I’m not where I want to be.  But I’m changing and standing faithfully where I need to stand.  I tell myself not to be afraid.  I tell myself that everything will be okay.  And it is.

adieu 2012

I’m feeling troubled.  It’s been a trying weekend.  Friday morning two of my production sites went haywire, and it was a scramble to try and get them fixed, to no avail.  Server migration and database connectivity issues.  Ho hum.  I have a pretty good idea of what needs to be done to repair everything, but conveying that to the help desk with the right telephone keypad menu choices is practically impossible.  So much for automated system support.  I kept checking status and resubmitting tickets all weekend long.  Again, to no avail.  Monday rolls around and I’m frantically chasing things down.  One of my tickets got linked to someone else’s ticket, and ended up in a database admin’s queue, which did neither of us any good.  I know there are reasons why server administration is tightly governed, but sometimes it would be so nice to be allowed some control over these things.  I could have fixed my problem in 5 minutes or less, but it took 3 days.

Somewhere in the midst of all that I had the thought that I really shouldn’t let it bother me so much.  The world will continue and 3 days in the scheme of things is 3 days.  Nobody will remember it after everything’s up and running again.

Friday evening when everyone had gone to bed, we heard some annoying revving sounds in the distance.  They went on for quite some time, so D got up to look out the window, and saw a man standing at the edge of the deck staircase on the side yard, as if he were about to come up to the house.  D got up and went to investigate and I stayed put for a little while, then I called the neighbors and told them we’d seen somebody lurking.  They called the sheriff.  Meanwhile, I noticed that my bedroom slider was ajar.  I use that door to step onto the bedroom patio when I need to use the phone, because I don’t get a signal inside the house, but it has been days since I took a call upstairs.  So I’m perplexed at the door being ajar, and wondering how long it’s been that way.

So many questions.  We live out in the country.  We’re not walking distance from anything or anyone.  There’s no reason for a pedestrian to be out and about, let alone walking in or across my property, and especially not at 9 pm in the pitch black night of winter.

D and I checked every nook and cranny of my house.  He said the lights inside my car were on, in the garage.  Odd.  The kids tend to leave their lights on from time to time, but these were the front cabin lights, and they never touch them.  Strange.

I’m left with the feeling that somebody might have been in my house or my garage or both.

It’s creepy, and very hard to even think about.  The whole weekend D stuck around, and I was so glad for his presence.  What if he hadn’t been there?  What if that car hadn’t been making all that noise off in the distance?  What if that man would have come into my house?  What if he’d have come in through my bedroom slider?

I kept thinking that I don’t even have the emotional capacity to be afraid.  It’s too much for me.  I didn’t have any room for fear.  It was an odd and interesting mental and emotional place to find myself.  Later, Sunday, after D had gone home and after I put the kids to bed, I climbed into bed and thought about things and sobbed for a little while, allowing myself to consider fear.  And while I was thinking about it, praying about keeping my family safe, I prayed for that guy.  Bless those who curse you.  I hope that whatever drove him to lurk on my property has departed and that his heart and intent from here forward will be to be good and not cause trouble for himself or anybody else.

Back to tonight.  I’m exhausted after a long work day.  I asked D if he wanted to Skype for a little while.  We were on for only a few minutes and he said he wanted to go.  I said goodbye, and felt queasy, as though my insides were churning.  Minutes later he posted on FaceBook that he’s ” feeling ??  not sure what to do”.

Friday morning Gadget’s daughter gave birth to a healthy baby girl.  He’s a grandpa now, and by some weird extension, I’m a sort of ex step grandma.  Meanwhile some crazy person in Connecticut took the lives of so many people, so many children.  I can’t even think about it, it hurts too much.  And later that day, all of the above.

It’s exhausting, all of this.  I’m feeling worn out on all levels.

All levels.

He’s moving out. Packing his things.  Hurting.  Angry. He wants me to fight for us if I believe in us.  He wants me to ask him to stay. And I don’t. 

I tell him I’m sorry. 

I let him down.  I wish I had been stronger from the beginning.  He says I used him and that he wishes we’d never met. It’s my fault.  I told him he could believe in me and trust in me.  And I let him down.  Father, I’m sorry.  He doesn’t believe that I love him and that I’ve always loved him.  But he says these things from his hurting place. 

I don’t want him to crumble and I dont want  him to fall.  I want him to rise up and shine, glorious and victorious.  To find himself, to find his peace, to find his joy.  All these things I want for him, and he doesn’t know or understand.  Only that I’ve just pulled the plug on his life.

I don’t have the means to tell him this, other than send it out in a prayer.  Dear Lord, bless him and keep him, make him healthy and safe.  Hold him tightly, tightly, tightly in your embrace and warm him with your love and fulness, through and through.  Heal him, Father, I pray.  Take the pain from his body and from his heart and shine in him and through him so that he can see and know and feel and understand that he is and always has been loved and precious.  Bless him, Lord.

These things I pray.  And forgive me for the sorrow I’ve caused by my own wrecklessness in thinking that I could be more than who I am.  I am sorry.

Nobody truly knows our hearts but you, God.  He doesn’t know my heart and intentions from the beginning were pure and full of hope.  Just as I don’t know his heart and intentions –my perception is so far off, and  maybe his is too.  We’ve not understood each other for so long.  

I’ve tried.  I feel as though I’ve tried.

I’m sorry that I failed.