Archive for sadness

Cleaning out the Wars

29720218A stack of shirts, long unworn, wrinkled.

Shorts, a little short and revealing for someone my age.

The necklace from Aunt Libby’s cruise in 1995.

And then, at the bottom. the forgotten cards and letters.

I’ll admit, I don’t remember the act of writing them,

or receiving the occasional ones that I received from him.

I remember the feeling of incredible new love,

I remember the affection , unsolicited and so long ago.

But it has been so long since those days, those moments-

little kids, fussing, playing out side on warm summer nights.

Their fussing ending quickly when lightning bugs came out.

Life, as I dreamed it, had been almost real- for a while.

Now, I read my words and remember them so clearly,

both the days when the words flowed truly from my heart

and those when I swallowed hard, and tried to remember

as I wrote those same letters, lying, with tears on my cheeks.

Now, I carry the pain of loosing a beautiful teen so wrongly.

Feeling that God betrayed me when I did everything I could.

I lost my health, my faith and the deep bond with my family,

When my health was destroyed by the horrible death of my son.

The destruction had gone on for years, slowly, before that day.

Now, I was filled with misery and they were young adults.

College, marrying new houses, kids-and my one still small child.

He gave me life, saved my soul, but I had to let him grow up too.

The letters and journals became ways to cope for me

Often pretending, other times literary screams of pain.

The older kids were at heir house, I was at mine.

I was living in a house that used to be a home.

Mixed in with black nightgowns and alluring bathing suits,

there were only scribbled notes, half apology, half excuse.

That’s all I got. I no longer wrote such letters at all.

My journals, tear-stained, of my ruined life replaced them.

Affection was gone, grand children became my solace, my life.

I felt like a stranger to my family-I have never felt so alone.

Now letters from past generations haunt me now. My parents died,

never intending me to read them, as an only child I had to.

I saw myself in my mom. Her struggles, her pain as she aged.

A million more tears and less understanding of my haunted past.

There, at my childhood home, I again shuffled thru the memories.

Finding unbearable pain in cleaning out the drawers, and the wars once again.

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Goodbye,Helladays

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There are so many good things about the Holiday season. I enjoy meals with family, cook and wrap presents. I take photos and watch the little ones open their gifts with innocence and excitement. I clean up the mess of wrapping paper, just as I did ten years ago. From the outside, nothing appears that different, I suppose. I know I should have a better attitude, but it seems to become more difficult to endure this “happy time” every year, when it isn’t happy for me.

I feel like I spent most of my Christmas this year alone. I managed a “tree cutting with my son and his friends, decorating a different tree-(the first one, a white pine was just too spindly),eating at my Aunts, a family tradition and seeing my grand kids play together on her floor as everyone laughed and gobbled down snacks and a ham dinner. . Still, Christmas Eve alone was miserable. My youngest son that has is still at home has a girlfriend who he is either with or talking to, my husband watches TV and hangs out in the living room. I kept hoping my son would come watch TV with me after his girlfriend went home, but he didn’t. Wasn’t it only a year or two ago that he stayed near me and comforted me as I cried over his brother or helped me down the steps at the Gingerbread House display when I was hurting so bad that it was difficult to walk?

My father passed away in August, between hospital and “rehab” stays, spending the summer with my family and being in hospice twice before I could no longer care for him. It was horrible. He has always been so active and often refused to let us help him. When he began to fall and get hurt, I had no choice but to seek help. We found the nicest nursing home we could-dad’s memory was in and out. Sometimes, he talked and told stories, other times, he was asking how “my mother and I” got him put in that place, even though it has been nearly four years since I lost my mother. When he asked my daughter one day if she thought he would ever be able to go home , she held him and whispered, “I don’t think so-I’m sorry.” Three weeks later he was gone. Not because of what she said, but because he had heard what he already knew was true from his oldest grand daughter and he couldn’t bear it.

It may seem odd, but I have grieved them both this year, as I cleaned out their house. I will never stop grieving the 15 year old who should be 2 now, who collapsed and died while simply playing baseball.

I read the newspaper and see all of the tragedies around the world. Those who have lost family to violence or war, and find myself feeling guilty. I see how many people in my neighborhood live alone or are elderly, their families far away. They look forward to these days as being one of the few times that they see their families, when I see most of my family every week.

One of my daughters had to spend her baby’s first Christmas away from her, because she was too sick with the flu to care for her. Thankfully she is better now. I think it is easy for family to forget that those of us who are not well, depressed, or grieving need joy in our holidays too. My children are busy with their young families or girlfriends. My husband and I don’t have a joyful relationship like we used to. We live here, we talk when we have to. He is healthy, doing what he wants. I am not, and find myself longing for happier times with a loving family and my own little children around me.

Yesterday was my birthday-I got phone calls from my kids and a card from my aunt. That’s all. Today, my son got his drivers license. Although I am glad to see him get the chance to grow up, unlike his older brother, these rites of passage for him, find me looking to even more loneliness and worry.

It seems the more I try to find happiness in these times, the more difficult if becomes. I admit to wiping a few stray tears at the Christmas play when my tall, handsome son played “Joseph” as the rest of the cast were modern day characters with attitudes rather like my own. Of course at the end, my “Joseph” had made them realize the true meaning of Christmas, but, sadly, going home to find myself watching reruns alone quickly dispelled that mood.

I look away, pretending to be distracted, hoping some well-meaning clerk won’t ask if I had a good holiday. I breathe a sigh of relief when she picks the next person in line to share he cheer with. I come home to an empty house and wait on my newly “freed” son to get home. The cat howls in the next room as if she is as sad as I am.

I’m sorry, world, if the holidays aren’t what they used to be. I’m sorry I avoid the cheery clerks and church folks at the play. I’m sorry I went to sleep at my Aunts and woke up crying. To those of you who still can, I wish a happy season. For those who feel like I do, we just wish it was over.

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