my heart exposed

Waiting in a room with chairs around a table doesn't sound so terrible,

Yet the trepidation in my mind surpassed incredible.

It is now beyond my wildest dream of sadness

The forces of two sides pitted against one another.

I am not property.

If ever a soul was grieved, it is mine.

If ever a heart crumbled, mine has done so.

If ever there was need of healing, it is in this very moment.

I am not loved.

Now I must go out into the world each day

Pretending I somehow fit in,

Somehow I believe this will all get better,

Somehow I don't have fear for the future—

for me, my disabled daughter, my sons, and my angry, heartbroken, little girl.

I am not present.

The tears just keep falling

and falling,

falling down my face

and onto my shirt;

I'm a slobbery mess inside and out.

I am not at peace.

I wake from dreams where I am weeping

only to realize it is only my heart grieving

Overwhelming grief for the loss of a dream gnaws

at every shard of gladness that dares cut through the pain.

I am not happy.

This mother's heart laments the freedom lost

to choose how long to always be there for her children

without her time divided by a separate employment.

They all seem too young to have to leave them,

to spend time with other people's children instead of my own.

I am not ready.

I struggle with speaking about this tragedy.

Even writing it feels labored and strained.

My heart is afraid to open up.

Even just enough to seek solace from friends

causes more suffering than it is worth.  

This crippling silence might be hurting me more

but I don't have the strength to move out of this place.

I am not comforted. 

The tears, they well up so quickly

into a flood that washes over me

Hurting at the beginning

yet somehow healing in between.

I am not sure. 

Numbness, quietness, dullness;

all eat away at the woman I want to be.

I'm a moth-eaten coat with no claim check.

I am not wanted.

My physical heart continues to race

I cannot get it to stop thinking;

it is a race horse pushing to the finish

it cannot stop, even for sleep,

or it might not make it to the last

most important part,

or has that part already passed

and it just doesn't know it?

I am not able to rest.

I stare off into the distance,

not knowing how to feel,

trying to silence feelings run wild,

running toward nothing,

hoping for something,

wanting peace and love and care,

wishing so hard that I ache.

I am not seen.

Breathing is what I do best now.

Usually, it is taken for granted.

Usually, it just happens.

Now, breathing almost hurts.

Now, remembering to breathe takes conscious effort.

I am not living.

When I stop to catch my breath, I ponder on how life has changed.

Where is everyone who began this nightmare with me?

A few have stayed loyally at my side

even when my rawness made them uncomfortable

and sometimes speechless.

More than a few have left me by the wayside

to fend for myself, exposed and alone

Realizing how solitary every soul can be.

I treasure up my faith like a priceless gift.

I treasure up any flicker of friendship I receive.

I am valuable.

When will the tears dry up?

The possibility of having an unending well

of salted tears makes my head hurt

in advance and makes me want to cry more

for all the love there is in the world,

When will the tears quit falling down?

I am courageous.

Questions rush

like a river down a rocky ravine

like wind through cottonwood trees on a warm summer day

like words from the mouth of a confused eight-year-old girl

like traffic on the freeway

like students in the hall right before class starts

like tears that come from a broken heart

like wishes blown into the breeze from a dandelion tuft

like are you getting divorced? from the mouth of my boy

like a wildfire down a brush-covered hillside.

But, time is holding its breath, nearly standing still

while I find the words

as if everything rushed so I could stop to savor the pain

of this poignant crossroads in my journey on earth.

I am free to choose.

This journey has opened my heart

—cracked it wide open—

exposing raw realizations

of sadness, regret, knowing, and hope.

I am able to learn.

Oh, this heart of mine will not be comforted!

It refuses no matter what solace there is to be found

I have faith enough to be healed

(or so I thought)

Or maybe this wound will become part of my faith.

It might teach me to take better care,

Better care of this heart.

I am loved.

If no one ever loves me again,

I want to love myself enough to keep expecting the best.

The best of everything is what everyone wants.

How will I obtain it?

I am capable. 

Sometimes, I believe I might be

searching for an non-findable abstraction.

Oftentimes, I think I could be

offering too much and too little of myself

at the same time.

All the time, I know I want to be

loving someone
who loves me

deeply
eternally
 gratefully
faithfully 
undeniably

passionately

romantically
wholeheartedly

and all the while

in reality

knowing

I am worth it.

a compilation of writings
from February 9, 2012 through April 2, 2012

related links:

I Will Survive

Broken Hearts Heal

Word of the Year: Broken