Broken hearts. They are all painful, no matter how trivial it may seem to some. Until you have walked in someone elses shoes, you will never truly understand their pain. It amazes me: the human "heart". I quote because really and truly it is not the heart that breaks, but the nerve center that controls emotions. But I digress. We are the only animals in the world to take an emotion and let it run our lives. Sure, dogs can endure heartbreak, but after a while they forget why they were sad or that they were sad. Only humans seem to hold on to the notion of heartbreak.
I remember being seventeen years old, thinking everything that happened at the time meant everything and it was the best or worst thing that could ever happen to me. Then I hit twenty one, and sure enough, I thought the same thing. The difference is that at twenty-one, I was right in a sense. I got married, had bills, and felt the loss of a very special man in my life, my father in law. At seventeen, I was young and in love. I thought he would be there forever and we would live happily ever after. As I look back now, I realize it was stupid to think so. Nonetheless, though, it was how I felt. He was the only person to truly break my heart. I thought I was going to die without him. Then as time passed, I saw that he was the one who suffered the most from it. I was gone and I would have done anything for him.
My sister in law came to me last night full of depression. Not just over boys, but over life itself. Feeling as though the world was crashing in on her and there was nothing she could do about it. Having suffered depression for many years myself, I empathize in a way that only I can understand. I know that feeling of loss but not knowing quite what was lost. But she described it so well. It's a feeling of losing one's true self and not knowing how to get it back. It has taken me a lot of therapy and medication to know that you can never fully get yourself back in life. We give out pieces of ourselves when we build relationships, friend or love. I have given pieces of myself to many people, all too willingly I admit. Trust has been broken, friendships and love lost in the process. And I had no real idea what to tell her at the time, because I know that girl crying on her bed. The one who so desperately wants to love and be loved back. That girl who, despite all her best efforts, comes out a little worn and broken. I was that girl at her age.
And it kills me to know that she is enduring my pain, just with a few circumstances changed. My father chose to leave. Hers passed away. I've never fully known which is worse of the two. She moved to California for a while, while I was moved from school to school. Yet we still feel the same emptiness. That loss of ourselves in the process of trying to be better, to get better. Never in my life would I wish this pain upon anyone. The constant thinking to myself, "If only I had done something different, then maybe this gaping hole wouldn't be there". But it always will be, no matter how hard we try. We will always have done something to ourselves that makes the world turn on us.
Although its nice to not have to be alone in the struggle, I hate to see her heart broken.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
In A Crooked Little Town, They Were Lost And Never Found... Fallen Leaves
When a leaf falls from the tree to the ground, it decomposes and becomes nourishment for the mother tree it fell from. As far as plants having any kind of consciousness goes, I have no idea, but if they do then this cycle is it's sole purpose. The circle of life is a beautiful thing when properly allowed to do so. That which brings life also ends it and that which ends, brings. All that hippie tree hugging stuff.
Well today something came to my attention as I was waiting to go home from my therapists office. I was outside having a smoke when I noticed on the concrete an imprint of a fallen leaf. It made my heart skip a beat to think about how this poor leaf would have felt, had it had a consciousness, when it landed somewhere other than it's intended location. I posted a photo of it on my Facebook, with the idea that it may have thought, "I'm sorry I failed you, Mother Tree". And that idea is beyond beautiful in the most saddening way.
I think that if we took the time to take a look around and notice little things and not lose our way from things that matter, we could end up more like the leaf that served its purpose rather than the one that lost its way. Mind you, the leaf itself probably had no choice in the matter of where it landed. It had probably been swept away by the wind or carried by a random person's shoe. And these factors changed the course of this leaf's path. Much like our daily struggles and worries. We let money issues, family issues, and social media sweep us away from our daily path that ultimately leads to landing in a place we never wanted or intended. But once we follow the "winds" we have no choice but to land wherever the wind stops. Whether this be at the foot of our tree or stuck in the concrete miles away from anything that needs us.
We allow things to drastically change our lives over and over. Then complain when our lives have made a complete 180 degree turn from where we wanted to be. I have done this, my husband has done this, hell, everyone has done this. There are no leaves that have not been swept away by the wind at least once. The part that matters? If we land somewhere that when we have stopped, we can fulfill our dreams and purpose. Nourish it with our gained knowledge and wisdom. Let it grow more roots and become stronger than ever. Since that is our destination anyway, why not make it a good ride?
Well today something came to my attention as I was waiting to go home from my therapists office. I was outside having a smoke when I noticed on the concrete an imprint of a fallen leaf. It made my heart skip a beat to think about how this poor leaf would have felt, had it had a consciousness, when it landed somewhere other than it's intended location. I posted a photo of it on my Facebook, with the idea that it may have thought, "I'm sorry I failed you, Mother Tree". And that idea is beyond beautiful in the most saddening way.
I think that if we took the time to take a look around and notice little things and not lose our way from things that matter, we could end up more like the leaf that served its purpose rather than the one that lost its way. Mind you, the leaf itself probably had no choice in the matter of where it landed. It had probably been swept away by the wind or carried by a random person's shoe. And these factors changed the course of this leaf's path. Much like our daily struggles and worries. We let money issues, family issues, and social media sweep us away from our daily path that ultimately leads to landing in a place we never wanted or intended. But once we follow the "winds" we have no choice but to land wherever the wind stops. Whether this be at the foot of our tree or stuck in the concrete miles away from anything that needs us.
We allow things to drastically change our lives over and over. Then complain when our lives have made a complete 180 degree turn from where we wanted to be. I have done this, my husband has done this, hell, everyone has done this. There are no leaves that have not been swept away by the wind at least once. The part that matters? If we land somewhere that when we have stopped, we can fulfill our dreams and purpose. Nourish it with our gained knowledge and wisdom. Let it grow more roots and become stronger than ever. Since that is our destination anyway, why not make it a good ride?
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
When I Die, Hallelujah By And By....
It's such a beautiful thing to love and be loved back. Not just from the opposite sex, but from family. Today is my grandmother's birthday, and I couldn't miss her more than I already do. A little over four years ago she passed away in her bed, a few hours after I spoke to her on the phone. She had been very sick for a very long time, and I remember wishing that she would just go ahead and die so she wouldn't be in any pain anymore. The day she did actually die, we spoke on the phone after my mother warned me it may be the last time I get to speak to her. Wish I had known it would be.
Her Alzheimer's had gotten the best of her by that time, and when she answered the phone, she thought I was my mom. I didn't have the heart to tell her any different so I let her believe I was her little JoAnn. She told me she could see the angels and how beautiful they were. I then did something that I think my mom couldn't do, I let her go. I told her if she could see the angels, quit hanging around here and join them. Mind you, she thought I was my mother. To this day I still feel a little guilty for having done that, because if she was waiting on my mom to be okay with her going to her peaceful rest, then I stole something from a woman laying on her deathbed. The thought that her daughter would be okay. I pretended to be that daughter to save her the ache of having to hear the explanation of who I was. Maybe it's a bit silly to feel guilty over letting someone pass away peacefully, but that's my burden over that.
But I know my granny loved me as much as humanly possible. Many of my first memories are of her holding me when I cried, talking to me on the phone when I was scared or sad, or even just working at the flea market with her. She was a huge developer of who I am today. She taught me what it meant to be kind and hard working. After many years of struggling with alcohol, my granny quit drinking when I was born. She worked hard to stay sober, and for nearly twenty one years she never had another drop of the stuff. I like to think it was for me, but we all know that no addict changes for anyone else and succeeds. She changed for herself and who she wanted to be. She then became the pillar for my mom and me and my sister for a long time after my parents got divorced. She was the one I called daily to cry and be a sad little girl whose parents just couldn't bring themselves to love each other anymore. I called her every Sunday to tell her "Happy Jesus Day" up until the last few weeks of her life. I just couldn't bare the pain.
To this day I have to catch myself from calling her when I need someone to talk to. I still dial those numbers in a fit of rage when I need someone to help me understand men. SO many times I have hit those ten digits just to remember that, if I dialed them, it would not be Thelma who answered, but a stranger who had no idea who I am. And I think that's the part I hate the most of her being gone. Not having that same voice pick up the phone. No "Hello Little Ashly!" No answering machine that says a prayer for you as you wait for the beep. She's just GONE. I can barely remember the voice that soothed me to sleep so many nights. I can just barely see the face of the angel who taught me to love Jesus more than I loved anything. I don't remember her smell at all. I had a bottle of her perfume for a while, but even it dried up and the smell did not linger. The only things I have of the woman I loved the most, is the blanket she died with and her red duck doorstop that I had to beg her to leave me. And of course all of the many memories.
When my husband's father passed away, I said I had no idea what it was like to lose a parent. At the time I didn't think it was fair to even try and compare the depth of sadness I felt about my granny to the agonizing pain he was going through. But for me, losing my granny WAS losing a parent. I see that now. There are so many memories I have of her being there for me. More than my father. She helped me through boy problems, through my parents divorce, and even more haunting, she even helped me cope with her death. She had been preparing me for the day she would pass for a very long time. I always ignored it and told her she would outlive me. Which, of course, she never would. But she always made sure to tell me there would come a day that she wouldn't be able to brush away my pains, talk away my fears, or kiss away boo boos. Looking back now, I am glad she always said those things. It made it a little easier to be strong for my mother. I only broke down a few times. Once to clean her body when the hospice nurse needed help, once when they took her away from the house, and once during her funeral. It made me sad that a couple of her wants for her funeral were not able to be obtained due to monetary issues, but we did the best we could with what we had. She wanted the grandchildren to sing "I'll Fly Away". She wanted a version of Elvis's gospel songs played. We didn't do those things, but I will tell you one thing. At least once daily, in my head, I sing "I'll Fly Away" just for her. And I know she is smiling on me and clapping along.
Her Alzheimer's had gotten the best of her by that time, and when she answered the phone, she thought I was my mom. I didn't have the heart to tell her any different so I let her believe I was her little JoAnn. She told me she could see the angels and how beautiful they were. I then did something that I think my mom couldn't do, I let her go. I told her if she could see the angels, quit hanging around here and join them. Mind you, she thought I was my mother. To this day I still feel a little guilty for having done that, because if she was waiting on my mom to be okay with her going to her peaceful rest, then I stole something from a woman laying on her deathbed. The thought that her daughter would be okay. I pretended to be that daughter to save her the ache of having to hear the explanation of who I was. Maybe it's a bit silly to feel guilty over letting someone pass away peacefully, but that's my burden over that.
But I know my granny loved me as much as humanly possible. Many of my first memories are of her holding me when I cried, talking to me on the phone when I was scared or sad, or even just working at the flea market with her. She was a huge developer of who I am today. She taught me what it meant to be kind and hard working. After many years of struggling with alcohol, my granny quit drinking when I was born. She worked hard to stay sober, and for nearly twenty one years she never had another drop of the stuff. I like to think it was for me, but we all know that no addict changes for anyone else and succeeds. She changed for herself and who she wanted to be. She then became the pillar for my mom and me and my sister for a long time after my parents got divorced. She was the one I called daily to cry and be a sad little girl whose parents just couldn't bring themselves to love each other anymore. I called her every Sunday to tell her "Happy Jesus Day" up until the last few weeks of her life. I just couldn't bare the pain.
To this day I have to catch myself from calling her when I need someone to talk to. I still dial those numbers in a fit of rage when I need someone to help me understand men. SO many times I have hit those ten digits just to remember that, if I dialed them, it would not be Thelma who answered, but a stranger who had no idea who I am. And I think that's the part I hate the most of her being gone. Not having that same voice pick up the phone. No "Hello Little Ashly!" No answering machine that says a prayer for you as you wait for the beep. She's just GONE. I can barely remember the voice that soothed me to sleep so many nights. I can just barely see the face of the angel who taught me to love Jesus more than I loved anything. I don't remember her smell at all. I had a bottle of her perfume for a while, but even it dried up and the smell did not linger. The only things I have of the woman I loved the most, is the blanket she died with and her red duck doorstop that I had to beg her to leave me. And of course all of the many memories.
When my husband's father passed away, I said I had no idea what it was like to lose a parent. At the time I didn't think it was fair to even try and compare the depth of sadness I felt about my granny to the agonizing pain he was going through. But for me, losing my granny WAS losing a parent. I see that now. There are so many memories I have of her being there for me. More than my father. She helped me through boy problems, through my parents divorce, and even more haunting, she even helped me cope with her death. She had been preparing me for the day she would pass for a very long time. I always ignored it and told her she would outlive me. Which, of course, she never would. But she always made sure to tell me there would come a day that she wouldn't be able to brush away my pains, talk away my fears, or kiss away boo boos. Looking back now, I am glad she always said those things. It made it a little easier to be strong for my mother. I only broke down a few times. Once to clean her body when the hospice nurse needed help, once when they took her away from the house, and once during her funeral. It made me sad that a couple of her wants for her funeral were not able to be obtained due to monetary issues, but we did the best we could with what we had. She wanted the grandchildren to sing "I'll Fly Away". She wanted a version of Elvis's gospel songs played. We didn't do those things, but I will tell you one thing. At least once daily, in my head, I sing "I'll Fly Away" just for her. And I know she is smiling on me and clapping along.
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