lonely pain. thanks grief.


i picked up a book last that was given to me shortly after Archaea passed. i was accepting of the gesture then but knew i would never read it. it was a christian author. it has been sitting next to my bed for over a year and then recently moved to a pile of other books that i put on the ground by my side table in my room. i read the foreword. i read a few sentences of the first part of the intro. something has changed within me.

i wasnt changed because i decided to give this book an opportunity and it changed my life. no, the change has been taking place this whole time. since the day she died. but it was the fact that i was willing to even open this book is what the indicator of change was. the idea that i had enough grace in my world to offer space for God.

hahaha…. me, human… offering space, holding space, for God. what a riot. but that, is exactly what i am doing, in a very human form. i have cleared out a place from where my anger has been bunkering in my soul and allowed a gap for lighter living to take up its residence instead.

this has been so difficult.

this morning i made a cup of tea and sat in Archaea’s corner. i brought the book with me to the rocking chair. this rocking chair that i was supposed to be rocking my beautiful baby daughter in, singing to her sweetly while she nurses to slumber. the rocking chair that i was supposed to rock with Solly on one knee and Archaea on the other to read story time and ogle the silly pictures and make silly sounds together. the rocking chair that has been in my family for generations and is a solid piece of framework to the home of which we live in.

back to reading the book. so i opened the book to pursue reading and the first few paragraphs hit me like a ton of bricks. it hasn’t told the story yet, but i have gathered that he too, has lost a child and in that present moment of the story, he was deep in the throes of double life and grief. my world.

he spoke of the reality that he was walking in there, into this public location filled with people, but alone in his pain. his pain. i read the rest of the chapter, but it was that takeaway that is poignantly haunting me. alone in HIS pain, while others are potentially sitting alone, in their pain, among the people. its absurd. all this pain. rubbing up on each others symptoms and diagnosis in the world of loss and grief.

it reminds me of the scene in ferngully where crysta puts her hand on the tree that was marked by zaks human affection and says, “can’t you feel its pain?” here is this tall beautiful ginormous and protecting tree surrounded by all the other trees and fauna and flora of the forest, yet still standing alone in this pain. and the irony here is that the human condition once again has afflicted something with pain. this amazing and overarching monument of the earth is surrounded by others of the like… a little similar looking on the outside. feeling their own twists of fury and fate in their design and growth, and appearing to stand alone. underneath it all though are those roots deep in the ground that are reaching outwardly toward freedom and also toward one another.

we all are experiencing or have experienced or will, a sense of  loss, and grief and pain will inevitably become a process of the this humans living experience. not all stay there, and not all grief is felt on the same levels.

my grief is unknown.

i begin to realize that i, indeed, have not yet finished grieving. not that i ever will but this morning when i woke i was overcome with this sadness and i again felt so alone, and so so sad, and so so alone. and when sitting in Archaea’s corner reading this mans words of his pain, the one that i am regarding in the same category as mine, my heart broke a little more. he was or is not alone in his pain, i am there too. but i realized that there is no way that anyone can really understand that, unless you have been there. even then…can you really?

i felt a sadness. it was a sudden dense sadness that said i will always be alone in this. the ones that mostly get it have had their own membership to this unwanted club for a while. but that is not a comforting thought. another uncomfortable thought is that no one will ever be able to fully love me if they are not able to reach into my grief and sadness with me and hold my hand and heart so i can at least “feel” physical comfort, which is massive to my emotional process. i see that i need to be reached out to, sometimes prodded, sometimes offered space, about my grief.

i often feel like a burden. no one wants to hear about grief. no one wants to hear about pain. we all have it. we all have it one way or another. the reality is though, that i need to talk about it. and not to just anyone. that is what my blog is for. but to people who love me and care about me. to help me better understand where i am. to accept where i am and acknowledge the pain i am in. it can’t be gazed over briefly, creating a paraphrase and a summary of my state. sit in the space of sadness with me. i don’t need cheering up. i am a funny and witty person who finds humor in the darkest of hours. i dont need a smile. i have one that will beam brighter in my pain to light a path for those who need a light for themselves in their pain.

i need to be loved deeply during these times.

and that is a lot to ask of someone. so i don’t. rather i withdraw. into silence. into loneliness. and i try to do it alone.

or maybe i wont anymore. again i feel alone in this whole process. which again, i don’t understand. i am an open book. i feel like i am able to invite, welcome and sit with the darkest and the brightest and always offer that a love that i yearn to feel. it is an acceptance that this darkness is part of me. this darkness is why i shine so bright. but it is very difficult to shine sometimes. i feel like a lighthouse on a far distant shore shrouded in the thickest fog, that spins its light around and around hoping that there is a ship in the harbor still seeking the light. patiently waiting for the next rotation of discovery and bliss to come its way. because it will, if only it is willing to sit in the space of the void in the darkest of moments, and honor it.



i woke up hungry with gratitude, i wasnt sure where the serving had come from but i knew it needed to be part of my new food group. i want to cut it down piece by piece and observe it. and savor it. and make it digest and become part of my everyday mood.

i want my attitude to reflect that of my gratefulness. i want it to show that even though i have been put down again and again i will rise up above this mess. like i always do when considering you. when considering it all really, ive been through.

a fall from so high that you shouldnt probably survive. but i did. i ve fallen more times than i care to count like literally, when i was a kid i fell from 30ft, 3 stories high.. and i fell down on to my back and it may have been something i should have died from, but i didnt. it was all ok. a scratch and a bruise and after  a hospital trip, i walked away.

it just goes to show that each and everyday there must be some kind of angel circling around me, guiding my steps and saying it is ok to fly. but sometimes i dive in too far too fast. and all that gratitude and gratefulness takes backseat, doesnt get the vip pass, and it wanders around kicking its little feet dragging behind me behind my ungrateful ass.

and every once in a while i will look back over my shoulder and remeber what it was i was grateful for and i’ll take a smile. and that gratitude comes back again. even though it was stuffed so far down within and so far down deep because the energy it takes to muster up that thankfulnes from the atrocities of your  life’s tragedies, you forget about bliss.

youre dark youre desolate and your life is in danger. and you give up a little bit. but you reach out a little bit. and then here comes some love in the form of a stranger. who reaches out a hand of hope, compassion and understanding , but not understanding why just knowing they think that you might be worthwhile in this life and they want to hold you close so that you can see it too ya you know where they say they hold you  so tight its like glue? putting you back, pieces together its true. sister it’s true, brother let me tell you

i can weather it no matter the storm now ive seen it all ive been through the worst. but this love that has come up through me makes me feel like im first. makes me feel like im in charge , like im the one who belongs like im the one who is strong. like i am the one who can keep going on and i do and i look at all the faces of you and i think you have been there for me and i will be there for you and you and you and you have kept me going and your love encapsulates me and keeps that little light of hope glowing

and i am thankful again i am grateful again i am hopeful within and that is because of you and your love and the attitude will become my daily food. and I will eat and I will consume and nourish back to you, love



ah there it is. that emotion. so familiar. never too far gone to be missed. not like the way i miss you.

my kids keep asking me to set up a tree, set up some lights…they dont know that i think about doing just that every single night. my daughter begs me to just at least set up the lights strings, she doesnt know the kind of complex pain that idea brings. see these are the things that are supposed to be cozy, supposed to be heartwearming, singing  the kinds of songs that are inviting and charming. but not entirely to me, it all is alarming.

see they dont know that if i allowed this to take place, then my honor, my disposition would be a disgrace, erase the meaning of taking  a side so to speak, leave me feeling feeble and meek, and not to the definition this  season implies by festive speech. not to the implicative and traditonal form that i used to preach. back before i was, we were given a breech in the   trust, now a questioning of beliefs and integrations of those traditions is a must and back to those harkening heralds make my heart bust.

in my previous belief system, christ was with man and man was with him, gather around together and sing the worshippings and the hymns, circle around and give prayer for those in need and expecting that the “good Lord” will hear the good deed, and we look to the sky and we look to the churches to help our broken hearted get out of the lurches, but its those very same preachers and prayers that are giving the heart up for purchase.

my heart was paid for they say, but they dont say how much i actually paid for my beliefs that day, when i had to put my head to the floor and give everything in my soul to believe and to pray, to let the words whispser out of my mouth, let thy will be the way… oh i did pay… that inglorius play that i had to play a part in starring as my own character, wacthing myself become the worlds worst mother, listening to him say that he will take the other.

so now back to the season of hope and of healing and all that i see are the backs of my eyelids peeling as i try to peel back my pain and judgment of all that i see and hear, when it is the time for me to hold the “lord” near. and i know there are other meanings to this time, but for me it was the only celebration that had brought a semblance of mind and the hopes and trusts of this world and his to combine are now falling as fast as the snowflakes dissapating near the roadside. and now to the glimmering lights of silver and gold i am blind.

but i beg to see. i beg to feel good, feel better,  feel all the love that i should from my creator, from the master of love and hope maker. but if i gave into that then i would be a traitor, because it was me that he asked to trade for her, it was me, he asked to keep my life over hers for. so if i go about the world, singing of joy to every boy and girl, then i am forced to remember, that my little girl is an angel forever, he became a demandor, and that is not something that i can choose to be a worshipper of and play my used to be love and master christmas, life decorator,.

Hold my story

Share your story here… what is it that you want to say? Share your story, hear what it is that You wish to convey. Share your story here and watch as the words come across the screen and etch in your memory’s day. Share your story here? Naw, that was just generality, a formality, these ears are only for display.

Share your story to the ears that hear and appear to be near and reach hard to be clear , reach hard to be heard, to be audible…. share with the crowd that is generous and emotionally malleable., …. share your story with those that ask you about the scars in your heart, about the walls that you’ve built, the depths of your soul… share with the one who will yearn for your story to be told…. like their favorite book, close to the heart, that they hold…


Is it already this day, two days before the day after tomorrow… another one of those days harrowing of sorrow… reflecting back and I recollect the beginning of the hollow.

The tunnel had been dug, been digging since the sunset dimmed, removing the foundation making flooring bend… impossible to stay stable, unable with the ground sinking in.

The reality starts to halt, the words just months before delivered, unfaltering unwavering no tremble or quiver… are no longer sourced as Love from who they were whispered.

I’ve been here before, the cycle starts turning and hits a kink in the chain… so much is familiar and yet it has an equivocal exchange … it was all raised and laid out with no grasp to remain.

It is already this day, the day before the day that comes after tomorrow… the proclamation set and yet now blame follows… such a sad reflection of the projection, once again, wilted by sorrow.

silent strings

the dictation is super strong even though there are no words, there is no song…. the chords that are not playing overtake the audio and the audience sits applauding, oh the intensity of the spectators felt triple fold the under the pressure of the encores and the lighters waving around and putting it all under the light and all over again, these feelings, having to fight back the emotions but they are always in control so the are just let loose and maybe will present some healing, i am hopeful….. but while the smile on the face of the one tearing it all down walks around flaunts around there is more stone thrown on the ground and it is crushed by the “greater” and “better,” what will never be built …. forced to watch a structure be remade by architectural guilt, in a world that is conditioned by hurt and making sandcastles out of the driest of dirt… foundationally impossible and yet still it is tried, and it is failed.. and it is swept under the rug and declared clean and repaired, fully detailed. on the outside appearance it is fresh and giving young and determined and the crumbling remnants are left to the mouse with nothing, troubling…..how much so little it appears to one, to the other is much, too heavy, the smallest of items to some are checkmarked too large a burden to carry, on the backs and the hands and the hearts of the wounded loved, no matter how high i try to rise above, there is a constant leveling a spiritual unsettling and bringing down of elevations, and there is less of me and more of the jealousy and less understanding and more impractical demandings of my heart to understand and move on and be free, and it still looks down and sees the strings ….

Better yet?

I guess I just felt that I should have more closure today. Instead I find myself diving further into the unknowns… I go there frequently and sometimes resurface from the depths with a new understanding of the foreign entities I have encountered. I have made more friends with the oddities and theories than not, as of late. While I explore in this spiritual and transcendental in-betweens, I have learned that there is still so much more to be seen that could never be spotted by the laymen human plateau that is often referred to as the heart…

I thought that I would feel differently now. Perhaps I feel that people feel I should feel differently by now. But, I don’t. I remember about four weeks after Archaea passed that I had a day that I woke up and didn’t cry. I thought, that’s it, I’m done crying now apparently and I have this grieving thing over with….. It wasn’t much further into the day that I bawled. Same thing happened about 3 months into it. Again at 5, 7, 8, 10 months…. Then the anniversary week came fast and relentless… So naturally, at one year and three days, I assured myself that I was good, and that now I can move on, breathe… What better time for me to be done with all the pain and sorrow and crazy? A year has come and while others are only reminded because perhaps of my constant reminder that is my being, I remember everyday. We all know that.

So I sit in this struggle. The battle forging between my soul and my soul to be… Whomever it is that I am going to become next is strongly weighted with the iron boots cast on from the previous battle of who I was before. Of course I see the waging of war within myself. Of course I want peace. However, the only way to know peace is to know chaos… or so they say.. … Whoever they are anyway.

I will never know here in the space I am what the space prior was or what my future space will be. I don’t know if I will ever return to myself or evolve into a more enlightened version of myself, but I do know, that I have become more accepting of myself with the feelings I have. I am free to be stagnant, I am free to flow, and only I at the time that I am who I am, can determine what I will do, be, think, feel…..

And today, I am angry. Again or still… and that is absolutely beautiful…

one week, again

In one week I will be trying to honor Archaea on her day of birth….

In one week I will be trying to keep it together for her brothers and sister, so they too can honor her, if they so choose….

In one week I will be desparately clinging to anything I can find holding some semblance of peace or love…

In one week I will be reliving last year (as if I don’t daily) mentally over and over again….

In one week I will no doubt be overwhelmed and dissatisfied on how I chose to honor her should have been 1 year birthday…..

In one week the day that has been trudging through my mind over and over will whirl away as fast as I can think of it…..

In one week I will be so terribly sad and trying terribly to get the “should have beens” out of my mind….

In one week I will be devastated and horrified that we will not be honoring this time together as a family….

In all the days that have been passing as this day approaches I have been learning….

In all these days leading up, I have been preparing….

In all these days coming through I have passed through with them again desperately trying to find the love and hold that….

In all these days I have battled to do so….

In all these days I am learning to honor Archaea I am also wondering what that even means….

On this day I have broke down more times than I care to admit…

On this day I have been more angry than recent…

On this day I saw how much my children love me regardless of my anger…

On this day I realized that there was more of me that could still be broken, since the day he said goodbye ….

On this day I saw that I am certain I may never heal from this beyond brokeness…

On this day I decided that this process is my way of honoring her and that is raw…

In this moment I am lost, but still looking for a compass

the Tolerance of Crazy

“We are all a little crazy… it’s just what kind of crazy can you tolerate..”
This was a topic in a conversation I was blessed to have today…

It’s true.

We are all crazy. We all have our issues and baggage and common droppings of batshit that cover our crazies. I guess that is why I write. To eliminate the intensity of the ideas or the insistency of which my brain urges me to operate. Regardless of how much I write or talk or think about the overbearing thoughts in my brain, it still doesn’t relieve me of the moments when I just need to scream or cry or disappear. Those moments are as unpredictable as they are predictable. I have especially learned within the last couple of weeks just how vulnerable I am within the confines of my own cell, trying to break the bars. It feels as though I am reaching through the slats just close enough to make the key chain of freedom dangle, but not quite within full grasp. So as I watch it swaying I become hypnotized envisioning what that freedom looks like.

It looks like this….

The girl who sits behind the veil of her own shade and is welcomed at that nature and not forced to be in the light.

The girl who disappears behind the nightshade of her own shadows now steps into the light and never casts a shadow.

And still that girl will wax and wane and the world will sway with her song and maybe even attempt to hum along to her song.

Just a little bit of what freedom looks like.


“Overall that is the epitome of what it means to be me, or in my company. While I sift through the definitions of what “is” and redefine what it means to “be,” I reflect and am reminded of my vulnerability. What is the tolerance level that equates and vibrates with my personal mental tyranny? ……. “

still screaming, silently

We just go on day by day. Well, I mean, you do. You think I do. You see me in the “everday,” so I must be going on too. Moving on. Every one just moves on. So typical. I am in no way judging, it just is what it is….

But today was like it was just yesterday.

To me, it was just yesterday.

How could it not be?

Sometimes I think it gets harder. There are so many expectations of me, and now more.

I just cant even imagine…. could you expect this of yourself?

I have a plan or rather a goal, but I have to reset this goal every day because each day it amounts to a pressure that breaks me down. Again, I have to rebuild.

This just happened yesterday because I have to live it every day. Each day I wake up, and all three of my earthside children wake up, I, remember the one who never woke up…..