There are times when a brave face just can't be found. The day-to-day weighs heavy and escape from a broken yet mended body is not within grasp. Last night was one of those moments, filled with great despair, pain, tears, everything hurt, everything just hurt.
Is it age, YES! Is it disability, YES! Reality, YES...sometimes inescapable!
At these moments it's important to dig deep, feel all the pain, hurt, angst, confront it and burn it off. Most of the time successful, but when not, memories help ease my transition back to non-tears...and writing it down, seeing it first hand, sets those feelings of hurt, helplessness...free, for a moment.
The result...random prose; scribblings, this time a bit of poetry...usually about a feeling, person; this time it's a place that gave me much joy!
Youth's Luxuries, Aging's Bounty
Walking along this beach last night
Sliver of moon to guide
Sights, aromas once breathed deep
Awake it all seemed so real
Crush of cold winters breath
Jacked up beyond jagged edges
Pristine barrel, washing machine
Sting of sand and sea
My friend the Wedge
Memories held close
Sustain through struggle
As does heartache
Bravery takes many forms, emotions conceal, emotions release.
ReplyDeleteAs voiced to one so special, life lived dictates, memories for creation, for today, they may depict darkness, the morrow may bring change, if not, we have the mind to console until the awakening sun brings that day of smiles.
And if so is not to be, buy a tree!!
A dear friend of mine died two years ago after a losing battle with ALS. I met him because I volunteer with a non-profit called the Living and Dying Project and shared the last two years of his journey. Ostensibly I was there to offer him spiritual support, but he gave me far more than I ever gave him. I was humbled by his courage and deeply moved by his kind heart. We became very close as the months slipped by, months that included preparation for his memorial service which his wife asked me to lead. I mention that merely to say that reading these words written almost a year ago, I hear echoes of my friend's journey. He too was a poet and when his voice was silenced by the disease, it was his agonizingly slow writing of poetry that moved us all. I would sit behind him and watch as the words were formed on the computer screen, each letter the product of great effort as he moved the computer mouse.
ReplyDeleteIf you'd ever care to talk about your journey Jerry, I'd love to hear from you. My name is Curtis Grindahl and can be reached via email at cgrindahl@comcast.net. I'd be happy to chat on the telephone as well but will leave that for later should you wish.
Be well.
Curtis