Greeting the New Year with Mixed Emotions

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Every new year, after the December glitter and joys fade away, I welcome another chapter of life with both dread and new dreams. Not desires for basic earthly needs but those of tranquil mood, personal satisfactions, and rewarding relationships .  Better that I should confess that I merely want the days to be absent of trials.  Wishes and resolutions are what I’d like to make but mine aren’t thoughts but feelings that stem from fears and failures, as already experienced in my past.  Time has taught me that the valleys of life are as likely to be as the peaks, and sometimes more than fairly deserved.

 May I close my eyes and pray, beg, wish for nothing to happen.  The status quo is just fine.  It’s not perfect but better than other moments I can anticipate with a sour taste.  I’d be pleased with the same limping-along pace I’m traveling at.  No more surprises of disease, division or destruction. 

The Gods may not hear me and probably no one can protect me from what lies ahead – injury, pain, emergency room visits, discord, deaths, damage to my castle, and dismay at the wrongs of the world.  I shudder to think of them happening – again.

Travel, jewels and adventures aren’t even on the radar of my dream cloud.  It’s the horrors of life that I want to avoid, like an illness that can strike me – or my loved one and then, that I must reach for all my energy reserves to help them survive that crisis.  I ask myself that I must find a sufficient and sturdy brace that will shield me from the pain and pathos that will more than likely occur.  

In my heart, I want to build myself a wall to avoid the perils of life and I know death would bring me to that peace, but that isn’t desirable either.  May I hide in my castle and build a moat that can be lowered occasionally  for the entire year, allowing entry only for positive pastimes and pleasant people. 

May I turn my back to the door and tell the world to turn on a different axis, while I share only a smidgen of myself from afar.  Holding the self back and keeping others at a distance isn’t the best strategy for my conscience either; I’ll feel guilty for shutting them out.  But nevertheless, It’s with a grateful heart that I am here to greet another year.  Now how to reconcile this angst about my weaknesses, my frail courage, and my unwillingness to learn to live with a limited me.

~ steph

Tell me about your wishes for this new chapter of yours?

Life in Lavender Fields Long Ago

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One night recently, I was lying in bed in the darkness, writing in my head and speaking silently to self, but my body was too exhausted to get up and pen the many negative anxieties and positive pastimes, ones that should be written about so that I could find some therapy for myself.

It was around 2 a.m.  and my thoughts traveled from family health concerns to once privileged pastures I walked upon.  Mostly, it was negative; do my siblings have serious illness and who is gonna stay with mom if they have to take an absence.  Will I have enough energy to spend the holidays in contentment, while hosting my precious ones. 

And why haven’t I written when I could say how much I miss the poignancy of the memories and how grateful I am that they happened and that maybe the end is near but the past is not forgotten and it keeps me going through the toughs  times when there is not much to take me away like I once journeyed.

It was the playful moods in the moors, the lavish gifts in the lavender fields, and the posies in the crafted gardens, those shining for me to pick and persuade my smile to blossom.  My spirits would be uplifted and I’d gather many bouquets with a sense of good fortune that they’d been planted just for me. 

I miss those escapes and  I’m weary, but glad I’m in touch with my heart well enough to remember that there is pleasure to be discovered if I allow my mind to wander off to long ago….

~ steph

written today and thankful for the ability to write.

Another Gift from the Night

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Yesterday, a long-awaited and very much-welcomed gift was delivered by special messenger and it had as much deep thought and wrapped emotion as the previous gifts.  My happy soul proceeded to open it with the same anticipatory excitement, and then I remembered to take my time, with the awareness that I was about to lose my breath again.

The package evoked a similar memory as of the past, a shadow image of him leaning his long body over a candle-lit table as he proceeded to build this keepsake for me.  Many hours were surely spent as he sat hunched over, wanting to embrace his creation with every ounce of his tenderness.   He had to have worked intensely through the night and I wonder if he slept all all.  Did he stop for tea or nourishment, I wondered, or did he ignore the knot in his stomach as it could not overpower that which drove his intent to share the best of himself .

Perhaps, the candle went out which instructed him to finally take much needed rest upon his lonely mattress and perhaps his weary eyes closed as he wished for daylight to promptly return so that he might continue his project that needed to be sent urgently. I know of this keen awareness that drives him and keeps him fretful  to accomplish what he can before the end brings all of his giving nature to a conclusion. I can only weep knowing the gifts will someday stop arriving.

~ Stephie, wishing I could create and send gifts that reciprocate the beauty that I recieve..

Walls and Doors Can Talk

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~ some thoughts from Stephie’s mother

It’s another day, they warmly tell me each 9 a.m.,  but other than their word,  I’m not aware of any other indicators that a new sun has risen.  No rays or clouds stream through my window.  My room is ever so in perpetual  shadows.  The curtains are always closed and my door to the side porch is rarely opened.   No one seems to understand that the elderly also have circadian cycles that need nature’s clues to elevate or decline the body and brain of its daily hormones.  They wake me to the sound of a trumpet playing reveille and I smile because I know a breakfast will be served, but, I’m not aware of any other clues of the day’s passing hours and/or how to gauge my own drives for rest, sleep, hunger or activity. 

Often, I hear the roosters crowing before Son arrives with his bugle call.  He keeps an eye on me throughout  the night via a monitor that, unfortunately for me, isn’t a two-way camera.  If he was awake all night he’d know more about me.   But we’re very close and I adore him for being here with me.  And we sleep almost side by side; there’s a door between his room and mine.  By 7:30 every evening he has tucked me in and carries on with his life.  No sound but the tv is all I can hear.  If the sun has already set, I have no visual of it.  A few hours later, the son adds another blanket and turns off of the telly. 

There is no noon meal because my appetite is limited and by dinner time at 5, I’m told that the day is ending again.  Sometimes I forget that it’s almost bedtime  — except for that last meal — as nothing has occurred during the entire day.  There is no daily mail person to hear gates clicking.  No delivery people to indicate a daily occurrence.  My front lawn is many yards deep and there’s no traffic to hear.  People have stopped calling and once a week the phone might ring, a call from my sister.  My day is perpetually still, with no clues of how the world is revolving.

On her recent visit, the first thing I told my Stephie when she arrived, was that someone had turned my house into a hotel.   She asked me with concern who has being doing that.   I briefly looked at Son who was standing at the foot of my bed and revealed his name.  Stephie turned to Son and told him in a semi-serious admonishing tone that mothers can see through doors!   I smiled because I knew she is a gentle soul who would not blister his ears with foul recriminations. 

She seemed amused that her brother is up to something.  This activity has been one of my few clues that night time has arrived and that I’m expected to be sleeping eleven hours.  Son doesn’t know that for me it’s just another set of two hour naps – with tedious boring periods in between –  that my 24 hour days are  composed of.  My brain has lost a vast amount of neurons but my hearing is sharp and I’ve noticed some new developments during these night hours. And when the rustling sounds and conversation begin in the next room,  I know that the hotel has been opened for late evening business.

This secret I shared with Stephie is not something that I wished to  bring to the open but there’s a personal conviction that I won’t be carrying to my grave any secrets and time to bring these sins to the surface as I must leave with my conscience clean and with my self-respect intact.   Son still has lessons to learn about self-deception and assuming to know his mother’s abilities well, and I’ll go with the satisfaction of keeping my maternal duties completely fulfilled.   I will then rest in peace and let my children live however they deem best.

 ~ Stephie’s mom, based on a true story.

p.s. She really did squeal on her son and told me what i already suspected. I’m so proud of her! 🙂

A Letter of Gratitude and Gracious Apologies

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My dearest one, it’s been many months since I received your articles that were skillfully-woven beautiful gifts and I do apologize for this delayed letter of gratitude…and can you please forgive me so that I’m still in your good graces and that I might still have the pleasure of your noble thoughts that you’ve extended to me through your sweet and sentimental gestures?

I’ve held all these lovely items on the open shelf of my heart for many weeks, so they’d be a daily reminder to write and acknowledge how meaningful they were but my stubborn mind refused to budge and they sat there looking at me with admonishment and disappointment for it is not my nature to neglect my duties to those I adore and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to sit and type out this simple note of appreciation and I couldn’t understand it because I was well aware of my fondness for penning my thoughts to you when you’ve raised my heart — with your delightful presents (among other ways).

But, I am happy to finally revert to my old self and here I am wanting to share in some special way the message that I needed to convey to you all along, which is that I am most thankful, not just for the creative presentations but also for being the recipient of your frequent and loving expressions. 

I carry great awareness  of the abundance, these overwhelming amount of blessings that I’m privileged to receive and I know that life would be so miserably bland without the colorful joys that land on my shelf without fail.  Please know that you are the best benefactor into my fountain of essence and from that I derive the greatest enthusiasm with which to start my days. 

I look forward to peeking into my heart tomorrow and seeing what you have dropped into it. Thank you once again!

`~steph

Missing the Us That Will Never Be

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I will never hear the sound of my name

or smell the lingering peach shampoo

or follow the polished brown shoes 

the ones carrying my wished-for hero

and I ache in the span of forever 

knowing that gone are the walks in the mists 

while leaning against the width of musk

and inhaling the scent of  essence

but yet, I shall til death  hear the beat

the sound in my heart that calls his name.

~

I miss what almost was and might never be

perfumed flowers tossed in my favorite color

a platinum ring of September friendship

the shadows of sapphire intimacy

the arching strong reach of touch

or the months wrought of darkness shared.

~

It will never be as would have been

come tomorrow or the next sunrise

just me, alone, without his green coat

me, cold by the glare of life 

wishing the web could unwind and lead me

by anywhere to ease these pangs of empty.

~

We will never count vivid stars

fly like exuberant  frigate birds

eat mango ice cream

hike the hill of our imaginary field

or re-take the cave with our initials.

~

We’ll never pack picnics

write by lamp light

wink at our mutual snubs

or blow bubbles of champagne into celebrations

nor, sadly, will we know the kiss of us together.

~ Steph

I found this in my drafts and decided to share what my grief was like long ago when I knew that my life would never be the same and that I had to accept that it’s ok to miss someone but not to expect anything from anyone — ever again!

Forgive my Absence

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Too many stories to excuse my absence that wont amuse you and so i will spare you the delivery of them. I am fine and back to read your gifts. Be aware that I never forgot you but that my brain forgot a lot of other details, like how to enter this site. I hope you understand.

love that YOU are still here.

~steph

The Mystery of the Elder

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Momma came home “looking like someone had beat her up”, according to my eldest brother.  Our Mom had just returned from a week stay at the local nursing home where she’d been placed to permit her permanent caregivers (brother 2 and her provider) a short break.  

Fortunately, sister had forewarned me over the phone about “some bruises from the staff pulling her out of her wheelchair” and I had minimized it, thinking it was more of the same spots on her arm she had prior to leaving for the place.  A couple of days later though, the provider sent me video of the purple blotchy arm that horrified the tears out of me! I was shaken to my depths, wondering how or why it had happened and who was the guilty party.

I felt bad for my mom, and too I was perplexed at how quickly there had been extensive eruption of what I thought were her already-growing odd spots on the arm.  Perhaps, there had been a combination of more spread – and a trauma incident no one would talk about.  I was baffled and mystified, hoping to arrive at answers that I knew deep down weren’t going to be.

There was an area of purple and red almond-shaped spots and a dark purple area that had a long thin scratch covered with strips, where some bleeding had occurred.  Plus there was a round black scab beneath that larger lesion.  The whole arm was pretty brutalized-looking, extending from her wrist to above the elbow, on the outer arm.

I waited and watched for the damage to her arm to heal and gradually it did.  It took 2 weeks of receiving images from a secret source before I could get to question mom in person about the accident.   She said she fell outside and that a nurse had helped her.  I asked:  did it hurt, did it bleed, did you cry.  She replied, Yes, Yes, and no. That was all her limited memory could convey to me. But, she didn’t relay any info that would narrow it down to a plausible explanation, at least not to my satisfaction.

I asked brother 2 if the facility had given him a report about the injury. (I relayed to him about mom mentioning an outdoors fall and he didn’t believe she’d been outside, and neither did i.)  He shook his head and replied that they didn’t know what had happened.  To spare him guilt and further stress, I dropped the matter as we had plenty of other issues to discuss about her health that I had to cover with him. 

There’s a protective daughter in me that wants to get to the bottom of this but I know that laws prevent me from learning anything since I am not a primary caregiver.  Nor do I forget the possibility that her eldest daughter may have played a role and no one will point to her if they didn’t witness it.  I am still anxious about the incident and want to spare our family matriarch further harm.

 But, I also keep in mind that my sweet beloved mother may have done something aggressive to have provoked this scenario and thus, injury to herself and/or another.  On a previous visit to her home, I had witnessed Mom take a swipe at her devoted provider.  The lady was lucky that mom’s swift hand missed connecting with her face.   There was a similar scene that took place a few days later.  We discussed it and devised ways to avoid from these behaviors occurring again.   

There is sadness and anger in my psyche and I live frustrated with problems which arise that I’m unable to comprehend or cope with.   My mom is precious, loved and appreciated, and yet, the dangers and drama in her life keep my nerves in suspense and sorrow. But, I am also the dutiful daughter whom she still identifies as her bebita and I will stand by her as she constantly and lovingly did for me.

 I want to put this arm nightmare behind us but my mind won’t let it rest and I certainly wish it could but not to be because now I’m wondering if mom will be permitted to ever return to this particular facility.  Perhaps it’s for the best. And I sigh, knowing I have to reassure myself because now it’s on me to be my own protector and accept that life will never be what once was.

~ steph

Home is a Hell-front

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My mamita’s house is one of horrors and conflict now.

That humble place of sweet memories emits a sour spirit.

Everyone loathes the place.  It’s become a battlefield area.

One we dread but enter with a wish to not.

I arrive with my heart in my throat.

 Not sure how to please. Or how to protect myself. 

Do I keep up my shield and drop the façade of warm welcomes.

Or do I paste on a semi-smile that conceals fear.

It’s been years of growing ire that reeks of poisoned air.

Mom would hurt to learn that her home is a hell-scape.

Everyone stays away.  And her hours alone are spent waiting.

~

On Mother’s day, no one showed to grant her rewards.

The flowers from her birthday drooped crestfallen.

And so did my hopes in my kin.  The emotions are hardened.

Towards her and everyone else.  

But one never dies; it’s the anger that fumes easily.

Sister snaps at the slightest dismay or disturbance. 

Her spouse bares his fangs at brother.

Brothers need to separate them before blood boils.

 Spewed verbal blows land hard.

The youngest has recriminations about mismanaged funds.

And the nurse gets walloped with admonishments.

It’s a ring of continuous tension, an orange fire of outbursts.

~

I take my place at the edge of mom’s bed and weep.

She knows not there’s turmoil in the next room.

We conceal our moods and manners from her.

Our angel must rest peacefully in her pink cocoon.

I place my hand on her forehead and assure her.

All is well and “how are you” is all what matters.

Animals beyond that door are snarling.

 I will surround her with a sphere of silence.

Though the words and swords clank mightily.

But she won’t hear the storm of writhing souls.

Those which she gestated but are soon leaving.

Departing when she takes her last breath.

And I’ll take my leave right behind her.

~ steph

Family feuds are difficult to withstand.