Caregivers

I don't understand how life can change from one minute to the next - minutes we don't notice and minutes we're forced to wake up to. It feels like I'm coasting and then I'm ejected from my safe space. Such rude awakenings that prompt me to want to say those words I force myself not to say, let alone write down. But for the sake of this reflection, they are, "This is so unfair." Or, "Why me?" Which feels a lot worse to utter because...well...why not me?

I don't want to hear the platitudes. I don't even speak them to myself anymore. I never say, "Everything happens for a reason." Or, "God doesn't give us what we can't handle." While our intentions may be genuine, they lack a certain kind of grace. And grace, is what I need and what I'm looking for and what I want to demonstrate in my daily life. It's soooooo hard 

I think I'm exhausted. Mentally consumed. Emotionally rear-ended. Nietzsche was most definitely right about one thing, "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger." Another platitude? To a point.

You don't realize how alone you really are until you're a caregiver. When you're navigating through the health care system after hearing the words, "This isn't reversible. He's going to lose his mobility." Slowly, but surely.

Every childhood wound is reawakened. You can see that these wounds are somewhat raw after all this time. You see what you've handled well and what still needs handling, with care. It can't be any other way but handled with care. Otherwise, you're left with anger and resentment, which deep down inside, is a deep-rooted sadness that ought to be resurrected and set free. 

Dark nights of the soul are here and ahead. There's help for sure. Assistance you can access - from neurologists, nurses, speech pathologists and occupational therapists. Yes, the help is there. But, there's a kind of help you can't *really* ask of others. It's your burden to carry. Your responsibility. Your duty to see it through. No one will carry your crosses for you. 

For fu*k's sake, would it kill someone to ask how the caregiver is doing? You know who they are. You know someone right now who's taken on one of the biggest, swimming upstream, tasks of their life. Just ask them, "How are you doing?" Don't ask whether they need anything from you, whether there's something you can do for them. That's not the point of the question. The point of those four little words is to show you notice! It's to provide a space for sharing should the caregiver wish to take you up on it.

I know it's a rare thing to be asked because when I was first asked, I felt a hiccup in the matrix (lol). I looked at this beautiful being in front of me and said, "Oh, sorry, that took me by surprise." I must have looked completely perplexed. Now when they ask, I'm less surprised and I comfortably ease into it and give them thanks for asking.

I know my mother's hurting. I hug her a lot. I take her hands into mine. They seem smaller to me, which tears me up. We laughed and yelled while we gathered muddied leaves from the end of the driveway. We bitched and we laughed some more while I bent over and my behind was sticking up in the air. 

After that, we went into the shed to look for a piece of plywood with my dad's specifications - 17" by 30". We laughed and cursed some more as we pulled items out and away from the pieces that, of course, were buried down below. But then, just a slight look to the right, I said, "Ma, I think this is the one." And we slammed the door behind us and went on our way inside...again, laughing over something she said. 

I have to admit, I'm really scared now. All that meditation about living in the moment goes out the window because all I can think about is what's to come. I'm the queen of anticipation. I constantly have to redirect, pivot, keep it here, right here, in this now...or it's down the rabbit hole I go.

I'm just writing things down, you know. It's kind of like a journal. It's not meant to be read by anyone. Yet, I like that it's out there should someone want to read it.

I've been blogging since 2009. I pat myself on the back when I look at how much I've written. Some of it is fiction. Some of it, is not. Either way, the act of writing has been a life-line for me. I manage to work things out in my own way...quietly, undisturbed, unrattled. I've also found my way back to my art practice. I think it's interesting the way life guides us when we've been sitting somewhat comfortably in our current space. Shocks and surprises wake us up from our slumber. They demand not to go unexpressed.

I thank everyone who gives me the opportunity to work on myself. I don't always mean that. Do you know how hard it is to be thankful when someone's mean and irritating, when you have to gather all you've got to rise above the noise? And since I'm here to build a soul, okay, so be it. I acquiesce.

So yeah, what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger. Because we have to be strong for others, too. 

Barry Keoghan - A Wish For You

My husband and I watched, "The Immortal Man," the other day and when you, Barry Keoghan, entered the scene, I said, "Babe, remember that actor from, "Bring Them Down...he's amazing."

Yes, you are a talented actor. Later I learned about online haters and their comments about your looks. Whaaaat?! Are these people seriously saying nasty things about you? And that you would take it to heart and consider not being in the spotlight? 

Kick them to the curb, Barry, and then burn each and every hurtful comment that's ever touched your eyes. They are not worthy of the beautiful soul that you are! They can't light a candle to your name. 

For starters, beautiful souls don't waste their time or energy spreading filth on the internet. Do you know how vile, depraved and low you have to be to sit on a chair and hide behind a screen to say mean and cruel words when you could be helping out a stranger or creating a work of art or going for a walk or self-reflecting? That's right, you have to be the lowest of the low. They're just envious little shits.

Do you know how beautiful you have to be to take their hurtful words to heart? Really beautiful. Tragically, beautiful. Do you understand?

Screw them and their meaningless 'opinions'.

You are gorgeous, Barry Keoghan. I tell my husband all the time. "This guy, wow, just so unique." You are beautiful through and through and I don't even have to know you to know that!

Please don't let scum dictate your actions. They're bullies, Barry. What should it matter to you what they say? Whether they come from all walks of life, whether they've got good jobs, whether they're students, whether poor or rich, whether skinny or fat...who cares what they spew? If they've got nothing good to say?

They know not who they are. They know not what they do. But, don't you dare turn the other cheek, Barry! Stand tall and whisper under your breath every chance you get until the chant becomes a part of you and you wear it like a badge, "Fuck them."

I may not be giving you the best advice. But, I'm 52 and I've seen a few things in my life. Don't let their words break you. Transform them by being who you are. Let that be your best revenge. You won't even have to lift a finger. I promise, the little shits will get their comeuppance. They always do. Let them be the vile creatures that they are.

But you, dear Barry, please learn to keep your chin up. Please! You're a shining star...and I mean that both literally and figuratively. Do you know how bright you shine and you're going to hide your light because of a bunch of losers? And losers they are because beautiful souls don't behave that way!

Do you hear me?

With love and respect, 

Grace

Oh Justus

Oh Justus, you're as shallow as they come, adorned in expensive clothing, spouting your favourite words. You're like keys on a piano - your range falls on specific notes while others are left untouched and therefore, forever to remain flat. How can you not see that?

Oh wait a minute. It's not your fault...that you also can't hear. Some of us just have to tolerate the fact that we can, and think of spells to chant to protect ourselves from people like you.

That little angel you seem to worship, oh my, the joke's on you, I suppose. Because you know, you've been doing the bad angel's bidding and this little demon, well, he doesn't care about you. It's not in his nature to. But you Justus, maybe there's still a chance for you. Though something tells me you're so crystallized in your thinking, there's no way the light can get through.

Maybe you like doing the devil's work? I hadn't thought of that. Do you know how shallow you have to be, to be in the business of buying beauty? Do you know how empty you have to be, to hook up with a man like you? A man who chases superficial beauty and money, a man whose made them, his gods? A materialist who can only attract superficial beauty? Talk about poverty. I feel sorry for you. Because I have the eyes to see and the ears to hear.

There is no Jesus in your equation, Justus. No Buddha. No Gandhi. No Mother Mary. No Mother Teresa. 

Oooh, but, there's Donald. Really, Justus? And salivating dogs. Men who only carry swords and yet, ironically, don't know how to use them, properly, with dignity and integrity. They are boys who can only ever pretend.

Sure, you're most definitely a success if being a hardcore capitalist, is all you aspire to. In my world, in the real world, you're really a slave.

You seem not to know what a quality lady is either. Because a quality lady would never allow herself to be demeaned by such filth! And if a woman wants a man with money who can lavish her with gifts and take care of her, so be it. She lacks the kind of brains which makes it possible for people like you to buy her. Let like attract like. I can sympathize with her, but only to a point and no more.

I might have sympathized with the white man, too, but my sympathy is overshadowed by your double-standards, Justus. One-sided monogamy? P l e a s e. You're no king, you and your flashy cars and vacant homes. I wonder what they'll find behind the curtain when it's all said and done.

Show me a quality man among you. He does not exist and nor shall you produce one. And you think you're doing the Lord's work?! Any boy who idolizes you is going to become just as depthless as you are now. I'm no feminist but I am a warrior! 

I don't consider myself beautiful, though my husband thinks I am. I never wanted children. I knew that when I was 10 years old. I've got depth and an inner world no one will ever taint or maim, not with their pointy words. Because I've got a kind of armor that serves to protect me. And I'm also a rose with thorns. It's in my nature to wound should you mean me harm. It's in my nature to protect and guard my bush.

You have a kind of armor that you'll need lifetimes to chisel away at. Who are you, Justus? You're only producing more angry men with armors and amantes. Oh, I like a strong man, don't get me wrong. But, he's got to be a lion who can let a maiden tame him. You don't have that kind of surrender in you...that kind of surrender that would open up the real world in all its glory. That's too bad.

Oh Justus, what a shame you will never live up to your name! Ego becomes you. Congratulations?

Signs

I think of you often. I try not to, you know? But, purple monkey is always around. I distract myself by watching movies or engaging in creative work and then suddenly, gravity pulls me back to a whole bunch of unanswered questions.

I'm having a hard time accepting I'll never have them. I could ask you though, couldn't I? But, the risk is too great. I'd be opening up pandora's box. I'm not ready for the opening of the floodgates. I don't think I ever could.

The resistance is strong, too. This pendulum keeps swinging and never quite settles long enough in the middle. Yet, the middle holds its own truths. It's quiet, less dramatic, routine-like...boring.

Because generally, I'm okay with silence. It's my home, my sanctuary. And now, when I retreat back to myself, I find you there. So what can I do? Tell me what to do? Pretend that I need you. Pretend that I want you to tell me how to navigate this. Decide for me. Take a chance. Do all those things I can't manage to do.

Yet, I see that I actually don't want you to do any of these things. You'll take me away from the center again to an extreme. I don't exist well in extremes or ultimatums...even over the top, excitement. My heart can't handle it. Every high has a low and if I'm too high, I'm already programmed to anticipate the blow of the low.

You and I must be alike. So continue to stay in your lane. I'll continue to stay in mine. It's not your fault you failed to read the signs along the way. It's not my fault I know when to be stoic.

No Jesus In Their God

Is it Menopause talking? I can't be sure. Maybe this is just who I am...painfully, real.  I can't seem to help it. I can't seem to shake this sorrow that I realize, connects me to the world. How can it not?

May the evil ones pay and pay with all they have, which on some level, isn't much at all, if you know what I mean. They've got no souls. When their comeuppance arrives to greet them, it will be just and swift, like an orgasm, powerful and short-lived.

When they dragged Mussolini out into the streets, that's exactly what was called for, exactly what he deserved. All falls are brutal, some more than others. Some not quite as satisfying as others. But, it's a fall, nonetheless, and a sure thing.

What's happening right now at this time and in the way in which it is happening and in the way in which most people refrain from speaking out against the atrocities, is a reflection of the human psyche. We should all be ashamed as we go about living our lives...because, you know, what can little ole me do? 

We've reached an all time low when some people are labelled anti-semitic because they're outraged and heartbroken over the brutal deaths of innocent Palestinians at the hands of disgusting and vile human beings - no matter their religion or cultural background. Got that? Any person who takes offense over what I just wrote says more about them - and not in a flattering way whatsoever - than it ever will about me. Being offended is the problem! It has no place here!

We can't even be civil to eachother on a small scale. I mean, give me a break, we have no say over what happens. We are powerless because we are shameless.

If you think for one second life was about achievements, status and money, you've only been living within a capitalist construct. Success is a capitalist idea. Trump is a greedy monster, a devil disguised as some angel who claims to be doing God's work. And maybe he is...except he can't be because there is no Christ in his God. His God is not my God...and nor, should he be yours.

Trump and his goons are in it for the oil, not for the people. They do not cater to any of the people - either in their own country or abroad - except for the twisted, the greedy and the shameless.

Why do people forget? There can only be one bad guy and he only shares the stage with another bad guy in so far as he can be sure to get what he wants from him. Any so called alliances between the wicked inevitably fail because there can only ever be one star, one superstar. And his ego is so big and so devouring, the followers, at some point, feel the sting of the scorpion when they are discarded like the trash they are. Narcissists have perfected the trait.

When these dirty men fall, what will happen to his goons? Who will accept them? They'd better run or ask for forgiveness. But don't be surprised if they're dragged out into the streets too because some people are hungrier than others for vengeance. These horrible individuals will have provided the avengers all the ammunition they need to carry out the fall. How ironic, don't you think? 

It'll be their fault because they inadvertently, paved the way for their fall to occur. If people thought far enough into the future, they'd be careful about every step they take. Can't these power-hungry men see that? They set up the very structures of their own demise to be possible. It's genius and none of it was conscious!

The pendulum will swing. I can hear Sansa again, "Your words will disappear. Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear."

And so it shall be!

A Person Who Cares, Stays

I know the truth now. I've been asking for days for it. And now, here it is. It's been here the whole time. Since August. I felt the shift in the hall way when you asked me how he was doing. I knew in that moment that something had changed. 

How did I miss that? How come I never asked the Tarot reader? What a huge oversight on my part. How can I have been so naive? I know I can't blame you for the way you behaved. And yet, I can. I do. In fact, as I write this, I resent you.

I think you're weak. It hurts, you know? Do you know? Do you understand? It dawned on me how you might think I could never put you first. You and your needs. And I'm left with yet again, a painful truth that my own needs actually don't matter and are not even considered.

You pulled away...not that you ever really drew near. But when you realized again the reality of my situation, you decided right then and there, that your pride was the god you were going to worship.

A person who cares, stays. God forbid, you should get all twisted up by my feelings. I mean, what a concept, right? It's got to be clean and painless. And I'm just a hot mess, is that it? You can't or won't get caught up in my gravity?

That's why you don't ask about me. Or him. Because you don't care. It's only ever been about you and what you could get. And I'm here hurting. You remind me of my brother. You're cold. You don't know how to empathize. You hold back. I mean, fuck, it's painfully obvious, you don't give a shit. 

My husband was right. You belong with the brutes. I know that irritated you when he lumped your lot all together. But, it's the truth. You're all the same.

There's no chance I'll ever put you first. I come first. I'll always come first. I'm the lady you'll never touch. Wow, are you telling me that you wanted to have some fun on your terms and not pay a price? Your money doesn't count. Not when a lady's got her own.

You're so cocky. But, you're not happy. I can count on that. There's no way you can be. Not when you're sniffing around despite having a home with goodies waiting for you. It's okay, old friend. I understand how things can get stale. 

For better or for worse? Where did I hear that?

This Chapter Has Ended

I did know it would come to this. But, when it finally came, I still felt unprepared. Because you can't prepare for a complete loss of something. In some ways, the remnants of something left behind can feel more devastating than a slate wiped clean.

That's where I'm at. I can see I've turned a corner but not fully. And my foot in this world is waiting to be joined by the foot in that other world. Because you're really gone now, aren't you? 

I don't want to see you again only because I really want to see you again. There's no point, I keep telling myself. Going with the flow and acting like you don't matter while you go with the flow and act like I don't matter? No way. You'll never see me again. The thought of letting you remind me of what can never be, just so you can continue walking in a straight line, breaks me. 

I asked for peace. That's what the world is bringing me. What I failed to realize is the price I had to pay for it. I'll keep having to pay until I'm snug as a bug in my bed.

Every dream I had was preparing me for this moment right here, right now. It feels so isolating, cold, depraved of...hope. I had no choice but to let go while others hang on tight to me for their sustenance.

I don't quite believe her that you cared all that much. Wouldn't this look differently if you did as opposed to, if you had? I don't want you weaving in and out of my life. Peace took a stand not letting us run into eachother. You took a stand not letting us run into eachother. You must be so proud of yourself.

Let peace wash over me. Let it get inside until the thought of you brings nothing more than an echo from the past. I know it's irrational, given who we are and who we love, but when she said you decided to draw a line in the sand, one that kept you away from me, it broke me, again.

I had drawn a line in the sand a long time ago. Yet, knowing that you had made me feel so unworthy and unloved. I know. I know. Why the double standard, right? Let people say and believe whatever they want. You wanted me...but not enough.