It has been quite a while since I last sat to put my thoughts down.
Not that I have been without experience after experience, some that added a slight grey tinge to the hairline above my right temple.
Tonight is different. The moon in rising. There's a warm, wet breeze in the air.
Tonight I acknowledge that Vic & I were married at our home in Ft. Lauderdale on this day in 1991. Corey was our 7 month in utero witness.
Vic cried as we exchanged our self-written vows before the tennis playing, macrobiotic, attorney & part time rabbi, later to be Representative Barry Silver.
As soon as the ceremony was over & he had a healthy slice of heaven sent Croissan'Time mocha cake, he left for a tennis game in Boca, not before asking if he might possibly get a date with Shay ...
Today, I look back at our photo, standing on the dock of our Lauderdale home. How many lifetimes ago it seemed. The overjoyed man standing next to me bore no resemblance to the Vic I kissed good bye 8 months ago tomorrow (19th).
Our eccentric marriage ceremony was but a prelude to an eccentric, magical, fully charged marriage.
As it was back on this day 19 years ago, I quoted Kahlil Gibran on marriage, so it is today that I look back once again, find tremendous comfort & grace in his words;
"The a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto your, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Sunday is Father's Day. The 20th. It will be a glorious day despite the namesake will not be present. We both agreed that the greatest gift we ever gave each other was our children.
Amen.
"Time goes by
Still I think of you."
Friday, June 18, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
The labor of grief
The truth is this stinks.
Grief is like being in labor. You have to ride the waves of excrutiating pain .
The difference, of course, is that once through labor, you have some physical fruit to show for your labor.
With grief, you still feel empty.
It is so random & while I respect the process, I am not good at being brought to the floor in tears.
Being blind-sided by sound-byte pixellated memories is just the worst.
I keep going back to those last days in hospital ... grasping to fill in the gaps ... last words ... leaning over Vic's head, asking him if I should give the staff his living will ... him telling me I would know when the time was right ... to promises whispered in Vic's ear as he lay, dying.
I miss him so much, it feels like I've been punched in my stomach. You know when a child just gasps for air between sobs ... that gasping has actually made my "abs" hurt. My forehead is muscle-fatigued from the crying-frown.
Frown & cry I do.
It started last night at about 8pm.
Has not stopped yet.
Like I said before, it is about learning how to ride the waves of sadness.
Who'd have thought at 52 I'd be taking up surfing?
Grief is like being in labor. You have to ride the waves of excrutiating pain .
The difference, of course, is that once through labor, you have some physical fruit to show for your labor.
With grief, you still feel empty.
It is so random & while I respect the process, I am not good at being brought to the floor in tears.
Being blind-sided by sound-byte pixellated memories is just the worst.
I keep going back to those last days in hospital ... grasping to fill in the gaps ... last words ... leaning over Vic's head, asking him if I should give the staff his living will ... him telling me I would know when the time was right ... to promises whispered in Vic's ear as he lay, dying.
I miss him so much, it feels like I've been punched in my stomach. You know when a child just gasps for air between sobs ... that gasping has actually made my "abs" hurt. My forehead is muscle-fatigued from the crying-frown.
Frown & cry I do.
It started last night at about 8pm.
Has not stopped yet.
Like I said before, it is about learning how to ride the waves of sadness.
Who'd have thought at 52 I'd be taking up surfing?
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Hoos watching yoos?
House protected by homeing
Megascops.
Approach with caution.
Your every move is being observed.
Whether camoflagued in the surrounding trees
or out in the open, right by the front doors
You are not alone.
Nor are we ...
Megascops.
Approach with caution.
Your every move is being observed.
Whether camoflagued in the surrounding trees
or out in the open, right by the front doors
You are not alone.
Nor are we ...
Monday, April 5, 2010
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Exodus from home, desperately seeking manna from heaven
I have to say, the past several weeks have been maelstrom of spring cleaning.
A time of renewal.
Outdoors, the gadda is coming back into glorious bloom following February's hard freezes.
We have been painting, moving, removing, moving around, moving back, boxing, passing along as well as good old fashioned trashing.
Once again, nature becomes a metaphor for my personal spring cleaning (nothing to do with finding a sparkling washcloth either!)
For the past several years, a stronger, more mature self has been crying for hearing. She has been tearing at her own skin from the inside, in order to get out.
So, during the fifth month of the next chapter of my life, I found myself being wholely affected by the longer days, shorter nights, thoughts that ambush me during my quiet times ...
A perfect storm has come together, creating optimum conditions for very accute panic attacks. The kind that have you holding onto a heavy object just to stop yourself from being swept away by the tornado of visions, thoughts, memories, longings.
It's called mourning. That is what I am told.
It fucking sucks!
Can't believe Mummy has been here for a week already, less than a week left. Her visit coincides with an extended spring break.
Translation: no kids!
Our babies are Florida beach kids, all the way. Volleyball, fishing, swimming, friends, music, soda, pizza & cell phones.
Life is, indeed, a beach!
I have missed writing but it is not that I have been without Good 'n' Plenty to say. Just to busy puking or holding my discombobulated head or digging myself out of a potential Vesuvius of paperwork.
In the meantime, should Lili & I eat in, go out for sushi just the two of us or should we find out if our beloved children care to grace us with their company ...
As I said before, life's a beach!
A time of renewal.
Outdoors, the gadda is coming back into glorious bloom following February's hard freezes.
We have been painting, moving, removing, moving around, moving back, boxing, passing along as well as good old fashioned trashing.
Once again, nature becomes a metaphor for my personal spring cleaning (nothing to do with finding a sparkling washcloth either!)
For the past several years, a stronger, more mature self has been crying for hearing. She has been tearing at her own skin from the inside, in order to get out.
So, during the fifth month of the next chapter of my life, I found myself being wholely affected by the longer days, shorter nights, thoughts that ambush me during my quiet times ...
A perfect storm has come together, creating optimum conditions for very accute panic attacks. The kind that have you holding onto a heavy object just to stop yourself from being swept away by the tornado of visions, thoughts, memories, longings.
It's called mourning. That is what I am told.
It fucking sucks!
Can't believe Mummy has been here for a week already, less than a week left. Her visit coincides with an extended spring break.
Translation: no kids!
Our babies are Florida beach kids, all the way. Volleyball, fishing, swimming, friends, music, soda, pizza & cell phones.
Life is, indeed, a beach!
I have missed writing but it is not that I have been without Good 'n' Plenty to say. Just to busy puking or holding my discombobulated head or digging myself out of a potential Vesuvius of paperwork.
In the meantime, should Lili & I eat in, go out for sushi just the two of us or should we find out if our beloved children care to grace us with their company ...
As I said before, life's a beach!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)