Time–you count it because of fear or love. I count 2.5 years of mourning–the first 3 months of missing him were hell–so are the last 3.
There are not enough words to describe the callousness of his nature and not enough to describe the emptiness either it caused. The necessary descriptives elude me, I think. I’ll try anyway…
Scooped out–like someone hollowed the pit of my stomach.
Terrified–in shock and isolation.
Confused, betrayed, lost, abandoned, stupid, foolish, unhappy.
Yet, I miss my friend/not friend. Love/not love.
Liar. User. Coward…and the countdown continues.
Just so you know: I’m irreplacable.
You keep lying and I’ll keep counting.
1…until his heart breaks…2 until his heart breaks…3 until his heart breaks…4 until mine heals…5 until mine heals…6…7…
Check out @sinamonnroII’s Tweet: https://twitter.com/sinamonnroII/status/803721746465570817?s=09
We have these parties a few times a year. They are always in the city. In one of “those neighborhoods” the type devoid of whiteness and respectability. The sort of neighborhood where white kids fro…
Source: The Jazz Party
9 Internet Abbreviations Decoded http://dictionary.reference.com/slideshows/internet-abbreviations at Dictionary.com
I have a hard time keeping up with this nonsense because I was taught to spell. Anyway, it is relevant to our younger folks so, it is good practice to know in order to bridge gaps.
A tiredness so relentless and deep, I question my own existence. I pray for relief not knowing what I need relief from except to be free from perpetual weariness. I can not comprehend this dogged, wretched exhaustion; this thief of joy and interest. It goes on and on with no real end in sight. Pure, overtaking exhaustion.
Image retrieved from Google search; Fine Art America; Rafi Talby
My son called me. He was having tumultuous feelings about Father’s Day and consequently, his father. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect him to feel left out or conflicted in any way. I take for granted that he is enormously well adjusted despite certain statistics that may say otherwise about single parent households and in particular, single parent households of color. (As if we single handedly created this category for no reason other than we’re POC.)
At any rate, he felt like its all such bullshit to define a good life and a good family based on a fabricated holiday. (They’re ALL fabricated but that’s a blog post of a different color. ) I gently reminded him that this is a day to celebrate the parents who are present and contientious and maybe even start to forgive the ones who just are crap. He agreed and I was thankful.
We extended our conversation a little further so that he can be allowed to detox his mind from all that resentment because those toxins can sap your joy in a heartbeat leaving you to feel void of contentment while bitterness sits its fat, ugly ass right in the middle of your soul. Ain’t nobody got time for that. So, on to other things it was and it was good.
It is a shame his father will never know how great his first born is. But, that is OK, for now. It will be up to my young man if he ever wants to confront his father–AGAIN about why he deserted him.
I have always steered my son to be present in his own life, with his own joys and strengths. Dwelling on the why of a past thing gives it more center than it deserves.
There were many blessings in his father’s leaving. Something that we discuss, my son and I, now that he is older. He understands and that understanding is a relief.
With that being said, I have my own bitter sweet time with this day. That too is a blog post of another color.
Happy Father’s Day! There are some great “Fathers” and “Father figures” out there who deserve their kudos. Thank you for being you.
There’s that void again. That deep cavernous feeling that threatens to swallow you whole from the inside out. That feeling of darkness so deep, it echoes back at you with its vast, empty loneliness. But, it’s not empty. Inside all of that depth is a tiny you grotesquely overwhelmed with feeling. So overwhelmed you forget you exist. Its not a good place to be. It’s a dangerous place to be…sometimes…screaming alone in your own brain. It gets that way when you are longing for completion.
A large part of our lives is spent in searching for integration, in feeling whole. We look for ourselves in others, we search for ourselves in tasks. We subscribe to the notion that we are fractured, splintered, incomplete beings always searching, always without. Never, ever really knowing that supreme, divine fullness of our self. I’m not talking the gluttony of selfishness as it’s manifested in destructive patterns. I’m talking the enriched, glorious feeling of contentment. Contentment so deep that it can only come from appreciation and gratitude. THAT feeling of wholeness. That’s a good place to be.
Sweet Chucks: 10 Shakespearean Terms of Endearment http://dictionary.reference.com/slideshows/shakespearean-pet-names at Dictionary.com