8:49am Writing Practice 58° Boise
I was wanting to write with my pen this morning but I'll do that tomorrow if I get time. I have company coming to stay the night tomorrow night and I've got some cleaning to do --- an hour this morning and an hour tomorrow morning, maybe a little this evening if I'm not too tired. Denise Godfrey is in town visiting her best friend and she's going to stay with my one night so that I can take her to the airport early Sunday morning. We'll have tomorrow evening to visit and have dinner. I've been wanting to talk to her about creating workshops together. We were a team, I think we could do some good work. I want to see if she still has her powers after the craziness of the past few years. I could sell my house, move to Carson City and she and I could teach healing workshops all over California and Nevada. I know that there are still plenty of people who would be interested in entry level energy work, increasing their psychic skills and who knows what else we could teach together. I know, it's just an idea that has cropped up a few times so now I'll get a chance to talk to her about it, right here in my own house.
Yesterday I went to the studio but spent most of my time making my photos in Waterlogue pictures. I have the idea to print them right on the heavy printer paper and skip the cut and tape step. I could only do the note card size, but I could get 2 up with the good paper, 100 cards per box, that's only 15¢ per card ... not bad at all. The cost per card ready to go would only be about 50¢ total, each. And that would seriously cut down on the labor and handling. Not sure about glitter yet, too soon to tell.
Anyway, I did sit down with my journals for a bit and look for The Pause but as I scanned the pages and read some of the stuff I wrote in my heartbreak, I cried a little even as I purposely kept myself light and skimming. I didn't find it, of course, but I do know that those journals are chock full of material, if I can only think of a way to use it. I think next time, I'll start with the days right after he died and scan from there instead of the random method I used yesterday. I really don't want to go back there and I know I don't have to, but I'm not ready to give up yet on the idea to write a book about this experience. Other moms have done it --- but those moms had more support than I've got. I just heard that in my head. Those moms have husbands and other children, extended family. I've got none of that. I do have another child who apparently can't stand to talk to me.
Well, I'm going to get off a here and get the vacuum out, clean the toilet, get some things done before I meet Pam and Burma at Quinn's, if that plan is even still on. I'll go check e-mails to find out.
Friday, May 13, 2016
Thursday, May 12, 2016
The Pause, Last Words
9:06am Writing Practice 61° Boise
Still too breezy out there for my taste but warmer, at least. I woke up at 6:40am, got my ASEA, peed, but didn't get back to sleep. I laid there wandering around in my mind and it was nice and relaxing. The horror, grief and stress that was afflicting me for weeks seems to have vanished and I'm finding myself like a ship wreck survivor washed up on a sandy shore, bruised and weak but alive, coming back to consciousness by noticing the sound of the ocean, the feel of the sea breeze, the smell of the salt air and the clear blue sky whisked clean by the storm. After all I've gone through, I can now crawl up the shore, find a way to stand up on all twos (as mom would say) and figure out where to go from here. I should watch Castaway again, I can relate in a whole new way now. As in that story, my continued survival is not assured just because I've made it this far. There will be more storms and a whole new way of living must be created. I have to become resourceful, make unlikely friends, find ways to tell one day from the next and continue to care for myself.
So as I lay there in my bed exploring options, I thought again about how to start telling the story of Stephen and what came to mind was the early morning, Oct 29, being woken by the cell phone ringing. I wrote that all out in my pages long ago and have tried to no avail to find it again since. I called it, The Pause. In those first few moments of life on that day, I still had hope, an assumption of continued life and efforts toward healing and repair. It was dark, just after 6:30am, and I had left the cell phone on the coffee table in the living room. I didn't answer it, assuming it was work calling, wanting me to come in, and I never said yes to those requests. But then I flashed on the night before, the last conversation with Stephen and how he had left me hanging, and I stumbled out of bed to go see if he had texted me in the night, as he sometimes did.
I have this all written in my pages, I'll go to the studio later and make a concerted effort to locate it. It was very raw, the words came out with lots of tears, but I'd still like to read it again and see if it can be the basis for the beginning of the story. Because that moment in time, before Stephanie said the words and after, was when my whole world split apart. The life that went by in the few seconds of her pause was all the life worth living, worth remembering. In that pause, Stephen was still alive, not laying on a slab in a morgue refrigerator at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Beverly Hills, where he had been all night while I slept, not knowing that was gone.
It's the last things you say to someone, not thinking that they are to be the last, that come back and haunt. In a normal passing, you always imagine expressing love. My dad told my mother he loved her, they were his last words. My mother didn't say it back to him, she had been mad at him for over 30 years and even on his deathbed she couldn't tell him she loved him. And she paid the price of that stubborn refusal to forgive by being haunted by it for the rest of her life. She never recovered her health or her mental state after my dad died even though she lived another three years. But that's another story for a later date.
The last words Stephen heard me say were, I'm sorry. I also said, call me back. Get yourself together and call me back, call me back, I'm sorry! In the heat of the moment, as he was crying and wailing, that's what I said. He didn't say goodbye, he didn't say he loved me, he just cried out in agony and then he was gone. I didn't know what happened, but I knew something bad had just happened. I was a thousand miles away, it was 10:00 at night and all I could do was run around my house screaming and so that's what I did. I didn't have anyone to call at that moment. There was no one, no help, for either of us. I dialed his number again and again and then I started texting him. No response. Those were the worst moments of my entire life. I will never again feel so utterly helpless.
My mind is filled with that last conversation, what he said when he first called, the energy that was in his voice and the questions he asked. I want to write it out in detail, all that I can remember. But it all hurts so bad! How can this be it? It's not it, I know that. He and I have had many conversations since that last one but none have satisfied my need for him to be alive in the world in order for my world to be OK.
So I'll go to the studio soon and look for the pages where I wrote out The Pause and get them transcribed into the computer.
Still too breezy out there for my taste but warmer, at least. I woke up at 6:40am, got my ASEA, peed, but didn't get back to sleep. I laid there wandering around in my mind and it was nice and relaxing. The horror, grief and stress that was afflicting me for weeks seems to have vanished and I'm finding myself like a ship wreck survivor washed up on a sandy shore, bruised and weak but alive, coming back to consciousness by noticing the sound of the ocean, the feel of the sea breeze, the smell of the salt air and the clear blue sky whisked clean by the storm. After all I've gone through, I can now crawl up the shore, find a way to stand up on all twos (as mom would say) and figure out where to go from here. I should watch Castaway again, I can relate in a whole new way now. As in that story, my continued survival is not assured just because I've made it this far. There will be more storms and a whole new way of living must be created. I have to become resourceful, make unlikely friends, find ways to tell one day from the next and continue to care for myself.
So as I lay there in my bed exploring options, I thought again about how to start telling the story of Stephen and what came to mind was the early morning, Oct 29, being woken by the cell phone ringing. I wrote that all out in my pages long ago and have tried to no avail to find it again since. I called it, The Pause. In those first few moments of life on that day, I still had hope, an assumption of continued life and efforts toward healing and repair. It was dark, just after 6:30am, and I had left the cell phone on the coffee table in the living room. I didn't answer it, assuming it was work calling, wanting me to come in, and I never said yes to those requests. But then I flashed on the night before, the last conversation with Stephen and how he had left me hanging, and I stumbled out of bed to go see if he had texted me in the night, as he sometimes did.
I have this all written in my pages, I'll go to the studio later and make a concerted effort to locate it. It was very raw, the words came out with lots of tears, but I'd still like to read it again and see if it can be the basis for the beginning of the story. Because that moment in time, before Stephanie said the words and after, was when my whole world split apart. The life that went by in the few seconds of her pause was all the life worth living, worth remembering. In that pause, Stephen was still alive, not laying on a slab in a morgue refrigerator at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Beverly Hills, where he had been all night while I slept, not knowing that was gone.
It's the last things you say to someone, not thinking that they are to be the last, that come back and haunt. In a normal passing, you always imagine expressing love. My dad told my mother he loved her, they were his last words. My mother didn't say it back to him, she had been mad at him for over 30 years and even on his deathbed she couldn't tell him she loved him. And she paid the price of that stubborn refusal to forgive by being haunted by it for the rest of her life. She never recovered her health or her mental state after my dad died even though she lived another three years. But that's another story for a later date.
The last words Stephen heard me say were, I'm sorry. I also said, call me back. Get yourself together and call me back, call me back, I'm sorry! In the heat of the moment, as he was crying and wailing, that's what I said. He didn't say goodbye, he didn't say he loved me, he just cried out in agony and then he was gone. I didn't know what happened, but I knew something bad had just happened. I was a thousand miles away, it was 10:00 at night and all I could do was run around my house screaming and so that's what I did. I didn't have anyone to call at that moment. There was no one, no help, for either of us. I dialed his number again and again and then I started texting him. No response. Those were the worst moments of my entire life. I will never again feel so utterly helpless.
My mind is filled with that last conversation, what he said when he first called, the energy that was in his voice and the questions he asked. I want to write it out in detail, all that I can remember. But it all hurts so bad! How can this be it? It's not it, I know that. He and I have had many conversations since that last one but none have satisfied my need for him to be alive in the world in order for my world to be OK.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Wednesday: Action!
9:32am Writing Practice 51° Boise
Don't know how long I can sit here today, I've got a dull ache in my left thigh about two inches above the back of my knee. Last night it was really hurting and it woke me up aching this morning but I moved around and it stopped. Have I been spending too much time sitting in this chair? I'll take my work to the studio in a bit and see if that helps. I have a card order to prepare and mail. Hopefully I won't be bothered by this ache in a different chair.
I have so much to do around here, I need to make a list. Wash cars, dig weeds, blow the back yard, buy plants and get them planted. It's been so chilly the last few days, I haven't gotten anything much done. I went to the gym with James yesterday and that was wonderful, as usual. We'll go again on Friday. I'm really feeling so much better, I expect to get myself moving soon and tackle these projects. I would love to get the peeling paint chipped off the concrete on the front porch and fix it up out there, make it more inviting. Then there's the back deck ... sheesh. Too much work to do and some of it takes money. I'm glad I didn't buy a new car a few weeks ago! What with the taxes I paid in April and my car repairs in May, I'm a little on the squeaky side until the next payday comes. However, I do have almost $3000 in savings, I can't complain and I can use some of that if I want to or need to get things moving forward.
I keep getting interrupted over at Facebook, messages ping through the iPad mini and then I have to go look and then get sidetracked. I need to let that be until I finish here. I know, easier said than done but I will do it.
Yesterday I got the idea for a self-help book to help others through their suicide grief. (There, a ping from FB, now another ... shit. I'm not going, I'm staying here!) In the afternoon I got a title that I like and I wrote it down: The Survivor's Guide to Suicide. I checked Amazon and that title is not there but there are plenty of books about suicide, seems to be a hot topic right now. That's good and bad, at the same time. I bought a Kindle book, another mother-written story of her son's suicide by train ... him standing on the tracks in front of an oncoming train. I've threatened that one before and now when I imagine Tim doing that, I can hear Stephen's wail of despair and I wonder if Tim did that, too. Or if he just stood watching the train come and stepped onto the tracks at the last minute. What a horrible way to die! I'm reading the story, Without Tim, a son's fall to suicide and a mother's rise from grief, on the Kindle. They had a mainstream family, Mom and Dad were both there, they had a stable life, no harsh moves to endure, no new friends to have to constantly make. Tim had two brothers and wasn't gay, none of them were. I have to read more to figure out what happened but I've now read two stories written by the mothers (Stephen's Moon is the other, I borrowed it from The Compassionate Friends library at the last meeting) and neither expressed the level of disruption our family endured, all the moves, Dad gone all the time, parents abusive and freely using alcohol. Stephen's Moon wasn't a suicide, or at least they didn't think it was. Driving into a tree at 3am at high speed sounds fishy to me but then, that's not my story. Tim and my Stephen left no doubt as to the causes of death.
OK, reading those other stories has given my courage to write my own and all I have to do is calm the fuck down and start in. Less drama, more story. I'm feeling less fearful and more inspired today. I've got the ocean and soothing music via YouTube on my TV and I love watching that. I'm going to wrap this up and get going. It's only 10:50am and I need breakfast and then some action!
Don't know how long I can sit here today, I've got a dull ache in my left thigh about two inches above the back of my knee. Last night it was really hurting and it woke me up aching this morning but I moved around and it stopped. Have I been spending too much time sitting in this chair? I'll take my work to the studio in a bit and see if that helps. I have a card order to prepare and mail. Hopefully I won't be bothered by this ache in a different chair.
I have so much to do around here, I need to make a list. Wash cars, dig weeds, blow the back yard, buy plants and get them planted. It's been so chilly the last few days, I haven't gotten anything much done. I went to the gym with James yesterday and that was wonderful, as usual. We'll go again on Friday. I'm really feeling so much better, I expect to get myself moving soon and tackle these projects. I would love to get the peeling paint chipped off the concrete on the front porch and fix it up out there, make it more inviting. Then there's the back deck ... sheesh. Too much work to do and some of it takes money. I'm glad I didn't buy a new car a few weeks ago! What with the taxes I paid in April and my car repairs in May, I'm a little on the squeaky side until the next payday comes. However, I do have almost $3000 in savings, I can't complain and I can use some of that if I want to or need to get things moving forward.
I keep getting interrupted over at Facebook, messages ping through the iPad mini and then I have to go look and then get sidetracked. I need to let that be until I finish here. I know, easier said than done but I will do it.
Yesterday I got the idea for a self-help book to help others through their suicide grief. (There, a ping from FB, now another ... shit. I'm not going, I'm staying here!) In the afternoon I got a title that I like and I wrote it down: The Survivor's Guide to Suicide. I checked Amazon and that title is not there but there are plenty of books about suicide, seems to be a hot topic right now. That's good and bad, at the same time. I bought a Kindle book, another mother-written story of her son's suicide by train ... him standing on the tracks in front of an oncoming train. I've threatened that one before and now when I imagine Tim doing that, I can hear Stephen's wail of despair and I wonder if Tim did that, too. Or if he just stood watching the train come and stepped onto the tracks at the last minute. What a horrible way to die! I'm reading the story, Without Tim, a son's fall to suicide and a mother's rise from grief, on the Kindle. They had a mainstream family, Mom and Dad were both there, they had a stable life, no harsh moves to endure, no new friends to have to constantly make. Tim had two brothers and wasn't gay, none of them were. I have to read more to figure out what happened but I've now read two stories written by the mothers (Stephen's Moon is the other, I borrowed it from The Compassionate Friends library at the last meeting) and neither expressed the level of disruption our family endured, all the moves, Dad gone all the time, parents abusive and freely using alcohol. Stephen's Moon wasn't a suicide, or at least they didn't think it was. Driving into a tree at 3am at high speed sounds fishy to me but then, that's not my story. Tim and my Stephen left no doubt as to the causes of death.
OK, reading those other stories has given my courage to write my own and all I have to do is calm the fuck down and start in. Less drama, more story. I'm feeling less fearful and more inspired today. I've got the ocean and soothing music via YouTube on my TV and I love watching that. I'm going to wrap this up and get going. It's only 10:50am and I need breakfast and then some action!
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
New book focus, writing program
9:42 Writing Practice 49° Boise
Up and writing. Bed is made, cats are out playing. I've got my coffee and my gum and I'm ready to lay down some words on the page. This morning was the fourth morning in a row where I listened to the Love and Gratitude track first thing and then a few more as I lay with the ball under my neck and did my breathing. That ball is making a huge difference in the way my neck feels. In a few years, I expect to have healed the curve of my neck completely. Wish I had known about this before! And the breathing is keeping my lungs healthy despite the grief.
Listening closely to the CD tracks, I heard them in a different way this morning ... I heard more details that had eluded me before. The music is more powerful then I imagined! There's no doubt that I feel better then I have in weeks, lighter, more perky, willing to laugh out loud and move my body. The depression that has had me captured for so long and was wanting to claim my life has been beaten back with our ThoughtBeat technology. I wish I could see what the brain is doing when those tracks are playing and what the different tracks do to different parks of the brain. I'll bet Heidi would help me with it if I were down there. But now my ears are ringing. That didn't happen the other times I've listened with the headphones. I wonder what's up with that?
I've been sleeping great the last few weeks, going to bed early and getting up earlier. I've been sleeping straight through the night, not waking up to pee or anything. The other day, Sunday, Rocky woke me up at 5am wanting to snuggle. He was purring in my ear and licking my arm --- I have no idea what was up with that. Maybe he had a dream and woke up friendly. Anyway, I was awake and feeling fine, so I got up at a little after 6am and had my whole day without a nap or a fade. I was sure ready for bed at 10pm but it was a good day. Surprising! As I'm typing right now, I can feel a fade and wouldn't mind laying down for a bit. It's these ears and the ringing. My ears have been terrific since the last time I cleaned them out. I'm sure tired of this ringing already.
So what else. Yesterday was really windy so I didn't go buy plants or work in the yard at all. Late afternoon I ran a few errands and then came home. I've been watching my diet for the past week, hoping to see results but it's too soon to tell. I've lost 4oz in a week, which will be a pound a month if I keep up what I'm doing, which is only allowing one small dessert after dinner. Yesterday I ate too much bread at breakfast and the night before, I had a big hamburger and French fries with Janna at Carl's Jr for our Mother's Day dinner. But no cokes. I haven't had a soft drink in months. No milk at breakfast. No candy, no snacks with carbs. I should see results soon and I'm thinking I can live with this, that it's a sustainable diet. I may have to step it up some in order to lose the weight I need to lose by the reunion in July. But for now, it's good. I'd like to lose a pound a week but we'll see what I have to do to make that happen.
Today is the gym. James hasn't met me there in over a week. I went alone last Friday and I'll go alone again if I have to but I sure enjoy it more when he goes too. I really look forward to our gym visits. I've gotten very attached to that man --- what a heart he has!
Well, I'm done for today. Nothing deep or sad, just a day in the life. It's 10:10 ... smile time. I used to have such a great happiness practice. Losing Stephen sure changed all that. I went from practicing happiness to trying to survive my life in one swift moment. In a way, I did fall with him and I crashed hard. Suicide is a real mother killer. Who knew?
I met a woman yesterday, another suicide mom, Anne Moss Rogers. She lost her son, Charles, last year on June 5th, her one year is coming up. He hung himself. She is vocal and writes well. She has a blog and has a GriefHeart Project. I introduced myself to her yesterday and who knows what will come of it. I told Janna and Pam both that I was waiting for something to come along that I could care about. Anne does speaking and is working on a program through a mental health organization. I told her I was interested in participating with a program like that, speaking and educating about mental health, addiction and suicide. So who knows, maybe she's the one who will give me something worthwhile to do, get me some focus and direction. Or at least point the way. So far, Anne and her story is the closest to mine, we certainly have a lot in common. So we'll see. I found her when I Googled, Suicide ends a life, not a story. I found an article in her local newspaper. But maybe there's something in that sentence that would have value for me and for others. Maybe I could develop a writing program to help other parents and families of suicide to tell their stories and help them connect and heal. The writing of our story, of Stephen's story, has helped me survive, maybe it would help others. But that sentence sounds like a tag line. What would the title be?
I could write my own stories and then have writing prompts and exercises at the end of each short chapter. That way I could be writing our stories and also a self-help book for others. I could use the book, The Sound of Paper by Julia Cameron as the model --- short chapters of personal musings and then the prompt. It could be a guided writing program. With the book I could grow into workshops and speaking programs.
So, is that it? Is this what I've been looking for? Will Julia Cameron inspire me to get going, get writing, yet again? I like it but I remain guarded. I've been inspired before but I've never had an actual book in my hands to model before. Will that make the difference?
We'll see. So there, I did have some inspiration today, it's wasn't just drivel. Yaaay! Off I go for my day. It's hair wash day and I've got a little time and a few things to do before I jump in.
Up and writing. Bed is made, cats are out playing. I've got my coffee and my gum and I'm ready to lay down some words on the page. This morning was the fourth morning in a row where I listened to the Love and Gratitude track first thing and then a few more as I lay with the ball under my neck and did my breathing. That ball is making a huge difference in the way my neck feels. In a few years, I expect to have healed the curve of my neck completely. Wish I had known about this before! And the breathing is keeping my lungs healthy despite the grief.
Listening closely to the CD tracks, I heard them in a different way this morning ... I heard more details that had eluded me before. The music is more powerful then I imagined! There's no doubt that I feel better then I have in weeks, lighter, more perky, willing to laugh out loud and move my body. The depression that has had me captured for so long and was wanting to claim my life has been beaten back with our ThoughtBeat technology. I wish I could see what the brain is doing when those tracks are playing and what the different tracks do to different parks of the brain. I'll bet Heidi would help me with it if I were down there. But now my ears are ringing. That didn't happen the other times I've listened with the headphones. I wonder what's up with that?
I've been sleeping great the last few weeks, going to bed early and getting up earlier. I've been sleeping straight through the night, not waking up to pee or anything. The other day, Sunday, Rocky woke me up at 5am wanting to snuggle. He was purring in my ear and licking my arm --- I have no idea what was up with that. Maybe he had a dream and woke up friendly. Anyway, I was awake and feeling fine, so I got up at a little after 6am and had my whole day without a nap or a fade. I was sure ready for bed at 10pm but it was a good day. Surprising! As I'm typing right now, I can feel a fade and wouldn't mind laying down for a bit. It's these ears and the ringing. My ears have been terrific since the last time I cleaned them out. I'm sure tired of this ringing already.
So what else. Yesterday was really windy so I didn't go buy plants or work in the yard at all. Late afternoon I ran a few errands and then came home. I've been watching my diet for the past week, hoping to see results but it's too soon to tell. I've lost 4oz in a week, which will be a pound a month if I keep up what I'm doing, which is only allowing one small dessert after dinner. Yesterday I ate too much bread at breakfast and the night before, I had a big hamburger and French fries with Janna at Carl's Jr for our Mother's Day dinner. But no cokes. I haven't had a soft drink in months. No milk at breakfast. No candy, no snacks with carbs. I should see results soon and I'm thinking I can live with this, that it's a sustainable diet. I may have to step it up some in order to lose the weight I need to lose by the reunion in July. But for now, it's good. I'd like to lose a pound a week but we'll see what I have to do to make that happen.
Today is the gym. James hasn't met me there in over a week. I went alone last Friday and I'll go alone again if I have to but I sure enjoy it more when he goes too. I really look forward to our gym visits. I've gotten very attached to that man --- what a heart he has!
Well, I'm done for today. Nothing deep or sad, just a day in the life. It's 10:10 ... smile time. I used to have such a great happiness practice. Losing Stephen sure changed all that. I went from practicing happiness to trying to survive my life in one swift moment. In a way, I did fall with him and I crashed hard. Suicide is a real mother killer. Who knew?
I met a woman yesterday, another suicide mom, Anne Moss Rogers. She lost her son, Charles, last year on June 5th, her one year is coming up. He hung himself. She is vocal and writes well. She has a blog and has a GriefHeart Project. I introduced myself to her yesterday and who knows what will come of it. I told Janna and Pam both that I was waiting for something to come along that I could care about. Anne does speaking and is working on a program through a mental health organization. I told her I was interested in participating with a program like that, speaking and educating about mental health, addiction and suicide. So who knows, maybe she's the one who will give me something worthwhile to do, get me some focus and direction. Or at least point the way. So far, Anne and her story is the closest to mine, we certainly have a lot in common. So we'll see. I found her when I Googled, Suicide ends a life, not a story. I found an article in her local newspaper. But maybe there's something in that sentence that would have value for me and for others. Maybe I could develop a writing program to help other parents and families of suicide to tell their stories and help them connect and heal. The writing of our story, of Stephen's story, has helped me survive, maybe it would help others. But that sentence sounds like a tag line. What would the title be?
I AM ; still here
Suicide Ends a Life, Not a Story
I could write my own stories and then have writing prompts and exercises at the end of each short chapter. That way I could be writing our stories and also a self-help book for others. I could use the book, The Sound of Paper by Julia Cameron as the model --- short chapters of personal musings and then the prompt. It could be a guided writing program. With the book I could grow into workshops and speaking programs.
So, is that it? Is this what I've been looking for? Will Julia Cameron inspire me to get going, get writing, yet again? I like it but I remain guarded. I've been inspired before but I've never had an actual book in my hands to model before. Will that make the difference?
We'll see. So there, I did have some inspiration today, it's wasn't just drivel. Yaaay! Off I go for my day. It's hair wash day and I've got a little time and a few things to do before I jump in.
Monday, May 9, 2016
Stephen aged 9, the dream
9:23am Writing Practice 49° Boise
Windy and chilly out today after a pure perfect day yesterday. But at least it's sunny. I've got work to do in my front yard but there's no way I'm likely to go out there in the cold wind, I don't care how sunny it is. I went with Janna to Lowe's yesterday to look at plants and I was inspired enough to come home afterward and weed a whole flower bed, the one out by Stephen's tree. It took me about an hour. So now I have two beds cleared, one front one left to weed and then the one bed that I left untouched last fall is overgrown and a monster out there. I can split up some of those plants and use them around in the other beds and fill in with some of the pretty things I saw yesterday and that should be good. At least that's a plan to get me started on something springish and get me outside and off my ass in this chair. But as I cast my gaze out to Stephen's tree and watch the wind whip it around, I know I won't have to do anything about any of my plans until later. Later today, later tomorrow, later this week for sure. I'm a big fan of Later!
Well, I have to say that I'm finally feeling better, lighter, less prone to bleak prose and tragic analogies. And not a minute too soon, I don't know how much longer I could have taken that. A few days ago I began listening to our Love and Gratitude track on the Practice Happiness CD first thing in the morning and I had the third session with it today. It's certainly true that gratitude heals. I really do love my life here in this little house. I must, I'm still here and there are no packing boxes in sight, no plans to move or sell.
However, I will admit that it's the cats who keep me here, mostly. I think, left to my own ideas, I would have moved to the Oregon Coast last year, bought a 5th wheel trailer and left all this behind with a renter. But these cats kept me here and so I'll stay until I think I can manage a move that includes them. However, this is their home, this is my home, we all know what to do here on a daily basis. I just need a few days away and I think I'll get that next week when I go to Baker. I'll stay the night with Jodie and Keith and then drive up to Sumpter and maybe stay a night up there. I just want to be someplace else for a while and I need to find a place to donate something for our reunion raffle anyway, so that's my excuse.
As I go along in my days, thoughts of Stephen and memories come unbidden but always clumped into specific locations. My memories are all pre-grouped into the houses where we lived and I think that would be a good title --- The Houses Where We Lived --- don't know the subtitle yet. But I did just get the line, Suicide ends a life, not a story. And in the end, all lives end, but stories can live on, if it's a good story and well told.
I dreamed of Stephen this morning, in the early hours before waking. He was young, maybe 3rd or 4th grade, 9 years old, just poised to bud out into a teen and outgrowing his chubby, adorable stage. Although he was never really chubby, not by today's standards. He had a mouth full of snaggle teeth but he wasn't old enough for braces yet. That would come a few years later and alter the very shape of his face, creating the handsome young man he became and forever erasing the weak and receding chin that would have been gawkish with the strong nose he was bound to possess. I have a video of him singing with his music teacher at age 9, That's What Friends Are For. I really should figure out how to get that on digital and uploaded to YouTube or saved to share somehow. At the time, I thought it was an odd choice for him, it didn't fit somehow, but he loved it. Maybe it's because he didn't have any friends and the very idea of a life where friends love and encourage each other, stand by each other, trusting that they can count on each other, was so appealing that it inspired him to sing it.
I wonder what he would be been like had we not moved from Florida. Would he have made friends, found a niche for himself in that grade school where he went Kindergarten and 1st grade? Being in the same grade school K-5th hadn't helped me at all, I was still weird and mostly friendless by the time we moved to Baker in time for 6th grade. In that case, staying in Florida probably wouldn't have made a difference. His best friend was Kim Kline, a very sweet, mentally challenged girl who thought he hung the moon. I'll bet I have a photo of them somewhere --- or maybe John has it. Kim fully accepted him and he did the same with her and that must have been the attraction. They were both too different for the mainstream and so they stuck together. He never found another friend like her, she was the one and only in his young life.
I enjoyed seeing Stephen in my dream but it was just a dream, not a visit. I would certainly welcome a visit and maybe I'll get them more often if I can start feeling better and stop blocking him. I'm working on it, Stephen! Don't give up on me, please!
Not long ago I had an idea that there is no time where Stephen is and so I don't have to worry about a time factor. He's not judging me or worrying about anything at all. That vision I had where he showed up to take me to the airport but I wasn't packed yet, was in fact surrounded by so much stuff that I couldn't find what belonged to me and I was too confused to get packed. But he was patient, not hurrying my along at all, waiting for me while watching TV, cool as can be. When I'm ready, we will leave but I have time to get myself together, find my things, sort my priorities and then walk away from that too-stuffed house with Stephen to guide the way. He's waiting for me. How soothing.
Windy and chilly out today after a pure perfect day yesterday. But at least it's sunny. I've got work to do in my front yard but there's no way I'm likely to go out there in the cold wind, I don't care how sunny it is. I went with Janna to Lowe's yesterday to look at plants and I was inspired enough to come home afterward and weed a whole flower bed, the one out by Stephen's tree. It took me about an hour. So now I have two beds cleared, one front one left to weed and then the one bed that I left untouched last fall is overgrown and a monster out there. I can split up some of those plants and use them around in the other beds and fill in with some of the pretty things I saw yesterday and that should be good. At least that's a plan to get me started on something springish and get me outside and off my ass in this chair. But as I cast my gaze out to Stephen's tree and watch the wind whip it around, I know I won't have to do anything about any of my plans until later. Later today, later tomorrow, later this week for sure. I'm a big fan of Later!
Well, I have to say that I'm finally feeling better, lighter, less prone to bleak prose and tragic analogies. And not a minute too soon, I don't know how much longer I could have taken that. A few days ago I began listening to our Love and Gratitude track on the Practice Happiness CD first thing in the morning and I had the third session with it today. It's certainly true that gratitude heals. I really do love my life here in this little house. I must, I'm still here and there are no packing boxes in sight, no plans to move or sell.
However, I will admit that it's the cats who keep me here, mostly. I think, left to my own ideas, I would have moved to the Oregon Coast last year, bought a 5th wheel trailer and left all this behind with a renter. But these cats kept me here and so I'll stay until I think I can manage a move that includes them. However, this is their home, this is my home, we all know what to do here on a daily basis. I just need a few days away and I think I'll get that next week when I go to Baker. I'll stay the night with Jodie and Keith and then drive up to Sumpter and maybe stay a night up there. I just want to be someplace else for a while and I need to find a place to donate something for our reunion raffle anyway, so that's my excuse.
As I go along in my days, thoughts of Stephen and memories come unbidden but always clumped into specific locations. My memories are all pre-grouped into the houses where we lived and I think that would be a good title --- The Houses Where We Lived --- don't know the subtitle yet. But I did just get the line, Suicide ends a life, not a story. And in the end, all lives end, but stories can live on, if it's a good story and well told.
I dreamed of Stephen this morning, in the early hours before waking. He was young, maybe 3rd or 4th grade, 9 years old, just poised to bud out into a teen and outgrowing his chubby, adorable stage. Although he was never really chubby, not by today's standards. He had a mouth full of snaggle teeth but he wasn't old enough for braces yet. That would come a few years later and alter the very shape of his face, creating the handsome young man he became and forever erasing the weak and receding chin that would have been gawkish with the strong nose he was bound to possess. I have a video of him singing with his music teacher at age 9, That's What Friends Are For. I really should figure out how to get that on digital and uploaded to YouTube or saved to share somehow. At the time, I thought it was an odd choice for him, it didn't fit somehow, but he loved it. Maybe it's because he didn't have any friends and the very idea of a life where friends love and encourage each other, stand by each other, trusting that they can count on each other, was so appealing that it inspired him to sing it.
I wonder what he would be been like had we not moved from Florida. Would he have made friends, found a niche for himself in that grade school where he went Kindergarten and 1st grade? Being in the same grade school K-5th hadn't helped me at all, I was still weird and mostly friendless by the time we moved to Baker in time for 6th grade. In that case, staying in Florida probably wouldn't have made a difference. His best friend was Kim Kline, a very sweet, mentally challenged girl who thought he hung the moon. I'll bet I have a photo of them somewhere --- or maybe John has it. Kim fully accepted him and he did the same with her and that must have been the attraction. They were both too different for the mainstream and so they stuck together. He never found another friend like her, she was the one and only in his young life.
I enjoyed seeing Stephen in my dream but it was just a dream, not a visit. I would certainly welcome a visit and maybe I'll get them more often if I can start feeling better and stop blocking him. I'm working on it, Stephen! Don't give up on me, please!
Not long ago I had an idea that there is no time where Stephen is and so I don't have to worry about a time factor. He's not judging me or worrying about anything at all. That vision I had where he showed up to take me to the airport but I wasn't packed yet, was in fact surrounded by so much stuff that I couldn't find what belonged to me and I was too confused to get packed. But he was patient, not hurrying my along at all, waiting for me while watching TV, cool as can be. When I'm ready, we will leave but I have time to get myself together, find my things, sort my priorities and then walk away from that too-stuffed house with Stephen to guide the way. He's waiting for me. How soothing.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Forgiveness and Goodbye Donna
9:53am Writing Practice 58° Boise
Up and ready. It's a fine day out, no wind and brilliant sunshine, the promise of a perfect spring day and probably hot this afternoon. This would be an ideal day to go for a long hike, I can imagine Stephen saying. This is the kind of day that summer dreams are made of, and boy, didn't that kid love summer!
I have successfully stopped looking for a new car. Yay. Yesterday I spent the late afternoon at my studio getting Donna's photos uploaded to the folder she sent me. I hope never to hear of them again. I have two prints to send to her parents and I'll get them ready and mailed out today with a little note. After today I will be done with them all. I feel that the harm they all caused me is now healed, it's over and there's no need to continue with them. There is no new closeness to draw me in, no connection has been made .... there is nothing for me there and truth be known, there never was. She never did like me. There was no respect for me in our friendship, it was all me liking her and chasing her. I was used to living without respect all my life, I saw nothing wrong with it. Not so anymore. This photo session attitude has shown me that there is still no respect and there never will be.
So, at long last, Goodbye Donna Warden. I forgive you for leaving me behind all those years ago and for breaking my heart to the core. I see now that you didn't even know you did it, I didn't register on your radar at all, I was invisible to you. I'm ready to admit that you didn't care for me, not in any meaningful way. We were day and night to each other and we still are. Only now it's OK. I can move on knowing that I'll be fine without you, something I didn't know at all last time we broke up. You were my first true heartbreak and I will never forget you but now I can forgive you and let you go.
OK, moving on. I weighed myself this morning and it seems that I've put on 4 lbs in the past 6 months, almost a whole pound in just the past month. Horror! If I'm going to fit into my summer clothes, I have to do something about this starting today! I've already cut out sodas, milk, tortillas, and my dinners are much smaller. I have cookies at the studio, I just bought them yesterday. They need to go! And the chips, too. I need to slow down on the carbs and increase the protein. I laso need to increase my activity level. I need to get to the gym 2 or 3 times a week with or without James and then stretch at home more. I would like to lose 6 lbs by the reunion in July. As of today, that would put me at 136.6 and that would actually be ideal. Low carb will also give me a flat tummy and I like the sound of that. I hate this pudge! I can tap on that, it's a tappable issue.
I also need to continue on the process of forgiving myself for Stephen's death. Just typing that sentence made tears stir behind my eyes, I know that this is a huge issue for me. My chest has constricted, breathing has altered. Small changes in my body and I noticed them as soon as I typed that sentence. My manta has been, "While I prepare to forgive myself, I ask to be forgiven." By that I mean forgiven for the horrible things I did to Stephen when he was little. The attack on the stairs comes readily to mind. The yelling at him on the way to school, telling him what a fuck up he was. I didn't use those words and I only did it that once, but I sure do remember it. The time I came downstairs at 10am after he had been up for hours and seeing the cookbook open on the counter. He was watching TV and I asked what the cookbook as doing open on the counter and he came bouncing over and leaned into it, saying, "Doesn't that look good?" pointing to a picture that went with a recipe. I like to think I reached over and petted his head and said out loud, "My baby is hungry! Let's get you some food." I know I thought it but did he hear me say it, hear me feel guilty about neglecting my child? I swore to do better after that and I think I did for the most part. He was not 5 years old at the time and I don't know if that was before of after the tumble down the stairs.
I need to forgive myself if I'm going to find a way to tell our story. I can't continue to be plagued by guilt and shame and have a hope of getting anything meaningful written.Seems to me, if I can forgive Donna Warden, I can forgive myself. At least I know I loved him and I know how hard I worked at becoming a better mother. I worked on it for many years, many more years then I actually abused or neglected him. Because of Stephen, I changed my entire life around, I read books that tore me up with the truth of my actions and I wrote daily. I gave up alcohol and became sober, began to recover a sense of my real self so that I could share that with him. He was the reason I tried, he was the reason I did so much of what I did but I never told him that. Did I? Did I tell you how much you meant to me? How I would have laid down my life for you, Stephen? How if I couldn't have stopped you from jumping, I would have jumped too? Do you know that? And what a failure I feel like now, that after over 20 years of life-changing effort, I still ended up in this spot, alone, with my child dead. Who's the big fuck up now?
So now I need to lose weight and forgive myself for my part in Stephen's death. Funny. I wonder if those two are connected somehow? I'm creeping up on it. As I prepare to forgive myself, I ask to be forgiven. That mantra is paving the way for me to begin. I'll get there. Forgiveness is a practice, not an event. I know this. So I'm preparing to practice.
On another note, I was at the bank yesterday and I asked my loan guy about the proposed payment on a 15 yr loan refinance for my house. His initial numbers were stunning! I need to talk to a loan expert and see if he was close because he figured $400 a month for principle and interest and then about $100 for escrow. Are you kidding me?! I could get a $500 a month house payment and be done with it in 15 years?! I know! I'll call Mark Onen, the guy who helped me get this loan. I'll ask him and see how close Pasqual was with his numbers. Because if it's true, I'm going to refinance!
I got in touch with Mark through Facebook and we'll see what happens next .... stand by.
OK, talked to Mark and my guy was all wrong. So, I have to pursue an appraisal and get the PMI taken off my loan. Somehow.
Up and ready. It's a fine day out, no wind and brilliant sunshine, the promise of a perfect spring day and probably hot this afternoon. This would be an ideal day to go for a long hike, I can imagine Stephen saying. This is the kind of day that summer dreams are made of, and boy, didn't that kid love summer!
I have successfully stopped looking for a new car. Yay. Yesterday I spent the late afternoon at my studio getting Donna's photos uploaded to the folder she sent me. I hope never to hear of them again. I have two prints to send to her parents and I'll get them ready and mailed out today with a little note. After today I will be done with them all. I feel that the harm they all caused me is now healed, it's over and there's no need to continue with them. There is no new closeness to draw me in, no connection has been made .... there is nothing for me there and truth be known, there never was. She never did like me. There was no respect for me in our friendship, it was all me liking her and chasing her. I was used to living without respect all my life, I saw nothing wrong with it. Not so anymore. This photo session attitude has shown me that there is still no respect and there never will be.
So, at long last, Goodbye Donna Warden. I forgive you for leaving me behind all those years ago and for breaking my heart to the core. I see now that you didn't even know you did it, I didn't register on your radar at all, I was invisible to you. I'm ready to admit that you didn't care for me, not in any meaningful way. We were day and night to each other and we still are. Only now it's OK. I can move on knowing that I'll be fine without you, something I didn't know at all last time we broke up. You were my first true heartbreak and I will never forget you but now I can forgive you and let you go.
OK, moving on. I weighed myself this morning and it seems that I've put on 4 lbs in the past 6 months, almost a whole pound in just the past month. Horror! If I'm going to fit into my summer clothes, I have to do something about this starting today! I've already cut out sodas, milk, tortillas, and my dinners are much smaller. I have cookies at the studio, I just bought them yesterday. They need to go! And the chips, too. I need to slow down on the carbs and increase the protein. I laso need to increase my activity level. I need to get to the gym 2 or 3 times a week with or without James and then stretch at home more. I would like to lose 6 lbs by the reunion in July. As of today, that would put me at 136.6 and that would actually be ideal. Low carb will also give me a flat tummy and I like the sound of that. I hate this pudge! I can tap on that, it's a tappable issue.
I also need to continue on the process of forgiving myself for Stephen's death. Just typing that sentence made tears stir behind my eyes, I know that this is a huge issue for me. My chest has constricted, breathing has altered. Small changes in my body and I noticed them as soon as I typed that sentence. My manta has been, "While I prepare to forgive myself, I ask to be forgiven." By that I mean forgiven for the horrible things I did to Stephen when he was little. The attack on the stairs comes readily to mind. The yelling at him on the way to school, telling him what a fuck up he was. I didn't use those words and I only did it that once, but I sure do remember it. The time I came downstairs at 10am after he had been up for hours and seeing the cookbook open on the counter. He was watching TV and I asked what the cookbook as doing open on the counter and he came bouncing over and leaned into it, saying, "Doesn't that look good?" pointing to a picture that went with a recipe. I like to think I reached over and petted his head and said out loud, "My baby is hungry! Let's get you some food." I know I thought it but did he hear me say it, hear me feel guilty about neglecting my child? I swore to do better after that and I think I did for the most part. He was not 5 years old at the time and I don't know if that was before of after the tumble down the stairs.
I need to forgive myself if I'm going to find a way to tell our story. I can't continue to be plagued by guilt and shame and have a hope of getting anything meaningful written.Seems to me, if I can forgive Donna Warden, I can forgive myself. At least I know I loved him and I know how hard I worked at becoming a better mother. I worked on it for many years, many more years then I actually abused or neglected him. Because of Stephen, I changed my entire life around, I read books that tore me up with the truth of my actions and I wrote daily. I gave up alcohol and became sober, began to recover a sense of my real self so that I could share that with him. He was the reason I tried, he was the reason I did so much of what I did but I never told him that. Did I? Did I tell you how much you meant to me? How I would have laid down my life for you, Stephen? How if I couldn't have stopped you from jumping, I would have jumped too? Do you know that? And what a failure I feel like now, that after over 20 years of life-changing effort, I still ended up in this spot, alone, with my child dead. Who's the big fuck up now?
So now I need to lose weight and forgive myself for my part in Stephen's death. Funny. I wonder if those two are connected somehow? I'm creeping up on it. As I prepare to forgive myself, I ask to be forgiven. That mantra is paving the way for me to begin. I'll get there. Forgiveness is a practice, not an event. I know this. So I'm preparing to practice.
On another note, I was at the bank yesterday and I asked my loan guy about the proposed payment on a 15 yr loan refinance for my house. His initial numbers were stunning! I need to talk to a loan expert and see if he was close because he figured $400 a month for principle and interest and then about $100 for escrow. Are you kidding me?! I could get a $500 a month house payment and be done with it in 15 years?! I know! I'll call Mark Onen, the guy who helped me get this loan. I'll ask him and see how close Pasqual was with his numbers. Because if it's true, I'm going to refinance!
I got in touch with Mark through Facebook and we'll see what happens next .... stand by.
OK, talked to Mark and my guy was all wrong. So, I have to pursue an appraisal and get the PMI taken off my loan. Somehow.
Monday, May 2, 2016
Donna and the Photo Session
9:57am Writing Practice 58° Boise
I've been writing in my notebook by hand lately. It's soothing the write with a pen on paper when I feel empty and lost like I've been for the past few months. I'm not at all sure where this stage is coming from but it's beginning to feel like a transition and I'm ready for it.
I want to move. I want to pack up half my stuff, ditch the other half and store what's left while I take off in my car. I spent weeks shopping for a new car only to put over $700 into Sybil for a new fuel pump, yet again. This one ought to work though. But still, she's no match for the ambitions I'm feeling for travel ... or maybe it's running away that I want to do. I've been here in this house for way longer than I ever believed possible and still I haven't created anything solid. Although I've had a stable place to hole up while the tempest rages around me and that's a blessing I want to acknowledge. In a way, I feel that I'm about to shed my skin and what will emerge is still unknown.
I'm unraveling. Thread by thread my life is loosening and fraying at the edges. I'm slowly falling apart, slow enough for me to watch it all with very little interest. Rather than try to stop it, I wonder if I should embrace it and step into it, see what will happen next? I have an online writing class I've signed up for, Pam is doing it with me. I'll use that and see where it takes me. Whatever comes, I'm cool with it. I'll begin the first lesson later today. Maybe I'll go to the studio and write. I haven't been over there hardly at all in a month.
Besides, I need to put all of Donna's photos on a CD and mail it to her. I've hardly heard a word from her since I did that session. None of them have thanked me in any way or even acknowledged my efforts at all. Last night Donna and I had a few messages back and forth about it and I said I could tell that none of them liked the pictures and she protested, asked how I knew. What had happened, she wanted to know. I said nothing had happened and that was the point. None of them had liked or commented on any of the photos I had posted of their session. Not one. She sent a message this morning saying she wasn't surprised, that was just how they all are. Like that's acceptable. What it is is rude. When someone goes out of their way to give a gift that big and asks for nothing in return but a donation, the least they can give back is some appreciation. Unless they didn't like the pictures, in which case, silence is at least understandable.
But hey, I'll fix it. I'll put those edited photos on a CD and mail it off and that will be that for Donna and her stuffy family. I'm ready to let her go again, we have nothing in common and our personalities don't mesh at all. But then, I don't mesh with anyone these days so I know it's not her fault. But still, I'm ready to back off. We've been reacquainted for over a year and nothing is coming of it. What little past we had has been hashed over and I'm ready to be finished with it. There's nothing there to go forward with. Just as well leave it and move on. With love, of course. As much love as I can muster these days, anyway.
So off to the studio today. I'll pay my bills and go to the bank after breakfast and then go to the studio and see how that feels. I can leave the back door open for the cats or get Rocky in and let Milo stay out. I'll let them both out this evening so they can play and be free. Poor Rocky, I just can't stand to leave him out alone when I'm gone. He's the one thing I can actually feel love for right now. I want him to be safe.
OK, well that's it for this Monday Monday ... 131 weeks and still counting. I got an idea in a dream last week that I would be 89½ when I died. That would be October 2042, 26½ years from now. That's a long time to be sad and lost, so I hope this transition works to get me right side up again in some form. I've got work to do, if I can ever get to it.
I've been writing in my notebook by hand lately. It's soothing the write with a pen on paper when I feel empty and lost like I've been for the past few months. I'm not at all sure where this stage is coming from but it's beginning to feel like a transition and I'm ready for it.
I want to move. I want to pack up half my stuff, ditch the other half and store what's left while I take off in my car. I spent weeks shopping for a new car only to put over $700 into Sybil for a new fuel pump, yet again. This one ought to work though. But still, she's no match for the ambitions I'm feeling for travel ... or maybe it's running away that I want to do. I've been here in this house for way longer than I ever believed possible and still I haven't created anything solid. Although I've had a stable place to hole up while the tempest rages around me and that's a blessing I want to acknowledge. In a way, I feel that I'm about to shed my skin and what will emerge is still unknown.
I'm unraveling. Thread by thread my life is loosening and fraying at the edges. I'm slowly falling apart, slow enough for me to watch it all with very little interest. Rather than try to stop it, I wonder if I should embrace it and step into it, see what will happen next? I have an online writing class I've signed up for, Pam is doing it with me. I'll use that and see where it takes me. Whatever comes, I'm cool with it. I'll begin the first lesson later today. Maybe I'll go to the studio and write. I haven't been over there hardly at all in a month.
Besides, I need to put all of Donna's photos on a CD and mail it to her. I've hardly heard a word from her since I did that session. None of them have thanked me in any way or even acknowledged my efforts at all. Last night Donna and I had a few messages back and forth about it and I said I could tell that none of them liked the pictures and she protested, asked how I knew. What had happened, she wanted to know. I said nothing had happened and that was the point. None of them had liked or commented on any of the photos I had posted of their session. Not one. She sent a message this morning saying she wasn't surprised, that was just how they all are. Like that's acceptable. What it is is rude. When someone goes out of their way to give a gift that big and asks for nothing in return but a donation, the least they can give back is some appreciation. Unless they didn't like the pictures, in which case, silence is at least understandable.
But hey, I'll fix it. I'll put those edited photos on a CD and mail it off and that will be that for Donna and her stuffy family. I'm ready to let her go again, we have nothing in common and our personalities don't mesh at all. But then, I don't mesh with anyone these days so I know it's not her fault. But still, I'm ready to back off. We've been reacquainted for over a year and nothing is coming of it. What little past we had has been hashed over and I'm ready to be finished with it. There's nothing there to go forward with. Just as well leave it and move on. With love, of course. As much love as I can muster these days, anyway.
So off to the studio today. I'll pay my bills and go to the bank after breakfast and then go to the studio and see how that feels. I can leave the back door open for the cats or get Rocky in and let Milo stay out. I'll let them both out this evening so they can play and be free. Poor Rocky, I just can't stand to leave him out alone when I'm gone. He's the one thing I can actually feel love for right now. I want him to be safe.
OK, well that's it for this Monday Monday ... 131 weeks and still counting. I got an idea in a dream last week that I would be 89½ when I died. That would be October 2042, 26½ years from now. That's a long time to be sad and lost, so I hope this transition works to get me right side up again in some form. I've got work to do, if I can ever get to it.
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