Posted in Being Vulnerable

To the one

Who doesn’t always say the right thing

But tries anyways

I’m here for you.

The anxiety of trying to be perfect is real.

But the anxiety from the after math of being clearly imperfect is realer.

Like the realest real

It fucking blows.

And I’m here for that.

Because the recovery is such a beautiful mess to watch unfold.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Death doula

You sit there with grace and patience

As the one you love breathes in

And breathes out

You hold their hand and sing lullabies

Hoping to connect them one last time to their earthly home

Praying they’ll just not be in pain any more

But wishing it didn’t have to be this way

And they may open their eyes for a minute and act like they see you

But you know they can’t

Because they’re already at the doors of heaven

And so you tell them to let go

Release their soul into the unknown

They’re safe now

But as you speak these words your sobs start trickling in and your voice wavers

“keep it together”, you whisper.

But it is too late, the loss of what you’re about to witness is so great that you yourself let go.

And it’s as if your soul is released with theirs and you can’t breathe anymore because you’re falling into oblivion with them

But when you open your eyes you’re the only one left in the room.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Your inner you

Sometimes I feel you don’t even see me

You walk around with your nose to the ground busy on the grind when I’m screaming at you to look up.

See me

Love me

But all you want is to avoid me

So I create pain

Small cuts at first

But you seem so use to this

That I’ve had to dig deeper

Hurt bigger

And when it stings just enough

That’s when you see me

You look up from the fog of your own bullshit just long enough to witness me in your eyes one more time

But then you cough and choke down the tears as if it’s a muscle memory

And I disappear

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Mama

My relationship with you was through letters.

Small stories about my life.

Little whispers of childhood grumblings.

And now my relationship with you is through the clouds.

How did your death sneak up on me like this?

I knew it was coming but somehow I still thought I had more time.

I don’t even remember the last time I saw you.

But god I miss you.

You were such an anchor in our childhood.

And now you’re gone.

Just like that.

You’ve become a whisper

Just like my letters.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Regret

I don’t often think of this day.

The day our grandmother died.

I had just run a half marathon and was told at the finish line, she was gone.

At the time I didn’t know how to hold that information.

Do I cry? Do I scream? What do I do with this grief and shock?

So I compartmentalized it.

But when I went to your house that day to pick up my laptop, you knew how to hold that grief.

You were sitting on the couch crying.

And I was scared by your tears so I did nothing.

I didn’t know how to empathize with you.

I wasn’t practiced in that kind of social situation.

So I left.

Even when you asked me to stay, I left.

I was so uncomfortable with your display of emotion that I had to leave and to this day I regret that decision.

Because I let you bleed with your feelings on that couch that day and every day since then I have been bleeding with remorse.

You deserved a friend that day and I wasn’t it.

And I hope one day you can forgive me for that selfish act because it’s been 8 years since then and I still don’t forgive myself for it.

Posted in Being Vulnerable

Trees

As I grow beyond my pain, I’ve started to see your love for me.

The love you’ve always had for me.

And I’m struck by how immense it is.

It is like a tree growing up toward the heavens

With every branch getting wider

And every root getting stronger.

I don’t know how I neglected to see this tree of yours with its arms stretched open and size so large

But somehow I did.

And I’m realising now that no matter how often I stubbornly disregarded your tree, it still grew.

And no matter how many times I tried to saw it down, it still stood.

Your tree never wavered.

And here I am now, also growing and reaching for the heavens

Because you decided to plant my seed in the ground.

Love you, mom.