Life is a Braided Poem

“I’m not good at fixing things after they’ve already happened.”

“Don’t worry, I am.”

The purse was missing.

The keys left behind.

Wallet emptied, cards thrown everywhere.

How to predict this broken end?

A breath.

Inhale, exhale, again.

Can’t go back.

Take the forward step.

“I need to be proactive, we can’t be reactive.”

A breath.

Inhale, exhale, again.

Can’t go back.

Take the forward step.

Routines created fell apart.

Systems no longer functioned.

Patterns were forgotten.

Each lost moment, a chance to react.

A breath.

Inhale, exhale, again.

Can’t go back.

Take the forward step.

“This is my life now, I can’t live like this.”

A breath.

Inhale, exhale, again.

Can’t go back.

Take the forward step.

An expert in death and loss.

In losing what matters most;

in losing you before you left.

And now I am learning to lose again.

A breath.

Inhale, exhale, again.

Can’t go back.

Take the forward step.

 

Generational Trauma (rough draft)

 

I’m fighting curses,

Fighting generational pain

Finding progress

Only to find another lives, hides in our brains.

I thought it was over,

Thought the anomaly –

 The broken hearts, being lost without a map,

 ended with me.

But here I am again,

Staring into a void I don’t know will be.

Finding a mess, unknowns, questions driving me insane.

Wondering about a future, if there’s one to see.

A Letter to Cats

 Dear Cats touring cast,

I saw you were sharing Cats memories on your Instagram page today, and wanted to share my own memory.

When I was five I watched the Cats video tape for the first time. While the memory of my first viewing is not very clear, I am quite positive I was obsessed after the first set of cat eyes. I quickly learned that Bombalurina was the most amazing character I had ever seen and spent many days debating on whether Rum Tum Tugger or Macativy had a better song. The VHS was quickly added to my family’s collection, I watched it every day.

My mom used to come upstairs to the TV room to see me dancing along as best I could, I would stretch every night so one day I’d be able to kick my foot to my head, and I obsessed over T.S. Elliot’s original source material. As I mentioned, my first viewing took place when I was five - this obsession and dedication to the show lasted the next five years, but it reached its peak about two years in when I finally got to see Cats live in Minneapolis.

I remember walking along Hennepin Ave, we had just finished a very fancy lunch, and I was wearing my super cool, Cats t-shirt. Suddenly in the distance I saw it. The familiar blackbackground with glowing eyes beckoned from the marquee of the Orpheum theater. I couldn’t believe it. Cats, my musical, was happening right there, the very same day I was in the cities. Shocked, I turned to my mom, begging face prepped and ready to cry if needed. 

“Cats! Do you think it’s the real Cats?” 

My mom looked down at me, a sad smile on her face, “No, I’m sure it’s some Disney version with cartoon cats.”

I was determined to find out. I pulled my mom across the street, barely looking for cars, craning my neck to find any clues that would point to my dreams coming true.

“Look, it’s the real thing! See! Can we go, can we see it?”

Again my mom looked down into my hopeful eyes, her face set carefully. I knew my family didn’t have a lot of money, I knew it was very unlikely we would ever get to see my show in person, but I was so close to my dream - I needed to at least ask.

“Please, please can we?”

“I don’t know…maybe someday. I’m sure it’ll be back someday.”

My heart sank. I wished I had never seen the marquee. I wished I had never even known that the show I loved was in the same town as me. Other children and their families would be watching my favorite show, and I would never know that magic. But I understood, and I prepared to leave. Taking my mother’s hand, I started to pull her toward the direction of our car.

She didn’t move.

I turned to her one last time, impatient to get away from the scene of my first heartbreak

.

“Someday is today.”

I can’t describe my reaction, but if child me reacted the same way adult me does there was screaming and jumping, and probably some singing. I sat in the very back row and was able to watch the magic of the Jellicle Ball. Peering through binoculars I saw the dance moves I knew by heart, I mouthed the words I had been singing on repeat for years, and I committed everything I saw to memory knowing this was a formative moment.

As I grew I found more musicals to obsess over, my mom and I had many more somedays. And yet, every time I am asked, “what is your favorite musical?” My first answer is a confident, “Cats.”

Now Cats is coming back to Minneapolis. I am much older, much less flexible, but still know most of the moves, all of the words, and can even play parts of the show on the piano and the bassoon. Buying tickets was a no brainer. I always knew a tour would return and I would be able to relive my childhood memories and create new ones as an adult. Of course, I always knew my mom would be with me.

Unfortunately, I was incorrect she passed away a little over a year ago, too early to live out many of our planned somedays. But as I pressed purchase for my ticket, as i prepare now to see the show, I know she will be in the theater with me. She will take my hand and see my smiling face, and she will know that I know she is with me - now, everyday, and every someday.

As I said in my opening paragraph, I wanted to share my memory with you. I don’t do this to simply share my Cats experience, or to tell a sad story, but to thank you for all that you do. Thank you for getting on that stage every day, sometimes more than once, and putting your heart and soul into the show. Thank you for creating memories for many young people to one day look back on and say, “that’s where I fell in love with theater.” Thank you for giving families a chance to connect, share, and base traditions around. Thank you for giving me, and every audience, a someday.

Yours,

Anastasia Pauluk

Frozen

 In a world that rushes past, and expects you to move fast and all the time, it can be hard for someone with ice in their veins. There are days, the sun shining and warm winds blowing, the ice thaws it is easy to move and do what the world demands. But when the ice takes over. Fingers freeze, brain trudging along, how do you explain that to those in sweaters? 

My body doesn't do that, doesn't fake a warmth until movement is possible. I will freeze until the sun comes back, the world moving around me and wondering why I stand still. How do I explain that it's not a choice, it is a state I live in and wait to exit. How to explain? How to make them see I don't choose to be frozen.

Thank You for Your Patience

 Whoops, I got off track. But that's okay because I am back and I didn't beat myself up about it, I just knew I could continue again tomorrow - which is today. 

This idea has been a big part of my growth these last few months. I have always been an all-or-nothing type of person, which is not a great way to reach any goals. I will try my hardest to be 100% all the time, which by the way, is not feasible. But I believed I could do it. Because if anyone could, it would be me. My whole life I have had to run 100% or higher at all times. I would go to school and be my best, then I would go to work and be my best, go to play practice or speech and perform my best, and then go home and do homework, take care of my mom, and be my best. When you have no choice but to be 100% you believe that should be possible all the time. 

It's not, and the people who praised me, how dare you. I am learning that trying is good enough and if I don't have the energy to try, then rest is also okay. Big steps to learn at 28. Thank goodness I'm not fully formed yet.

All to say, I am here and am writing, back in the saddle. Thank you for your patience!

Left with Nothing, Given Everything

  

“When you die, do I get all your stuff?” she asked seriously.

She was five years old and had just left her third funeral within the last six months. After watching her parents pack boxes and distribute belongings, it hit her. Mom and dad had siblings, people they shared with throughout their whole lives, but it was just her. She was the only child and there was a lot of stuff in that house, would she put it in boxes one day?

“Honey, you get everything.”

“Oh.”

That wasn’t okay, there was too much stuff for a five-year-old, what would she do with it all? Where would she put it? She was going to have ten golden retrievers when she grew up, these were not small dogs, what was she going to do?

 

When I was a child, my biggest concern was what would I do with all the stuff my parents would leave me with when they died. They owned a lot of items that I didn’t care for and frankly didn’t want. I would inherit the fancy dishes, family heirlooms, furniture, and boxes full of junk that we hadn’t looked for in years, I was terrified. As I grew older, this fear dissipated a bit. My mom moved into a smaller house, which allowed me to be straightforward and tell her what I would and would not keep, and they were going to live a long time. I had years to slowly throw things away.

Then my mom died. I inherited the stuff. Going through the different boxes, documents, and the boxes we still hadn’t opened, I thought back to five-year-old me. She was so concerned about being left with everything, that she didn’t consider what it would feel like to have nothing.

I didn’t realize then that one day I would be alone. I would be surrounded by boxes but would no longer be surrounded by her arms. I would have pictures and videos, but I wouldn’t have her. I was five, how was I supposed to have thought this far, now I am here wishing for more.

I want more time, more memories, and more laughter. I want to go through those boxes with her and learn all of the family details I ignored before. I thought I would be left with everything. I am learning what you aren’t given is worse.

I was not given more years. I don’t have phone calls on birthdays or Christmas presents or reassurance as I wander through life without her. I am left here with boxes when the one thing I want is gone. I was not prepared to be left with nothing, I was waiting for everything.

Overthink with Me

I have been asked for a writing sample. I went through my previous posts, and all I can find are half-baked thoughts or dead mom stories - is that what they want? Should I give them an academic paper with citations and complex musings? Should I tell them how anime can be integrated into lesson plans:

    In the show, "The Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime," we are presented with Rimuru, a man who has been reincarnated as a slime. Despite the stereotype that slime are weak creatures who could never be powerful, Rimuru creates a monster township, develops a trading system, and saves the forest many times. What this teaches us as a society is appearances cannot tell us what someone is capable of, nor can preconceived notions about race, gender, sex, etc. As the anime continues we often see Rimuru going above and beyond what a slime has thought to have been capable of, and he uses the stereotypes to build his power and reputation.

Is this what they would like? Or should there be a creative writing element? A poetic, thoughtful metaphor that brings all of my experiences and thoughts alive?

        Purple.

I tried pretty hard to come up with an example for that writing type, but I am blocked. Honestly, I am overthinking. I'll find email templates I've created, and maybe a short blog post and send those. How's that corporate America?

Journal Entry

 I didn't write this weekend, but I think that's okay. I was pretty busy and emotionally exhausted. Just about blamed not having access to a computer, I was on a computer most of yesterday - Netflix doesn't have a word docs feature. Also, realized there is a thing called a notebook, I could write on paper. Though if you've seen my handwriting you know what that's not the best idea.

This weekend was tiring. I woke up early on Saturday to attend the Walk to End Alzheimer's. This was my first time doing it. It has been almost two years since my mom passed, and I thought maybe now it was time to start doing something. I also assumed that because I haven't been crying as often or as easily I would be able to get through this without crying, after all, it was a walk, what is emotional about a walk? Apparently everything.

Only a few people asked who I was walking for, that was great. But here's the thing. This is a group activity. People will be there with their family members and friends, having a nice time, and fighting dementia. The only thing worse than being alone in a crowd of people is thinking about the one person who should be there but isn't when surrounded by a crowd of people. Imagine going to Disney world, alone, on your birthday, knowing you had promised your best friend you would go when they were gone, and then you're surrounded by the crowds of smiling, happy, joyful people. This was about ten times worse.  

The crying happened all day. Thank goodness for swag tables with sunglasses and my ability to be invisible. 

The walk itself was lovely. Minneapolis is truly one of the best-looking cities, with tall buildings and great weather, what more could I ask for? Oh, I know, my mom, but that's cool, whatever, I am glad I did it.

Hopefully, this all leads somewhere good, hopefully, we start to figure something out, but until then, like our demented friends, we are wandering around lost and confused, hoping someone can tell us something good.

So I am still exhausted. And I am still pretending to be fine. It's a little easier now that I'm at home where I can close a door and lose myself in everything but my thoughts, but I can feel it. I feel the exhaustion and sadness in my bones, pulling me into a heavy embrace. I am pretending, I am not doing a great job.

Asking Myself for Sympathy

 If my thoughts could run track, I'd be an olympian.

Running circles at an astounding speed, why doesn't overthinking count as exercise?

If my brain could pace, I'd be walking on magma.

The earth wore down to the core as I worry the same thought.

Over and over and over again.

Around and around and around, can't get dizzy when the circling is internal.

Put my dreams on the big screen for this year's best horror.

Looking for a romance that ends in heartbreak? 

A death that haunts you from a rotting corpse? 

Or maybe strangers acting ridiculous as you watch in shame? 

Look no further than the movie theater in my head.

With all of this inside, it is no wonder I am exhausted.

It is no surprise that I cannot care - that I care too much.

Do not be shocked when my brain is foggy, or my fingers tap. 

My cup overfloweth internally and leaks into the physical.

Be patient, be kind, be forgiving.

Anxiety as a Metaphor

 Worry flows through my body, 

a hidden river, underneath a confident skin.

Every movement, change, step leads to an increase of fear.

I am unstable, I wiggle and wobble,

unbalanced on two legs.

My head floats an inch above my neck, too heavy to rest.

Consistent electricity lights my blood, and radiates through my hopeful eyes,

alerting the world to my facade.

I try. 

I try to pull the switch, damn the river, and tie myself to the moment.

But I am shocked, knocked out, and thrown to the ground.

A pattern, a habit, a consent to the world that has hurt me and I continue to fall.

Catching myself, I try again, but the world shifts, my body floods and I am no longer grounded.

I am a conductor, fear a train running me flat.

Can I jump?

Can I pull the lever and change the path?

Letter to My Inner Child #1

 I am all in.
I am doing this for me and I am all in.

I am worthy of good things.
I am worthy of love. 
I am worthy of care, time, of attention.
I am doing this for myself because I deserve to be worthy.

And I, am worthy of deserving.

Living for Goals

 I decided to write every day, so here I am. Unfortunately, I don't have inspiration at this time. But if the simple act of writing is all I promised myself, and apparently Blogger is not very popular anymore meaning it is unlikely someone will read this, I'd say I'm doing pretty well.

A little about why I've started this: I am a giver-upper. I start quite a few things and then suddenly I'm no longer doing them. I've started this blog for example, and if you look at the publish dates you'll see I'm inconsistent. Drawing, writing, bike riding, running, yoga, dancing, swimming, meditating, the list goes on...I tell myself I will do all of these things with consistency. The only constant is I always stop. That is why I am here, writing to no one but myself because I am done with stopping. That's ironic. I want to set goals for myself and see them come to fruition. Below are my goals, hold me accountable, or don't - you don't exist so do whatever you want. 

Goal: To write daily. What I write doesn't matter, when I write doesn't matter, how long I write doesn't matter, as long as I write and I have proof that I've written that day. I'll shoot for a month of this habit, hopefully by October 12th, 2022 it will stick.

Goal: To believe in me. When did I stop thinking I was the coolest person? Did life beat the confidence out of me? Can I blame magazines, tv, billboards, and ads? I don't want to believe all of the people who have looked at me and said "really, you?" I am going to believe in myself. That means I believe I am capable, I believe I can try and succeed, I believe I can fail and stand back up, I believe that I am wonderful, and I will hear myself say these affirmations and I will believe in myself.

Goal: To allow for the possibility of good. My friend's therapist accused her of constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, I am surrounded by shoes. I have some pairs, but a ton of mismatched because their partner never fell. Floating above my head are a thousand shoes that I have been dodging and hiding from because I'm so sure they are going to fall at any moment. And maybe they will, but why should I plan my life around floating shoes? Why should I be worried about something that might never happen? Just because it has happened doesn't mean it will, and that's what I want to learn. I want to walk freely, and confidently, and enjoy the world around me - the only shoes I want to think about are the ones on my feet.

There it is, three goals. I'm stopping there. If I go on, which I could, I'll be overwhelmed which will lead to stopping - and we've stopped stopping, remember?

What I Remember

 Buying a clock with huge digital numbers.

Trying to get into my car, trying and trying, and trying

Laughing and laughing and laughing

The frustration melting away.

Conversations that went in circles, well worn until the dirt was to our waists and I fought the urge to say, “we went over this, you know.”

I remember correcting every time seizures became Caesars and the joy –

The joy that was hidden in the fear and pain.

There were ice cream cones, Indian food, and too many cookies.

Phone calls that were missed, nights of waiting for a call that thankfully never came until one morning it did.

I remember the pain.

I remember the fear in both of our eyes – the blue eyes we share.

I remember the invisible that I saw with you

And the visible that you were able to forget.

I remember so much more and not enough.

I remembered and carried it with me as your memories –

As you faded away.

And I remember saying goodbye,

When you were still here with me.

I remember saying goodbye, knowing I would see you the next day.

You would say hello,

Not remembering we had only just parted.

And I would say goodbye,

Because I remember.

A Conversation

  

If I could do anything…

If you could do anything you’d what?

I’d…I’d write?

Would you, would you write? Or would you say,

“I’ll write!” and sit down to fall into your phone.

…should I even try?

What is that yoda saying, do or do not, there is no try?

Could you do?

I could do. I have done.

But only when inspired.

And what keeps inspiration away?

Probably the not doing, and the falling into ways of distraction.

So, what if I did?

What if you did?

Would it have to be good?

Do you think it would be?

Probably not always, but maybe at times, maybe sometimes I would be proud.

Could you be proud of just doing?

Not for me. I’d have to start by doing for someone else.

People pleaser.

Be nice, you are me.

And as you I think we could do.

You think we could do?

I do, and so do you.

So do I will.

But what will you do?

If I could write? I will write!

I will write anything, because I am dong what I could do if I could do anything.

Okay, let’s do.

I already did.

Making It There, so You Can Make It Anywhere: A Clueless Girl’s Guide to NYC

 

1.       Don’t be afraid of the apps.

Google maps is your new best friend, have it always open. Don’t worry about tracking your every move because everyone else is doing it too – even the locals. With this app you can get to your subway, specific locations in Central Park, and the nearest public bathroom. Citymapper is also a fantastic choice. Not only does it provide you with live updates for subways, but it also tells you how many stops to expect and the best place to sit on the train. What it doesn’t tell you is left or right, this app uses the cardinal directions. If you’re like me and that’s a sure-fire way to get lost, follow the picture, it updates with you and you can figure out quickly if you need to turn around.

 

2.       Bring a portable charger.

You have your maps app open, probably your NYC playlist helping you get in the mood, your camera because you are a tourist, and snapchat so you can make your friends jealous – you need a charger. Maybe this is common sense for a lot of people, but I work a 9 to 5 (actually it’s a 10-7, that’s a different post) and have a charger in my desk and car; I was not aware of how quickly I could kill my phone. If you want to stay safe and entertained, bring a charger. 

3.       There’s a set section for walkers, stay in it.

The Brooklyn bridge is beautiful, the view is mind blowing (when you walk toward Manhattan), you know what’s not cool? Being yelled at by bicyclists because you’re in the bike lane.

While there are a ton of people in the walking lane and this might mess up your Insta perfect moment, you are not a biker, stay in your lane. The Brooklyn bridge was not created for tourists, it’s not Times Square where tourists are the main pull, New Yorkers use this bridge for practical reasons and you standing there making a TikTok is not helpful. Stay in your lane and move out of the way.

 

4.       Keep your ears open or you will piss someone off.

       I ran into a runner. I wish I could blame him, but he yelled excuse me twice and my feet moved right into his path. Remember you are not the only person using a space and even though you are desperate to get to a seat in the shade, people are around you always. Keep your ears and brain open. 

5.       Money, Money, Money.

This is a pandemic world. For months we have been ordering online, using credit cards, or contactless payment options, but for some reason there are still cash only places. I don’t know why, I don’t know the benefit, but I do know you need to have cash. If you’re staying at a hotel, grab some there. You cannot always rely on deli ATMs or expect to walk into a liquor store to have one just because every liquor store in Minnesota has one. Get the cash so you can get the pizza. Get the cash so you can stay in the bar.

 

6.       You have to order something or get out.

I’ve been sober for two years. Even before that I had never been kicked out of a bar. But I go to one place, without cash, don’t order a drink and BOOM; you’re out darling. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to order a soda, I did, the caffeine was definitely needed after 18 miles of walking, but I couldn’t find a place to get cash. Honestly, being kicked out came at the right time. We had finished singing Dear Evan Hansen and Wicked, they had just finished the only sing I knew from Pippin, I was ready to go home. But like any good Minnesotan, I wasn’t exactly sure how or when to remove myself from the party, so the host did it for me. “You have to order something, or you have to leave.”

7.     Wear the sneakers.

        In total, I walked 36.5 miles between Friday at 4:30pm and Sunday at 4pm. There was sleep, eating, subway riding, and even a short jaunt on a bike in this time. I wore my walking shoes and I still returned home with feet covered in blisters and popping calves. Even if you aren’t much of a walker, you will be in New York.

 (I wish I had looked this cute.)

8.       Nobody cares Stasha!

       Before my trip, a friend of mine who used to live in NYC said don’t wear tennis shoes unless you are wearing work out clothes. So, I packed workout clothes. This was great because it was a billion degrees Fahrenheit, and I definitely got my steps in. But I wanted to go to nice places too, so I had a dress and sandals. You know what you can’t do in sandals? Walk five miles, at least I can’t. After consulting with my tour guide, a NYC local, I learned that literally no one cares what you are wearing. Even if you feel ridiculous in your tennis shoes and dress, it won’t be long before you see someone wearing an outfit much more eye catching.

9.       Prepare to pay to pee.

New York is Urinetown. The number of times I had to buy a liquid just to empty my bladder was ridiculous. Minnesota is probably too lax with our bathroom rules, public bathrooms for all, which made this a shock. Of course, with all the walking and the heat, I mostly sweated out my liquid intake. Be prepared to enter a Mcdonald's and order a side of fries with your number 1.

 

10. It isn’t as scary as you’d think.

Did I get called a stupid? Yes. Did I quickly learn to stop smiling at everything and everyone? Hell yes. Was I scared? A few times, but for the most part, NYC was just another city. It was huge, busy, and life-changing, but not the place of nightmares I had prepared myself for. It also wasn’t a dream come true. The smell of piss and puke is a real thing, the homeless population is heart-wrenching, and the traffic was mind-boggling. There were good and bad things to find everywhere, you take the good and turn the bad into a funny anecdote. And before you know it, you’ve made it there.

Cruelty

 

The cruelest thing one can do, is teach a fish to fly and force it to live in the water.

 

I have tasted air.

I have lived among angels, shared space with the birds.

Now I am forced to drown?

 

Is that what life is?

A moment of joy, a quick flash of the outside world,

Before you’re squeezed into the bowl and expected to love circles?

 

I found freedom.

I found a chance to explore a new path, to twist and turn, jump and run.

Now I chase my tail.

 

How do I get back to the feeling?

Lighthearted, peaceful, rested even when constantly moving?

I had dropped my burden, only to find it waiting, twice as heavy as before.

 

Escape.

Is that the only answer now?

Run away, never look back, leave all I know –

A search for the familiar unknowing?

 

The cruelest thing one can do, is teach a fish to fly and force it to live in the water.

Surprise!

 I surprised myself with tickets to New York. You're probably wondering, how does one surprise herself? Ask my mother, she used to do it all the time. 

There was the six months spent looking for my Easter candy. 15 years old, I  no longer expected a basket or bags of mini Reese's eggs. We had done the required egg hunt the day before, though this year I was more worker bee than hunter/gatherer. I felt that the Easter traditions had been fulfilled, time to get in the car and drive two and a half hours for lunch and then exhaustedly drive two and a half hours back. As I walked down stairs to search for the keys so we could be on time for once, I heard my mother call out, "see if you can find your candy!"

My candy! So there was a little excitement left in my childhood, thank goodness! I searched everywhere. Above the computer, between books, within shoes, daring to go beyond my mom's pile of dirty clothes guarding the closet. Nothing.

"I don't think it's in a basket, there's just a few chocolate bars." 

Oh great, now not only did I have to search the three floors of our house, but I wasn't even looking for a big item. If I was my mother, where would I put it....

Okay, we have a very explorative, always hungry, doesn't understand no dog; search high. I'm 5'5", my mom is 5'7", don't search that high. Gone was my productive 'find the keys mindset,' I had a mission and I had chosen to accept it. 

Forty-five minutes later feeling hopeless, hungry, and extremely late, we gave up. "Let's buy candy at the gas station, and get our butts on the road!"

I was shocked when I found a package of Reese's cups and a Hershey's bar nestled in the mixing bowl of my mom's Hamilton beach mixer. "It's July. Why is there candy in the mixing bowl? Can I still eat this?"

My Easter candy, much like Jesus, had miraculously risen from the depths. No one was more surprised than the hider herself. "I could hide my own birthday presents," she would say.

"You hid your own candy," I would retort.

I surprised myself with tickets to New York. I didn't buy the tickets, lose them, find them and realize, "Oh shit! I go to New York on Friday!" 

My friends and family won't someday look back at this trip and think, "What a hilarious story that is also an obvious sign of early onset dementia."

I bought tickets out of the blue, no warning for myself, my friends, or my savings account. I heard my mom's voice, rising from the dead (see Jesus), telling me to go. Go and find what has been hidden for the last six months. Go and find your resurrection. Go and find life's sweetness, dolce vita. Go and find what I have hidden for you. 

My mom surprised me with tickets to New York. 

 

Fear Turns to Hope: A quintet of thoughts

 

I.

I used to think that without you I would forget.

Forget how to breathe,

Forget how to see,

Forget how to dream.

I would forget the kindness in the world,

The brilliance,

Beauty,

Sweetness,

All of which you found in me.

I believed without you,

There would be no me.

II.

I saw the world with your faded grace.

I saw the world slowly dim as memories became empty space.

I saw the world crumble with every face you misplaced,

I saw my world die with one final embrace.

III.

And now.

Now I remember.

Now I carry on.

Now I am the one who is strong.

I’m not moving forward,

Or becoming someone new.

Now I am the me, that you always knew.

IIII.

Flying high,

Wings soaring toward the sun.

You always knew, even without you,

My life had just begun.

V.

So teach me caution with a chance for joy,

Teach me dreaming with no sense of fear to employ.

Teach me to long for all that I can be.

With your absence, teach me.

My Mother's Hands

 

These are my mother’s hands.

The blue veins pulsing against the pale, pink skin.

Fingers long, but not thin, flexible, but incapable of stretching

Across the keys to play a song.

Nails kept neat, clean, growing until brittle and breaking

A cycle that begins again.

The hands remind me of a gentle pat on the head,

A temperature checked,

A tissue passed.

They remind me of newspaper shared,

Exclamations pronounced,

Laughs shared as stories fall like rain around me.

These are my mother’s hands.

 

My mother’s hands were nets.

Drawing in strangers and friends.

My mother’s hands were boats

A place to rest in the storm, comforting until still.

My mother’s hands were nests.

They caressed my beating thoughts until I nestled safely under her palm.

My mother’s hands were open and waiting.

Reaching out to those who were lost or lonely,

In my mother’s hands they would find a home.

I hold my mother's hands.

I hold them, making them my own.

What I Found

 I found the candy in the mixer. It made sense why it had taken six months for me to find it, how was the Easter bunny supposed to know we never baked anymore?

I found the car where we had left it. Of course it had been forgotten, two blocks from home and how often did we really drive?

I found the keys in the purse. This where I always put them, but with the pockets and the junk who would know unless they really dug?

I found the cell phone on the eighth ring. Six missed calls are all it had taken that time, who carries their phone around if it isn’t even smart?

They found her on the floor of the bathroom. Shaken and forgetful all day, how could she be herself when she had seizures waiting on the horizon?

They found her fallen on the ground. Stairs and ledges, who would be able to keep themselves up if their limbs shook and the house was a maze of snares?

They found her asleep in her chair. Watching football and her daughter prattling on, why not fall asleep when your brain can no longer hold images or words?

They found her. Not her anymore, a body is not a person and the woman lying in bed is no longer a mother, why shouldn’t she seek peace over pain?

She found me. Crying in the basement, tornado clouds over head, children scared of storms are quite common, right?

She found me. Screaming down the stairs, lunging for the “rat bastard” of a dog who wondered “can’t I have more attention than the tv?”

She found me. At a loss for words, looking into her eyes trying to hold up a conversation that was always weighted on the other side, what do I say now?

She found me. Scared, alone, helpless, grateful, loved, broken, joyous, and hopeful; a mother will never forget her child, how could I forget you?

I found her. The wind brushes my cheek, dogs kiss my face, friends release my smile, love fills my heart and I find her.

No question, I know that is you.