Circles

Sometimes my thoughts chase in circles and I wonder
And wonder if everything is actually going to work out.
Because some part of me still doesn't know.
I think a lot about things.
About how things change
And how some things don't.
About old friends and how
They have changed
And haven't.
I don't know if the
Changes will mean good
Or bad things for any of them.
Yet it seems we've all lost our idealism somewhere
Between the here and there.
Youth passes us by in a flurry and
Even I don't feel young anymore.
Though some would call me so.
I look on with weariness at the paths
I've chosen and haven't chosen.
It is a hard thing sometimes
To try to look back and
Forward at the
Same time.
There's this part in the Bible
Where the main theme is
Everything is meaningless.
I feel overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed with the kids in my
Room
Who at two or three
Have more tragedy and hardship
Than I.
And they have no control or
WORDS to put to it.
Their sorrow and pain
Comes out in cries and screams.
In opposition to anyone
Who might care for them.
They've already learned to
Not trust.
Not speak.
Not hope.
I feel overwhelmed.
Because they are so little
And I can do so little.
My heart wants to
Protect them.
To shelter them.
And tell them
They will be OK.
But I don't know that.
I can't say that.
And as far as I can tell,
It won't be OK.
How can we just say
It's sad.
Why doesn't their suffering
Touch a corner
A mere corner of our hearts.
Although whose to say it doesn't.
They are just all depending on me it seems.
All those little ones.
Every day.
And every day I try the best I can
To love them and teach them.
Is that enough?
Is it ever enough?
I go to bed searching for answers
Searching for ideas.
Searching for explanations and
Getting up the next morning and worrying
About them all over again.
I know they aren't my burden to carry.
Yet when they look to me for everything,
I don't feel I'm enough.
So my thoughts go in circles.
As I realize yet again,
I can't save them.
I can only love them for the time
I see them.

Cargo Pants and Tears/Are there enough words?

I have this friend who always used to wear these cargo pants with all these pockets. She wore them so much that it became part of what I associated her with. Pockets, baggy, cool, cargo pants. Her up-to-date phone would always be stored neatly away in one of the pockets and her wallet always in easy reach in a back pocket.

Don't ask me why I remember these particular things. I could say something about someone else who matches and is always cute looking. Another friend wears long skirts and shirts. Loves head scarves and comfy but interesting shoes. These are things I remember. I store away.

In any case. I have never owned a pair of cargo pants and have lately become interested in fashion. Mostly because I discovered I have a love of skirts. This discovery has led me to think that perhaps I like other things that would be considered "cute". or "fashionable". So once in a while, I find a shirt in a store considered fashionable that is my style. In such a store I discovered cargo pants on sale. Automatically I thought, cool! I picked out a color and tried them on and transformed myself into a cargo-wearing lady. They are just the right amount of baggy and tight. Just look good enough to make me feel "cool". But part of me thinks that the reason I really wanted them was perhaps as a tribute to my friend who lives in another state and who I think of often. I was never the cool girl, never really the one that got invited, and never really felt sad about that. But. When my mom died, this friend invited. And that to me. Is enough.

Tears came flowing down today because I watched a video about some parents whose son had gotten killed in a head-on crash. As I watched their raw emotion, my own tears came unflowing and I wept. My grief flowed over me and there was nothing to hold back. I cried. I can't believe it's been four years. Can anyone ever know how that is? To just cry. I've been holding back those tears since the date. Perhaps thinking, it's been this long, maybe I'm OK. But my heart still feels torn to pieces sometimes when I think about it. When I think about my family. My sobs and cries seem to go on through the years as a young girl's heart turning into a woman's mourns her mother's absence.

So I put on the old music. The music I listened to over and over and over again whenever I would feel sad about my mom. Music by Matt Kearney, a song by Superchick. Songs that brought about tears and songs that I could turn up loud and maybe drown out the overwhelming grief. To listen to them again is a reminder. A reminder of her. And a reminder of the impact she had on my life. A reminder to grieve when my spirit needs it. I have pain. I carry scars. And sometimes I feel so lost and sad. Without her. But I am still OK. My smile and my passion for the kids carry me through. Having someone whose been willing to walk a very difficult road relationally with me and loved me through it all reminds me to remember mom in a humble and move-forward kind of way. Nothing will ever change the pain of my mother's death. And

I still miss her.

How I wish she hadn't missed out on these last four years. How deeply I wish she could have seen me grow. I wish I could call her up and ask her about life. Though these are wishes, don't get down on me for wishing. These thoughts are fleeting and tomorrow is a new day.

Four

My mother died 4 years ago today.
I can't believe it has been that long.

It's funny how life continues to push you forward.

In any case,

I miss the person that was so proud of me.
I miss the person I felt I could relate to the most in my family.

I remember the last time I talked with her.

I remember the worry head-aches I constantly had my sophomore year at college because I didn't know when the cancer would win.

I remember the daily phone calls from my dad updating me on the status of things.
I remember getting called on a Thursday with the news that she was in the ICU and could die anytime.

3 seems to be the magic number. It's the number of weeks we knew about the cancer before she died.

It was a crazy, mixed-up time.

My friends put up with my moody grief. With my daily depression. With my lack of care about anything. Despite the fact that I hated life at the time, they still invited me. Constantly invited me.

And as I dug my way through a myriad of emotions, they sought to sit with me, hug me, talk to me. When otherwise I would have been alone.

One of my good friends even wrote a song for me.

"Set me high upon this rock"

OK so it was about Hurricane Katrina as well, but you know, I inspired some of it.

I am at such a different place in my life. No longer in college. Full-time job with the cutest kids I know. In a relationship.

It's strange to think my mom has now missed four years of my life.

I know she wanted to be there for me.

I know she would so be here if it was possible. I know she'd say she was proud and tell me she loves me when I call her and send me postcards.

Sigh.

I'll never have anyone like that in my life again. No one could ever do her job or play her role in my life. That empty spot still sometimes feels like a gaping hole.

There will always be a piece of me that misses her.

Today I honor her by remember those pieces of her that are pieces of me.