"Only Hand Washing In Sink"

Craving Frogurt, my hubby and I strolled into a new eatery in Temple City-

Home Of The Rams. My High School Alma Mater, how could we go wrong?

We looked for a place to sit with our purchase, and I looked around for a Restroom.

Ray found a couch for us to nest into, and off I went.

I found the restroom, and as I went to use the bathroom sink,, I noticed a sign above it:

ONLY HAND WASHING IN SINK

The warm water ran over my hands, and I couldn't keep myself from chuckling.

The chuckling turned into an unrestrained snorkle.

I left the restroom, now full on bellowing laughter. The beast had been released.

I sat down at our table and as we enjoyed our Frogurts. I told Ray that I was disappointed at the sign I read in the restroom "Only Hand Washing In Sink".

What else are you going to wash in the sink besides hands? I told my hubby I was thinking of making a salad and washing the lettuce in the sink. Do people toss salads often in their sink?

I don't know why this became the funniest vision in the world to me.

Do people bring their children in for hair cuts and baths in the sink?

The place was new, and very odd and uncomfortable to begin with.

We were being patrolled, even though we were the only customers.

The first place we sat, the owner plopped right next to us.

Good times. My feet were kicked up and the "relax" sign on for business.

We immediately beat feet to the other side of this enormous empty Yogurteria. French Fries and Sausage were offered among other interesting options, including Calimari. Hmmm. Yogurt and Calimari. M-m-m-m-m. We were so amused as we read the Temple City News.

Now, it never fails when we drive through the lovely hamlet of T.C. that someone can be 150 and Ray asks if I went to school with them, do I know them? I just always say they are 5 years younger than me.

The special treat we can always expect rounding Rosemead Blvd. on to Las Tunas Blvd:

someone usually over the age of 80 always riding a giant three wheeler bike- and somehow it looks normal. It doesn't matter what time of day or night. Age, Race, Religion, someone is riding that three wheeler down Las Tunas. You can just count on it. Temple City is still one of those throw backs.

Most of the people I grew up with moved to Glendora or La Verne. Are they the new Temple City. I wonder if they have renegade three wheeling riders? Others moved to Pasadena and Monrovia. Getting down right crazy moving to Altadena. Is that how I ended up here? In Temple City, Altadena is considered the HOOD.

Best be careful, especially driving home late at night. When we first moved here, I was a little

frightened. Listening to one persons bullshit fear about a city they didn't even live in. Temple City was as close to all white when I grew up. The best thing, it turns out was moving to Altadena almost 20 years ago. I learned so much about life, not to mention my children learned how to get along, thrive, prosper. Religions, Beliefs, Races, differences in people that have brought us together.

How did I get here, all from that frogurt shop in good ol' T.C?

I guess going down memory lane, three wheelers and knowing there is no going home.

This is my home. To go back and chuckle, and think about that restroom sign,

I guess I have lived in my HOOD too long. The comments that I think up,

that make me laugh about what I would put in that sink from that sign.

Not because I want to destroy public property for one second, it's just the humor

of what comes to mind seeing a sign that reads "Only Hand Washing In Sink".

What do they think I was going to do?

The Throne

Hear ye, Hear ye, all good and fine citizens of Temple City.

Gather round as I tell a tale of times gone by.

Three lovely maidens, we'll call them Sisters One, Two and Three.

For the sake of our story, Sister One is the Eldest, Two, The Middle, and Three the youngest.

You may be wondering why these Sisters Three have no names?

As I was writing, I realized it wouldn't have mattered if these poor darlin's

had the most beautiful names. They had no more of an identity than the numbers I have assigned them for our story.

One, Two and Three lived in a world of mixed messages in their Castle. Overflowing portions of spaghetti and meatballs, roast beef, potatoes and bread would be at a Sunday Meal. In this tale, let's just call the Leader of the household the "King" for simplicity sake. The King loved to cook and eat. You might say this was his favorite Pastime. He also loved everyone to eat massive amounts of his food as he did. He took great offense if His Subjects objected.

One, Two and Three were coming into their own as young ladies. Three, on the cusp of her 14th year of life, had been invited into a Royal Initiation by the Society of Temple City Throne's .

She had never heard of such an organization, but happily passed the information on to One and Two. Now life would become so much easier especially on Sundays with the King and Queen. One, Two and Three bonded even closer from this Secret Society.

Holidays became an absolute JOY for these young ladies, as they inhaled and

delighted in all the foods the King would pile on to the table. They could go back for

seconds, thirds, fourths- they were invincible. This is when each member would pay their respects repeatedly to the Society Of The Throne. Sunday dinners and Holidays were the least of the Societies dues. The daily grind is what wore down the member, until they prayed for termination of membership. The Queen, perching her arched eyebrow, watching these young maidens merrily laughing, lost in a temporary Paradise known only to them.

Shrill words like sand paper skidded across the table, as The Queen spewed her

angry acid filled tone towards all three. "Are you girls going to vomit now," just loud enough so all eyes were now drawn to shame-filled silence.

Her words hung heavy, as the three went inside themselves, taking deep cover. The once merry maidens, now on display for The Queens temporary distraction. Any Subject would do. The burden of ruling in Her Palace wore heavily. One, Two and Three however seemed to provide greater relief for distraction. The others needed tending to. The coin of the realm.

The Queen was Famous in the land for Public Announcements. The Subjects in the Kingdom braced themselves. They never knew when and where, all just knew to be prepared.

Most of the Kingdom let it be known they would rather be Tarred and Feathered. The pain would end so much more quickly than her words. Her disappointment, her withholding of affection and warmth kept the Castle in a state of chilliness, even on the warmest of Summer Days.

Usually One, took care of The Queens duties as far as The Royal Subjects concerns. At an early age, One learned to look after Two and Three. The Queen had other Subjects in The Kingdom, but One felt more responsible and related more with Two and Three, possibly because of The Secret Society Of The Throne.

As time went on, it seemed like the girls would tire of their duties to The Throne. Serving did not hold the joys it once held as it did in times past.

The years passed and the sisters grew apart. One and Two seemed to no longer want to be a member anymore. Three would let her dues expire for longer and longer periods of time, but was still committed to being a life long member.

So many changes between the three girls, who no longer wanting or accepting the title of Subjects anymore. The names One, Two and Three no longer seemed enough.

Things made so much sense while in The Society, living in The Castle with The King and Queen. After they left the Castle, the three women realized they had and deserved value.

Three, understood being in The Society would only bring her closer to death, never life. So she let go. She wound her way back, and began to understand things that being a Three took a little more time. One and Two were doing there own calculations, and it finally dawned on all of them at different times, they were okay.

There had simply been a mistake in The Kingdom.

The King and Queen were given Magical Powers they did not know they possessed. They didn't know how to use them. It was far too strong in their hands to care for the Lovely Princesses. It seems they had not read the label for the Magical Potion they were entrusted with.

They had gotten the Potion mixed up, and thought it to be labeled simply One, Two and Three,

instead of "Princess Potion". All along One,Two and Three had always been beautiful Princesses. The King and Queen had never realized this. In The Queen's panic realizing many bottles may have been mislabeled, she feared mayhem in The Kingdom. She gathered the other Magic Elixirs together, but it was too late. The Princesses had already taken the Potion.

Princess Two, being the great observer in life, called her Sisters together. She was always reading labels and books. She didn't know why. Now she KNEW. The Elixir they had taken throughout their lives: the side effects- confusion, deep sleepy haziness. The Sisters were overjoyed with the news. And slowly they began to wake up from their deep sleep. They realized they could have any kind of Kingdom together they desired. The King and Queen still rule their Kingdom.

Never wanting another to join, the Princesses have banned The Society Of The Throne.

Elixirs are now popping up everywhere. So many flavors to try! Princesses in many Lands are now waking up. The Princesses are learning to fill their hearts with delight. The greatest side effect of the Magic Potions the princesses are taking today, the Sister Elixir. Mix together three parts willingness, two parts forgiveness, and the most important, one part love. The Princesses have reunited.

Funny isn't it, they were just given the wrong Magic Potion.

I am so happy they have the right one now. Sparkly RED shoes have been in Princess Number 3's closet collecting dust, for now what seems like an eternity.

Time To Say Goodbye

I don't want to write this, I want to hang on. Just a little bit longer. My lifetime.

Yet if I don't put it in the written word, give it the just dues so long needed to wrap

it up. Time to put a bow on this and let it fly, not just from my head. Logic can only take you so far. The heart is telling me another story. Writing seems to give me a freedom, a release that nothing has come close to. Here goes.

I knew something always seemed different with this pregnancy. The other two,

I was younger. This was very unexpected, but very welcomed like the others.

Being 23 the first go round, and 35 this time, I felt so different, my body felt it.

One thing after the other brought me back to the Doctor, so this was a little

disconcerting. The Doctor was new to me, recommended by my internist. It was her

best friend so I felt assured I was in good hands.

The shock came by a few visits in that I would be having twins. They did not run in

our families so it was some shock.

We immediately hired a contractor to try to stretch the tiny bedroom in our home that would be for them.

It was starting to become a reality that our family of four would soon become six.

The construction was a mess, but it felt confirming: the change was headed our way.

We would figure out where these new little additions would lay their heads and

have a cozy nest.

Somewhere in my fourth month I became severely ill and went to Emergency. I had a raging

headache. All tests were taken, babies heart beats were fine.

I went home. I was already big as a house which was so different, I had never been

pregnant with twins before.

My next appointment, I could see something was wrong on my Doctors face.

I was somewhere in my fifth month, and she did the ultra sound several more times.

Looking away, she stated,"It's dead". Oh, cool. I am laying on the table with ultra sound

goop all over my stomach, and a doctor that does not have the best bed side manor.

So I am tripping out in my head, trying to hold it together. Acting like I have done this so many times before. It's not getting any better, she still is just kind of sitting there. Tumble weeds and crickets.

She leads me down the hall to the receptionist, and gives me the number of a Doctor who does

Genetic Testing. So, besides the fact that I am feeling on top of the world that baby number one is dead, I am HUGE and I don't know what the hell Genetic Testing is. Sounds

like a sci-fi movie and it doesn't sound good.

The sensitivity level in this Doctor overwhelmed me. A deer in the head lights would have provided more comfort. Needless to say the drive home was no joy ride.

Within the week, we drove to LA, and went to see the Genetics Fellow, he must have gone to school with the other gal. Android Training 101. Now, I was just being warmed up for this treat. I got to hear the 13,000 reasons why I was going to have the most mutant fucked up,

martian baby known to man kind. That is my lay man version of Doctor Genetic Joy.

I refused to get all the testing and roll the dice. I am shocked that when people saw me walking they did not just know there was a mutant embryo in my belly!

It is inhumane, the treatment, the explanations.I had just lost one baby, that I was told just suddenly disinitigrated, my body would soon absorb it. Now I am huge, like an emotional

roller coaster, and really FEELING this explanation. Right.

God forbid I trust my intuition. None of this was feeling right. That is why we left, and did none of the testing. However my baby came out, it was mine. Nobody was telling me at the ripe old age of 35 I was borderline for all kinds of severe birth defects. Due to the the death of the first expect the absolute worst.

Like I said, cool. I am on red alert, I don't know what to think, feel, expect.

A couple months pass, and each and every time I go in to the Doctors office, I am

so used to having numerous ultra sounds.

Today is different, everything about it from the fact that I have my girlfriends twin

daughter with me who was home sick from school. I remember sitting in the office by myself looking out the window at the Angeles Crest Mountains. Just staring at how big they were

and how small I felt. The more I fixated on them -I just KNEW.

The Doctor did the usual routine and panic was setting in. Over and over

again she searched for a heart beat that would not reveal itself.

The room filled with complete and utter silence, for only the slightest moment.

"It's dead".

This isn't possible. Not again. And this stupid bitch is not possibly saying my baby is an

"It" again. I start hitting the wall. I am not cool. I am a woman who has in two months

been told that my "It's" are dead. I blame myself, over and over again. I need someone to be kind, be a human being. I am destroyed. I remember I still have a sixth grader in the waiting room for me. I have to pull myself together.

The Doctor tells me I have the weekend to think about what I want to do.

Well, like I want to go to Vegas and party? What kind of question is that?

I want my dead baby removed and whatever is going on with first dead baby

maybe have a look see, too.

We are now in the hallway. I am trying to fight off pure hysterics. She then

informs me that this is too hard. I hug her, tell her it is going to be okay.

She then tells me I can use the phone to call someone in the nurses station.

I call the twins mother and she meets me at home. As kind and supportive as she is,

I need my Raymond. He is somewhere in the Valley and comes home.

To this day, I do not understand the series of events that took place, maybe by writing they will make more sense.

My Doctor sent me to a high risk place to deliver instead of a Hospital. The Hospital would have been much kinder. It was a nice enough place. I was then put into Labor Mode and sent home. I had no idea what that meant until we were driving on the freeway home.

I was going into LABOR without the benefit of help. I know they must have given me a prescription probably to pick up some drugs for pain. Who cared?

It was horrific. Then they said not to call the Hospital if their was a problem, call them.

I still don't get it. The next morning I now was sent to another location.

I can't tell you the feelings of vulnerability having to drive to both these strange places.

I have to thank God for Paul, my brother driving us that day.

It couldn't have been easy for him to drive our car while watching a crying, vomiting sister in agony.

We got to this new location in Calabasas and I was taken away, thinking Ray was

coming with me. It was very frightening laying in wait. The vulnerabilty of being alone in that room was indescribable. No hand to hold. Only the comfort that a drug would knock me out, so I didn't have to wake to the sight of my dead baby.

When I came to the Doctor told me they were both girls. The bigger one was holding her little

sister. Her arms were wrapped around her. This was what supposedly had "absorbed" back

into my body. I asked to see them. He didn't think it was a good idea. My head was spinning.

I thought wow, what am I going to do with their bodies.

I realized I wanted to bury my babies. I told the nurse as she said, "Oh sorry, we already threw the first one away.' Here we go with my "It's" again. I can't even go there with the threw the first one away part. The inhumanity. It changed me forever.

The second one was still on the premises, so we were able to call the mortuary.

They asked if we wanted an autopsy.

I told them I hadn't wanted one. I didn't want my precious angels to endure anymore

indignities.

To get through this it wasn't the act alone of them dying. So many layers of abandonment took place along the way. It began in my doctors office.

. One of the most difficult things in my life I have ever experienced

was the grief. It changed my body chemistry and lead me to a depression which I was

ill equipped to handle. My Doctor would not return my phone calls and the level

of shame I felt drew me into a shell that kept me withdrawing further and further.

I felt as though I had done something wrong. I was in so much grief with her rejection I

just shut down further.

I no longer wanted any part of the Medical Community. The once out going person

I had been was long gone. I still was a parent, always. Room Mother. I could do that

for my kids at their school. Wife, barely. I was always mom no matter how deep the depression.

But what I did have going for me. One unbelievably loving husband. Second thing,

really great kids. Supportive loving family. My husband was and is such an incredible father.

Even in his grief with all of this he kept us together. He is truly amazing. The more I step away from it every day, he just blows me away. I am in awe of him. In debt for his fortitude.

My love for him, so deeply layered. I love him with words that have no description.

Only my heart can reveal, as he alone knows.

The thing that surprised me. Myself. The person I once knew was changing.

I became a fighter. I fought every step of the way to survive. Every step of the way

I felt like calling it quits. The severe depression made the simplest acts so very difficult.

My emotions were like The Fourth Of July. I was all over the place. Up and down. The main key to my healing has been forgiveness for myself.

For the Doctor who was in so much pain that she could not deal with emotions.

Probably too close to her own heart. It took me so long to forgive her.

Now I thank her. Because of her I am so proud of the person I have become. Working in Hospice. Revealing my heart all the way through. Not worrying about where it takes me.

I have the ability to dig in not only to the pain of loss, but abandonment in that loss.

Give the very best of me. The empathy I would never have had if she hadn't been who she was.

By walking away and leaving me in the worst pain. Through understanding my pain I feel for her. Only someone would behave that way who was suffering terribly herself.

I didn't have any idea where this story would end up. It has always hurt, no matter how many

years have past. Tonight I feel free. It's part of what makes me: ME.

I have never traveled light. My luggage, it has weighed me down.

It's time to lay this one down. I will meet up with my little babes again one day.

I know they are happy and want me to be.

That is the first time I have ever said that. I have a feeling they were the instigators

behind this writing. I feel lighter. I know they want me to fill my heart with JOY.

I will just look for the happy signs of them around now. It's time to say goodbye,

as my typing slows almost to a halt. Thank you for opening your momma's

heart my girls. Nina you held Carly and waited. I'm sorry I couldn't bury you together.

Both your names are on the grave stone. You are equal to your daddy and me.

Goodbye sweet girls until we meet again, mommy.

It Begins With Me

I have not wanted to be an advocate.

I don't know what I wanted, but I was that Hippy Gypsy sounding voice, saying "I just want to do my own thing."

The truth is there are a laundry list of things now in my life to choose from,

to be an advocate about. Having pretty much overcome most of them, and I say pretty much, because it is a work in progress, as anyone knows who has pain.

I cannot just OVERCOME bipolar and depression.

If I could, I would have. I have tried every way I know I have had access to.

It began with believing I needed a good old fashioned "spiritual healing".

I went to every psychic, back alley healer, channeler, clairvoyant.

I begged God, I prayed. Meditation, yoga.

Hours of tarot cards, counseling, inner child work shops.

Going to school to learn about hypnotherapy, psychology.

No longer reading books about anything BUT the study of the brain,

psychology and human dynamics.

In between this, my depression, and lack of diagnosis, was wearing me down.

I had the ability to BEHAVE normally, it was to myself that the real damage was being inflicted.

It never dawned on me for one second after the stillborn death of my twin babies that my hormones started this whole cycle to kick it. First, as it was explained to me physically , then emotionally, with the trauma. I did not go anywhere to get any help.

I stayed in my room, after I made lunches and sent my kids off to school.

I sunk deeper and deeper into a depression that I am sure was not only postpartum depression. I had no where to grieve the loss.

Owning up to the fact that you have a problem that you cannot resolve by yourself is devastating.

I am a person who leaves no stone unturned.

I was becoming a stone from grief and despondency.

Suicidal thoughts were becoming frequent and a normalcy.

Death was like a friend that would call to me, like a warm blanket it was wrapping itself

around me . I was so tired and weakened from grief, exhaust, fear.

It was NEVER because for one moment I wanted to leave my family.

I just wanted the pain that was unrelenting,to stop, to let up, just for the night.

This kind of pain went on in a kind of living hell, that I would not wish on my worst enemy, for more than 6 years. There were so many elements, layers to be addressed.

The first was my thyroid being off. When your thyroid doesn't work, YOU don't work.

Getting back into a good solid trusting therapy, to talk out the grief, fear with my therapist.

She, after a year together at this point, was able to send me over to get my diagnosis for Bipolar Disorder.

Vicki, my therapist, and I, have worked together for 7 years now.

it is hard sometimes for both of us to believe that much time has gone by.

I am not the same person that walked into her office.

She no longer needs to tell me this, I so clearly see and feel the changes.

Those four walls in her office have seen a lot of grief, fear, laughter.

She has taught me how to fight for myself, how to stand tall.

That I have a right to be loved, no matter what. She has loved me through my

worst temper tantrums that I was never allowed as a child.

she has taken me through all the stages of adolescence.

My husband, as well has seen me through all these stages.

Grief, abuse, so many things that were taken away had to be rebuilt.

It takes a very strong person to be willing to stick through these "bad times"

in a marriage. The "good times" are a piece of cake. We are very bonded.

We have seen each other through so much. I know that there is no way

I could have gotten through any of this without him.

As my kids got older, they understood more, I could explain more.

My daughter was not affected, or have any memories.

My son remembers. When I would become irate, and take it out on him.

The mood swing, the anger, the explosion.

I have done a lot of apologizing, healing with my family.

Those I love and have hurt. My family humble me with their love.

It begins with me. I have not wanted to be an advocate, yet I can no longer , I

no longer choose to stay silent. This is how the full circle of life continues.

Passing on what we learn. I would never want someone to walk the road I have,

but if someone is, I would much prefer not to hide in the shadows.

I would rather say, "I am here- you are not alone."

The Letter

Nothing I do is easy does it. I am a true Leo. I dig in there, roar, get the job done, and take a nap.

That sounds like it is all in a days work. I take a years work, thinking piece of cake.

Must be that arrogant Leo The Lion thing that pisses people off.

Hmmmmmm, think I am starting to get a glimpse how other people view this.

It just seems to make so much sense at the time. Why take bite size pieces

when we can clear this baby out, and move on to the next. What I don't take into account, is maybe everyone else doesn't feel like going on this particular magic carpet ride at 90 miles through a blizzard.

The way I have learned my lessons in the past, have been on very rough and bumpy roads.

Even a flashlight would have been nice to light the way.

That's just the point. I have had to do it my way, what other option was there?

I have never been a team player. I may have been part of teams. Part of a large family,

which actually became several teams. Good team - bad team, pitted against each other.

Problem was, you just never knew which team you were playing for.

This is another one of those times I have been a true to my nature Leo.

This year was cleaning up and clearing out the debris in my life.

Again, whoa, take pity for those near and dear on that magic carpet ride.

This year, that sucker has been going at warped speed, and that magic carpet

has a hole burned through the center.

What started this great metamorphosis: a letter.

This letter has by far been the scariest thing I have ever sent out in the mail.

It was addressed to my older brother. For the first time ever

acknowledging the fact that he molested me when was 8 years old.

I sent that letter a little over a year ago, and the changes in my life, well......

I am no longer even close to the same person who first mailed that letter.

Like anything else, when a wound is exposed to air, it stings.

My wound was 40 years in the making, and it was salt endlessly pouring into this owie.

The only thing I could do was hold on for the ride. I had opened up Pandora's Box,

and that little momma wanted to check out the sights. She had been all cooped up,

was dressed, ready, and wasn't going to take NO for an answer.

First fear set in, what have I done, by sending bro that letter.

Horror and shock walked hand in hand for many months.

I felt like a ghost, and doubted my every move. My sisters, whom I had started a

relationship with again, had deteriorated from misunderstandings due to information

surrounding this infamous letter.

I continued to work very hard in therapy to understand, to unravel what all this pain was about.

I knew I was finally at the heart of why I have been so stuck, so frightened by certain things in my life. I can honestly say as hard as I have worked on myself, this was the most challenging year. This time, it was me, unraveling me. Ouch. Yuck, This is not where I thought we were going with this. I thought I was going to rehash all the shit of yesteryear.

Now it was really about where am I headed with my life. No, I want to wallow a little bit more.

The wallowing came in the form of writing only when I was despondent.

The biggee, I only wrote free hand. Ever. This was the year of growth. Only in the past 3 months have I learned how to type. I completely forgot grammar. I have and am re-teaching

myself, as I am putting myself out publicly for the first time this year, my writing .

The relationships with my sisters that had been damaged from misunderstandings,

and so much pain from what we came from. Instead of coming together and

supporting each other in the past, we tore each other down, we lived what we learned.

Now, the times, they are-a- changing! Compassion that was impossible for me to muster in my heart for them, for me has come.

The break through for me came this October when I went to my nieces wedding.

I love her so much, and would never have wanted to hurt her, but I knew my brother was going to be there, and I felt myself JUST losing it. I wasn't getting along with either sister yet,

so this was a hard one. Plus it was in another state. So many variables.

First I declined with a bullshit excuse that I knew she knew was a bullshit excuse,

I was just trying to survive. Then something happened. I went to my nieces bridal shower, the ice was broken. Step one, I survived and saw my sisters again, wasn't too bad!

My actual fear was seeing my brothers wife. she was a no show. Thank you for LARGE miracles.

Now I Knew I could get through the wedding. And I did.I saw my brother and his wife, I was polite, but the old me would have made it all better for them. Completely dissed myself.

not this time. I let them stew in their own awkwardness. I felt like the greatest weight had been lifted from me.

Several days later I tripped again, but it didn't surprise me.

The months since then, have been growth beyond my imagination.

Sometimes the healing has felt fabulous, other times, excruciating.

I am coming full circle and seeing, feeling things as I could not, would not allow myself.

Perhaps I wasn't ready, or the timing wasn't right. I don't know, and I don't care.

This is what I do know: I have shown up for my own life. I now have a voice, and I like it!

I know who I am and what doesn't feel good. I am only beginning to learn what DOES really feel good. I love my family and am so very grateful for my husband and children. Without them my life would have very little meaning. I am very excited to have my sisters back in my life.

I can't wait to see the family we build, from the people we are becoming.

The biggest thing I am grateful for. This year to END!

Katie, am I normal today?

I've lived in the shadows of my own shadows.

How could I possibly know until I pulled the curtain open myself for the big reveal.

This is my life now, and if I choose to accept it and quit hiding behind the curtain,

than I can enjoy the movie.

My life is the movie I have not wanted to star in. Always a bit actor.

Sometimes no more than a stand-in.

I have let so many things, people, beliefs, myths rule me.

I have felt like I have had no right to draw breath on this planet for a long time.

My insides are collapsing as I dispel each and every myth.

I have every right to be here. The person who should have taught me,

show me, allowed me the slightest dignity did not.

Dogs were shown more compassion for their feelings than I was.

It is spilling out on this paper my anguish, my understanding that I

deserved humanity in my fear as an 8 year old. Terrified and alone.

When my older brother came into the dark living room in the loneliest hours.

No one was going to come for me. No one would hold my shaking body or dry my tears.

Simply say, "You'll see honey, when the sun comes up, everything will be okay."

Day break came, and I lost more and more pieces of me.

Every day I disappeared into a slow stew of nothingness.

Thought to be slow, less, by the mother who would not protect me.

She would not stand up to the bully who never ceased to torture me with words now.

This was far worse than the act. The words spewing from his mouth were

filled with such hatred and rage.

He would go on and on spouting, wishing that I would have died. The favorite at the dinner table was how ugly, fat and stupid I was.

It became a mantra. My mother allowed it. I, in turn, fully believed it.

Lived it. Became the slow, fat, ugly monster together they conspired to

create. The SECRET must be kept at all costs. I certainly wasn't going to put up a fight.

I was in survival mode. I just needed a way to exist, that's all I could possibly hope for.

That's what life became. I learned how to mask my overly sensitive emotions with humor.

.

With the way I viewed my Hunchback Of Notre Dame looks, what could I, would I expect?

Darkness never traveled great distances from me. We were great partners.

You could say we thrived off one another. Until I was in pitch black.

I couldn't see anymore, it now consumed me. The depression was so much a part of me.

This went on for so many years with too many roads traveled in between.

My life no longer had meaning. Death became a game. Begging my husband to please kill me,

as he walked in the door from work. It got worse as I drove the freeway, closing my eyes, playing games.

I resisted my therapists recommendation of going to a Psychiatrist.

That's for over the top nut job's. It's bad enough I see a therapist.

So I went. Little did I know what would soon be in store for me.

Boom. My world would be turned upside down with just a few simple , yet

far from harmless words in my vocabulary, at the time.

"Your diagnosis is bipolar disorder". No, I just came here for some simple tests.

That's for THOSE kind of people. Those crazy frothing one's.

Not me, you've made a mistake. I get depressed, but let's work this out, c'mon.

Eyes pleading. Who is this lady who can just tell me this, like she is ordering a sweater on line.

This is my fucking life.

I leave her office and pull off to the side of the road. The tears come, and don't stop.

I am the monster they said I was. I grieve. I am inconsolable.

Time passes, I get reacquainted with the ME that never had a chance through so much trauma.

Through no fault of my own.

Forgiveness for self comes in many layers, through years when no hand is held, no back is rubbed, as a child. No words came from my mother, that it wasn't my fault what my brother did to me.

That I never deserved to be that frightened or alone. I did the only thing I knew how.

I went far, far away.

So far away, that it took a long time for me to come back and claim all the pieces of me.

I am no longer ashamed that I take medication to help me.

Part of me got left behind. There will always be some damage.

I am no longer DAMAGED. I am thriving because I am willing to feel all of this.

Without my Raymond who believed in me, for me. He saw this moment so many years

ago, when I was a curled up ball. The difficulty and aloneness for him was excruciating.

Then Vicki came and saved my life. Shone her light and love and example.

She became mother, sister, an example of HOW I deserved to be treated.

Doc set me on the path to getting my medications figured out- loving me while

doing the great balancing act. Medication is a slippery slope, and if you don't have trust,

faith, connection- it makes it so difficult.

These two women, had faith in me, as difficult as I made it at times.

I love them, as it turns out, with ferocious loyalty.

They are the best of the best. How I got so lucky to be placed in these women's hands, I'll never know. I just thank God for them every day.

My husband that has loved me through better and worse, the worse got tested more than he ever expected. My two amazing children, who have loved me, and taught me so much about acceptance and asking for help.

So, when I asked the other night, am I acting normal?

They replied as if I was asking to change the channel on the TV.

Thats my family, that's what they have taught me about love.

I am ready to be the STAR in my own life. What a leading man I have. What was I thinking?

Mirror, Mirror

Reflective pools of light. They can bring hauntingly beautiful illuminations for some, and for others simply be haunting.

The mirror we see in another person's face as we are going through our day.
Joyful laughter that in the next instant can bring burning rage.
That mirror does not, could not possibly reflect back to me, that raging lunatic on the freeway.
Screaming to himself, hand gestures, pure venom oozing from his pores.

That's not me. I am smiling and happy and have it all figured out. Can't you see, look damn it.
My mouth is getting tight and twisted do I have to tell you or show you one more time.

I will not reveal the angst and terror I really feel. Quick, get the mirror, get the ick off of me .
Bounce that reflection off to the nearest and dearest SUCKA who will take it. They won't even see this baby coming.

I'll put my happy face on, even BIGGER, but I feel so small that I want to curl up in a ball.
What I really want to do is suck my thumb. The thing is, what is so wrong with those feelings?
Everyone is scared. It is human. What isn't okay is the projection. The bigger-than-life mirror used to take the spotlight off of the original owner. On to the next unassuming victim.

What about reflections of love? Beautiful bouncing light that fills a room with energy, warmth, calm. This is the less likely of the two. Definitely takes more work.
How amazing it feels to be bathed in the light of love. Knowing that this, too, is a side of us. The very best in us.

This side also just happens to feel a lot better. I know I WISH that beautiful, illuminating peace were mine more often.
I sure don't like seeing that frothing, raging, half "ani-human" glaring back at me.

Whoa, what do i need to pay attention to today?
That mirror's going to reflect no matter where I go, what I do, whether I like it or not..
Why not ride the wave? That rip tide is a real bitch.
Me hanging ten out there isn't all that pretty, hmmmmmm... maybe I need a new mirror.

That's Not What I Heard

How poetic to come full circle once again, in an odd and truly uncomfortable way, I will later see this as a gift. Until then, I will write.
Those words, "Thats not what I heard". Truly seem so harmless.
Yet have yielded so much power, so much pain and intensity. As I write, I have made a decision to let the
battle end tonight. I am bloodied and war torn and cannot continue on like this anymore.
The price is too great. My sanity.

To fully embrace my truth, as a writer, as a human being. That is the question. What is the point to continue,
if I mask my writings in cleverly guarded half truths so not to offend anyone.
Keep my heart tied up in chains. For who? What have I been protecting?

I have lived on different levels, wearing so many layers, padding of fear for so long.
I am sad and tired to my core. So close to happiness. It stays with me longer and longer each time
I risk and tell my truth. Uncomfortable, sad at times, but always freeing in the end.

I do not want to be around people who are unkind. Sounds very basic but I am a very slow learner. I had this ridiculous notion that if I loved people enough, all would be well.
My"well" became dry. I withered up.

My mother is one of those unkind people that it is difficult for me to be around.
I do not like to have to write about this, yet, I cannot move forward if I don't.

I simply am understanding that for me to be around her, I become irrational.
My heart hurts. Her loyalty is to no one. Only herself.
A lifetime of pitting her children against one another is too much for me.

I lay the gauntlet down. No person is strong enough for such malice or anger.
It is a catch 22 designed for insanity. I feel one step closer to the funny farm whenever I am in her presence.
If that makes me weak, so be it. I choose life and happiness.

I was talking to my daughter yesterday. We were sitting at a cafe sipping coffee, and I said that I finally realized the old saying,
"Would you rather be right, or happy?"
I said it is apparent after all these years I have chosen so many times "right".
I'd like to sound deep and say of course I always chose "happy."

More often than not, I held on so tight that I am not even remembering what I was right about anymore.
Just wouldn't, wasn't ready to let go of my good friends that had seen me through it all, -Mrs. "Have To Be Right" and
Mr. "Hang On With All Your Might."
Didn't matter if I had long out grown my stubborn behaviors.
Damn it, they were mine.

Which leads me back to "That's not what I heard".
I can't do it anymore. I can't hear or be the gossip anymore. I am unwilling, it is too painful.To say your child is a liar and pit one against the other constantly, it wears you down. It makes you paranoid and start viewing the whole world that way. I am paranoid enough on a good day. I don't want to defend or be defended anymore. I want to be loved and accepted and KNOW that I am enough as is. I don't want to constantly have my guard up.Especially around the one person you equate the word= love and safety with, MOTHER. For me, it is pain and betrayal.
It's time to love myself more, than the word MOTHER, implies. I am a mother, and I love my kids more than anything in the world. That will never change. I am better BECAUSE of them. It is time to move on to the next stage of life for them, for me. The letting go. Even and especially if I feel bad, sad , guilt ridden, the list goes on and on. It is for them and me. They need a strong, healthy, happy, mother to continue to lead the way.
I have been willing to be around a woman who just happens to have the greatest title in the world, MOTHER.
Throws me off every friggin time. Why do I forget that title it is handed out so easily, with no forethought.

I fully understand this human being is in pain to behave in the manner in which she does to her children,
store clerks, etc.

While awaiting her merit badge in the friendly skies when she cruises off, for her final destination.
I truly hope she finds what she has been looking for encased inside all the rules. I'm sure God will be overjoyed that she followed the prayer handbook to perfection. She only over looked one teeny weeny thing.

To love.

My Father And Me

Folding the napkin I rolled up into a ring, over and over again around my finger, the feelings of true despair set in.
Across the table from me sat my father. So content, eating his burger and fries. I wished so desperately that I wasn't crawling out of my skin. No amount of praying for patience was going to change this moment.


I have sat with him many times, especially in his favorite haunt, "Apollo's".
This time, the hands on the clock were moving SLOWLY backwards. I wanted so much to give him this gift for Christmas.
It wasn't working like it used to. I could sit for hours patiently. I couldn't figure out the problem.
All I felt was an unbearably large hole where my heart was. He seemed happy as a clam eating the last of his french fries.

He was in festive spirits, rattling off the list of names of different relatives and their lives.
Asking me about Matt and Katie, {my children} and my husband.


Skirting any issues that might bring up real, honest to goodness feelings.
My father is a sweet man, but has always lacked courage and fortitude.
He has never stood up for anything in my life. Or my brothers or sisters that I know of.
It hit me today, sitting with him. It hit with a thud!


He never asks about ME. He asks about what the going's on in my family are, but not mine.
I could barely breathe. I really listened as he rattled off more stats on everyone of my brothers and sisters lives.
Hell, Joanne down the street, Madeline's daughter who lost 65 pounds was sure getting a lot of air time.

The real hurt from stripping it all away- this man named "Father," knew absolutely nothing about me.
The only thing that was known was the service I provided.
I made him feel good. I cared about him, listened, sat with him, was a fairly decent daughter.

This was hitting me today on such a gut level. The same courtesy had not been extended to me. I had to find my own way.
I had no example of how to be strong, follow through. Learn how to trust men. I don't ever remember being listened to. I remember being invisible. Frightened.

The years of having to fend for ourselves, while our mother feigned protection. The girls, my sisters.
Walking home from dances at midnight by myself because dad had "parked" the car already.
That was life.I do not feel anger at this man anymore.
I feel sadness for myself, for my sisters. For thinking we were never good enough to have a dad want to make sure
we were safe and sound. For feeling defective. Thinking somehow his rage, disappointment, lack of
accomplishment was somehow our doing.


The worst feeling of all, inferior to our brothers.
In the end, it worked out for us. We turned out to be quite strong little ladies.
We bought our own cars, yet in the pain of not having things paid for us, we learned, we grew.

I can't say too much has changed in my family, but I have. My sisters have.
We love our dad the best way we know how, in the present. He is a sweet man.
The hole never get's filled being around him. His neediness is great.
It can swallow me whole if not vigilant.

All that I can work on now, patience and forgiveness with him. I love him.
It is difficult on certain days to know he will never have a need to know about me, my life.

Just the service I provide. maybe that is just how it works. I have no idea. I think maybe he never had any of it to give in the first place. I think I have always had awfully high hopes.

I don't think those high hopes are a bad thing. They have just taken me into my twenty sixth year of marriage, with the man I
love. the man who would not dream, for one second of leaving his children stranded anywhere.
They have always had a ride. He has always stood up for them and what is right.


Maybe by seeing what I didn't get, I searched for what I needed. I know my dad probably looks back at his life with a fair amount of regret. I'm choosing hard as i might, to dig deep, and remember the sweet times.
Every time I let go and tell the truth a little bit more, i make that reality possible.

Waiting

I 'm listening to "Mercy", by Rocco De Lucca. One of Katie (my daughter's) favorite singers. All I can do is sit here and cry.
Here we go, I push repeat again on the CD. My habit of going into the sadness instead of walking away .
He is singing about waiting for the sun to shine. How poetic, as the rain falls softly, almost reverently outside.


Always this slight haunting feeling in my heart that doesn't leave me. The sheer ALONENESS. I got some fantastic
feed back from a writer that my husband works with, I just read it. She said to just keep writing, write my truth.

My truth comes in many layers with endless tears. I wonder, I fear, who really wants to hear what I have to offer?
The tears flow because I do not know my value as a writer. I am vulnerable and it hurts. Revealing what
seems to comes so naturally because I am out going. The gift of gab.This is my shield I have learned to wear as my
protection. Nothing more, nothing less. Just an illusion that has gotten me through my life. Gotten me to stumble
out of my unbearable shyness. When I get tongue tied and nervous. When it's really bad I will develop a slight lisp.

The younger days of waitressing has taught me to cover up my fears. I learned to be disarming and charming.
I never wanted anyone to ask questions about me. I learned very quickly to become a good listener. Ask lots of questions. Throw people quickly off a topic, onto another.

I did not know my value. I thought I had no value. I never thought mother and wife, all the other things i did
were ever a BIG enough title. I was ashamed of myself, yet I did not fully understand why.

Until I peeled the layers back, WAY back. It has not been easy. Not one step of the way. Just as writing this is not. Revealing things that FEEL shameful, bigger than life. Yet somehow when taken things out of the closet, they once again become manageable, life size.

So, today, this is what I write about. Real life. Where I am at. Waiting. I am waiting to step into the next phase of my life.
I am waiting to feel okay and not ashamed to reveal more about myself. I am waiting to know I am loved for me, even if I write
things that are not what others want to always hear. I need to speak them, and be okay with it.

I am waiting to allow the full joy I know is awaiting me, if I just say YES. So I write. That is how I get to YES faster.

You've Got A Friend

James Taylor, Cat Stevens. the list goes on and on. My childhood heroes, friends.
I could not understand the power and passion it inspired in me: Stevie Wonders' "Songs in the Key of Life".
My sisters and i got a record player for Christmas when I was in 9th grade. I heard "Loves in need of love today", and must have worn out the record.

I was too young to understand the true meaning coming from these deeply passionate artists. Yet I understood In my naive way so starved, hungry for something I could not yet name. but only feel with my heart. As Carly Simon cried out her pain, I felt it. Not yet in touch with my own pain yet.

What I realized just today, through the sage words of my husband;" These songs were your friends."
So true, and without hesitation I agree. James Taylor and Carole King comforted me to no end with "You've got a friend".

I tried desperately to be hip and like Led Zepplin. But Eagles and "Desperado" kept playing in my ear.
Of course it was with total teen drama. I had to slunk myself around. Who wouldn't listening to "Desperado"?
I was extremely dramatic, did you expect anything less?

I also secretly dug the Carpenters, and also went to a Bread concert. James Taylor was and always will be my boy, hands down. Second love, Kenny Loggins. What makes it better is he is a local. He grew up nearby. An unlikely love: Gordon Lightfoot. Exposed to him at a very young age, through the first hubby. At 17 started going to Gordon Lightfoot concerts. Very unhip to my friends. Funny thing is, Ray fell in love with Gordon Lightfoot. Thanks 1st hubby.

As I am writing, I am once again listening to "Songs in the Key of Life". I am traveling so far back in time. The Christmas we got our record player must have been 1976. It was so exciting getting that record player. Music has and always will be my first love. It is how I see the world. I think it was the key to my survival. I went so deep inside the music. It spoke to me. It held me. It allowed me to express what I did not even understand needed expression.
Then there was Queen. I was in heaven. Loud but rockin, my soul felt the beat. The pain, the sheer joy. Elton John and all his moods. His 70's music to me is the best. It kills me to hear some of it. There is the fun stuff, but his raw pain of finding who he was.That was the best.

"Saturn", from the Stevie Wonder album "Songs", I am only really absorbing. To really listen. That's what I am going
back and doing. With these songs I didn't understand before. Only felt. My ultimate song was from Cat Stevens
"Sad Lisa". I hung onto that song of sadness and was not giving it up. I think my pitbull jaws finally released that one by 40.

Songs, Music. Life. They weave such an intricate dance into our lives. Our memories, emotions.
We can recall an exact moment from 30 years before, or 10 minutes ago, when THAT song comes on.
It can take us to the highest of highs. Or break our hearts. All in an instant. A mere 3 minutes or so.

"American Pie" by Don Mclean just came on. What does it make you recall depending on your age? I wonder- 70's days or a remake Madonna did? My heart races faster BECAUSE I remember. So much more is coming back, the more I allow it.

Hearing my music again. Before I didn't understand. Now I am so grateful that they were all here for me.


My pals, James, Carly, Stevie, Kenny,Carole and all the others that gathered around and helped me grow up. Nurtured my soul, educated me. Calmed my fears. Taught me how to love. Their words led me to ME.

Thanks Don McClean, for" Starry Starry Night.'' It made me feel less alone. To be able to have the courage to write and be ME.

Love

As I sit at this desk in the family room and write, I look over at my husband. Sleepy on the couch after a
long day. Sometimes I watch him and can't believe we have been married so long. My heart still gets
giddy when he is near. In a few days we will celebrate 26 years of marriage. How could it feel like yesterday
that I just married him. Even with everything we have been through. My love for him has only deepened.



No one makes me laugh like him. Or makes me feel safer. When we drive home from somewhere with
two cars, him following right behind me. He is always there, waiting for me-making sure I am safe. I love that.


Seeing the boyish twinkle in his eyes when we are nearing the sound of a train. The chase begins.
Only through maturity as I grew , could I possibly understand the romance and delight in his heart, as that mighty engine
roars and sings and draws him in to the dance.


Patience that I did not possess in the earlier years. Seeing my love with his friends and the joy in their eyes.
The spark in their hearts. Brought together by a large piece of steel, that magical locomotive. Men from all walks of life. Brought together to feel alive, passionate, carefree. All for reasons of their own.
This man I love so much, this kind, patient, funny , loving, family man. Incredible father to our two children.

.


These kids are so amazing, mostly from their father. Not having any example of a family
to build on from his own, he has dug in so deep to become all he is today.

A goodhearted, caring, thoughtful, patient man. His family has and will always come first. His example to overcome the odds
of poverty and fear that split his family apart. Alcoholism that ultimately destroyed it. Leading a father to abandon his children. A mother to disappear into her own world of pain and despair. Who was to care for the children?

I love this man. More than that, I respect his choices. It has been a long, difficult road. I have watched his struggles. I have witnessed his triumphs. He is my hero. He is my partner. He is my love.

i have had the privilege of traveling this road with him. All the bumps, from the get- go. That's what makes it so special. We started out together without anything. Which in turn makes us appreciate EVERYTHING.


I LOVE him. I would do it again. In a hear beat- even AND especially with everything I know.

The Gift

Yesterday will be one of those days, moments in my life that will be forever etched in my heart.
I could not even sit down to write. I needed time to let myself enjoy the magic. Let it sink in.


The gift. My husband and I drove down towards the Beach and had lunch in a small quaint town.
We realized how long it had been since we had slowed down for JUST US.
Tension unwound and flew off us as we sat in this wonderful cafe. We drank in the atmosphere.
Our tanks felt full, our hearts light and like children ready to explore we were off.
It had been an awfully long time since either of us had felt like this.


A few stores were interesting, but when we rounded the corner my eye caught this old fashioned
life size Santa, I just KNEW. My heart was racing and I couldn't walk in the store fast enough.
It was exactly how I wanted it to be, needed it to be. Very rustic, old time Christmas feeling.
Very Americana. What I always long for. Not a cut out paper thin version- made in China to fall apart the next day.
I may be dating myself or a sentimental fool, but I liked when things were REAL. Didn't fall apart. Had value.

The two sisters who ran the store could not have been more charming. Warm, welcoming- as if it were their home, welcoming us in from the cold. My heart was feeling things I could not yet understand.


Then I looked up. The tears came. I could not control myself, nor did I try. I knew I was in a moment of life:
a Twilight Zone Episode. This episode was just for ME. I didn't want to miss one second of it. I had seen this vision, this moment in my head so many times since I was a child. It was now staring down flying across the entire wall at me.


Santa, sleigh and all his reindeer, bigger than life. i couldn't breathe. I just sat on a stool in front of them and sobbed.
With all the pent up tears of a child who had stopped dreaming so long ago. I had kept this vision, which I had seen as a child on a
roof. It was the most beautiful sight I could possibly imagine. Here it was. The darling store owner said it was for sale.

My husband has always known that ache in my heart, throughout the years. He sat with me as I wept, as did the sisters. They shared their story of their parents dying recently. I felt their pain and loss. They supported and loved me by ALLOWING me to re-connect with the child in myself from so long ago.. It was one of those golden moments in life.

The generosity of spirit in these two beautiful women, allowing me to claim what I lost so long ago. My husband's
constant and unwavering support. i felt like s a child in that moment. Kissed and embraced by Angels.

I felt the pieces of me returning. I realized what I had grown up with. Hopelessness. The Dream Stealers.
Not intentionally.Yet all dreams had to be snuffed if Momma Bear didn't get hers. I could breathe.I couldn't stop crying, but I felt over 40 years of hopelessness and lack of dreams DRAIN out of my heart. I felt less anger for The Dream Stealers.

Yet I realize more than ever I need to move forward for myself and my family. i have a lot of years and dreams to live.
Most important, I have my giant Santa and Reindeer with Sleigh to hang across the wall. It's too fragile now to go on the roof.
I think it makes me even more gleeful to have them all together hanging in my home.


I am HOME. It is a Merry Christmas. And I have always believed in Santa even if I did it in secret. He has been deep in
my heart. This is my new tradition for my family that I love and hold so dear.

What's Lurking In The Closet

Until you open that closet door - any door for that matter. One's that hold untold stories no longer belonging
in our minds, our hearts. Outdated- like boogie men under the bed. Making it hard to be free and able to show
up for the "now" part of our lives.

Last night I spent the evening with one of my closest friends. This very subject came up about things that have lingered in the closet having haunted us both from our childhoods. However, this was not just figuratively, it was literally
as we retold stories from our youth.

Stories of DEEP shame. Especially as my dear friend recalled an incident from her past where she was humiliated.
Publicly displayed, mocked for all to see, judge by her peers. No child should have to recall such pain. I have told my friend my deepest wounds of shame. The one's that have lurked so deep dark in the back part of my closet. No mans land. She has listened to my pain. My helplessness.She has helped give a VOICE to my shame.
.

We are learning to trust each other coming from similar backgrounds. Both of us in our youth, having felt like loveless children. Invisible.Not worthy of touch, comfort-knowing we had value.
Together we are learning how to build a bridge of love and trust, not only in the good times ESPECIALLY in the bad ones.

From growing up with similar stories we are like babes in the woods. We know how to love , yet we never had a solid example from either of our mothers how to keep a friendship going in the rough times. We struggle in those times. We flounder, have abandoned ship.Wedid not know any other way.
We have always loved each other, never been a doubt. Now we are learning the true art of support.

Even and especially when we disagree, get scared. Fill in the blanks. We are trusting that we will be loved unconditionally.
That is a very new concept, a new land for us. I must say the navigation of this new land seems to be not as bumpy as feared.
I am enjoying the ride immensely. I can't wait for all the new sights to see with her.
I've missed my friend. The more we take the secrets out of the back of the closet, the the more we are free.The way I see it, our lives are just beginning. We are ready to play, my friend and me!

Opening My Heart

Sometimes opening my heart feels like a scary monster. I would continue the sentence, but I wanted to allow the child in me to verbalize the complete and total fear and vulnerability that it has taken to open it. To keep it open- well that is entirely a whole other story. It flaps to and fro in the breeze. Some days it feels like it is bursting with enthusiasm. ME and MY heart can take on the Universe. No matter the obstacles that lay before us. I am Super Clare.

Then there are those days where my heart feels crushed, broken beyond repair. Tears, frustration, anxiety when it's
unwelcome stepsister futility joins the party. Well let's just say I've seen better days.

When I am pushed to my absolute limit, that's when the bartering of recent has really kicked in with God and me.
It starts out like a decent conversation. This new land I have encountered, so foreign. I can't find ANY road signs written in my native tongue. The glasses I had, no longer provide proper vision. I can't see. I need to rely on senses I never even knew I had.

The explosions begin. Where are you God/ and how can you leave me out here in this nothingness after all THIS.
I thought we had been through it all. We have done the sight seeing part. Sat in the muck all those years. I have had the silence,"The Dark night of the Soul," looked like picnic next to this road.

The level of doubt in my heart, where I may have questioned many things about You. Now I had begun to disdain You,
reject You. It was freeing, because the God I grew up with was so punishing. The one I was now raging at finally was allowing me to show my human frailties, and love me any way. Embrace me, comfort me through the long dark night.

My heart opened even wider when I felt love even and especially in my doubt, fear , anger, rage, complete loss and aloneness.
It may have taken, and in fact is taking me the longer road to get where I need to go. Yet somehow through all of these storms, trials, I am still arriving where I need to, when I need to. I am letting go a little more every day.
I am learning I am loved "As Is".