Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Jumbled Thoughts

My emotions are high, and they are mixed.  Anger, hurt, dismay, sadness - a deep, deep sadness.  And hurt.

I didn't think I was much bothered by what transpired yesterday, but when I awoke this morning my heart was heavy with such sadness.  This is gonna be a jumble of thoughts because I have so many coursing through my brain right now.

First and foremost, hurt and betrayal of a nephew.  To be called such a vile name in such a vulgar way...words coming from someone I have only loved throughout life.  The sadness is deep, and try as I might to blow it off as rantings of a sad, angry person, it isn't easy.  I remember the sweet boy from long ago, and for so long I have tried to defend his actions/his anger; I have tried to believe there is still that sweet boy buried deep inside...and now?  I don't know, and what's worse, I'm not sure I even care anymore.  Horrible thoughts for an aunt, I know, but words wound deep and leave lasting scars.

And then I wonder is that how I am seen?  Do others see me as such?  Do my other nieces and nephews see me as someone who just meddles in their life; as someone who only has negative things to say?  But isn't the role of an Aunt to guide and help? What if his words are true?  How do I know and how do I change?  I don't consider myself to be negative...With this particular nephew, it's rare that I have anything to say about his life. I am confused.  To disagree with his thoughts about religion, his lack of respect, is that negative?  Am I not allowed to disagree with his choice of words; he has freedom to believe what he chooses, do I not have that same freedom in return?  And because I speak of my beliefs, is that negative?  Does that call to be insulted beyond measure?  From a nephew?  I think not. 

But I think the saddest part is the lack of respect.  I would never, in my wildest dreams, talk to my aunt the way I was spoken to.  I would never speak to anyone the way I was spoken to.  And yet, it seems so few really care what he said, or how he said it.  His friends laugh and call him crazy.  Is that what our society has come too?  Such a lack of respect for elders, for anyone?  When did it become acceptable to use such vulgar language?  Do our young adults care for anything?  When did respect become a laughing stock?  How will these children/adults learn if no one steps up and calls them out, if no one says 'enough is enough and I will not be talked to in such a way; I will not be maltreated!'  My God, if this is the new generation, we are in a heap of trouble.

I want to pray for him, but it is so hard.  I want an apology, which I know I will never receive.  I want to forget that this boy that I have loved for 30 years can simply toss aside such devotion for a few chosen, crass words.  How can it be so easy for him...why is he so angry?  What happened to change him, to have such little regard for me, and for those he claims to love?  

And so...I am heartsick.  Filled with so many emotions ~ some scare me, some just make me very, very sad.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Depth of Love and Sorrow

"Who can explain how the mind & heart works or what the depth of love & sorrow is?"

My mother wrote those words to me the other day.  She was trying to explain her reaction upon seeing the tombstone on Daddy's grave.  The words hit home, and hit hard. Who can explain?  When I saw the picture of the tombstone, I was deeply shaken.  Seeing his name in stone, and the dates, made it all too real that yes, he is gone and he is not coming back.  I don't know how to explain my feelings.  I know he is gone, but there are times when I think of him, when I hear his voice, that my mind forgets and I think he's just not 'here', not present; perhaps still in the hospital or nursing home.

I arrived at work, turned on my phone to call my husband.  My sister's message popped up, along with the picture.  The tears came fast and hard...I just wasn't expecting to see his name.  And the flowers that were placed upon the marker made it even more poignant and tender.  How I want to be there, to sit and chat; maybe feel his presence?  It hurts that I can't place flowers on his grave, caress the stone.

But then I think of my mother...and the depth of her grief, love, and sorrow.  How can one go on after spending 60 years with another?  I imagine the quiet and stillness of the condo is sometimes overwhelming for her, moreso than the noise and clucking Dad used to make.  My grief is still fresh and raw, yet nothing compared to what she must feel.  She feels his presence and the deep emptiness at the same time.  One of the last gifts Dad bought Mom was a little vase with some flowers.  We don't know how or why, but for over a year the flowers have not died.  Rather amazing, actually.  When Dad was last 'sick', one petal fell.  The other day, Mom looked down and there on the carpet were a bunch of the petals...why are they now falling?  Perhaps it's Dad sending a message to Mom - letting her know that he is still there, with her, beside her?  I choose to believe so.

The tombstone marks his final resting place.  He is not there.  I know he is in heaven, laughing and chuckling, receiving all the answers he ever had questions to - instant knowledge.  How he must be relishing all the information he's receiving!  Funny how the mind can know one thing, but the heart feel another...because my heart feels he is still here.

Who, indeed, can explain how the heart and mind works, or the depth of love and sorrow?

Monday, April 11, 2011

Thrice

So, I woke up this morning with the phrase 'thrice, you've come into my dreams'. 

Can't think of anything more to add, but the word 'thrice' has been in my head all day.  An interesting word, to be sure.  Just say it 'thrice'...meaning three times...What would four times be?  Is there a word?  Mmm...don't think so. 

Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, have had a headache all day, but thrice I have counted myself  lucky to be married to the man who is my husband.  Yes, thrice, I have looked upon his countenance and thought 'what a lucky woman am I!'...

Thrice.  Thrice. Thrice.