Hardwired.

“…love was as hardwired into the structure of the universe as gravity and matter.”
– Dan Simmons, The Rise of Endymion

 

Love is not knowing, but jumping in anyway.
Love is the feeling of stitches dissolving in your skin.
Love is the smile of an innocent child in the grips of wonder.
Love is a giant, canine bearing sea-lion being afraid of you.
Love is sunshine.
Love is an all-encompassing acceptance that changes your DNA.
Love is hoping against all logic or reason.
Love is being the first face to come into view, every time.
Love can be tangible.
Love can be fickle.
Love can bring us to our knees, in many different variances.
Love will NEVER leave us alone.
Love is darkness.
Love is light.
Love is the answer as well as the question in languages that humanity does not yet speak.
Love may be a language that humanity as we know it never learns.
Love was the mother of all Hatred.
Love is the force behind all of it, everything.
Love bore Mother Earth, the Sun, and every star.
Love is God. God is a Goddess. The Goddess falls back in Love.
Love can conquer all.
Love doesn’t necessarily want to conquer all.
And lastly,

When I didn’t love Love,

it loved Me, Anyway.

Daunted By Joy.

I must have read it somewhere in each and every piece on terminal cancer that I have pored over since her diagnosis…references to:

“The people you least expect to offer any kind of support to you during this chaotic time will surprise you while those you were certain you could depend on will be nowhere to be found…”

Since my mom’s admission to the ER and subsequently, the ICU and so on, I have been trying to ignore the nagging buzz in my inner ear surrounding my mom’s overall situation at home. I have been trying super hard NOT to judge my dad for letting her sink so low, without even noticing she had such a bad fever and was deathly ill until it was literally just an inarguable fact that she was in some serious trouble; and needed serious help. Like I wrote before, this had been the VERY FIRST DAY I left her alone all day – and look where she ended up before 8pm. Needless to say, I have some serious concerns about her well-being; given the fact that she was quite apparently not being cared for properly BEFORE her chemo dance with death to the tune of septic pneumonia; how can I expect that she will be adequately looked after NOW, being released from the hospital following a closely related (to the lack of care she received that day) near-death experience? Mom will be coming home with me for at least the next few days (I am both overwhelmed with joy and thoroughly daunted at the same time by this reality), through Christmas at least. I can’t bear the thought of sending her to her home and dropping her off to be overlooked and not taken care of during such a crucial time for her ongoing survival.

My dad has been such a dick throughout this whole thing…he has been shining my mom everyday – not showing up at the hospital to see her or never bringing her the stuff she asked for. Not answering his phone or calling back. Not showing up at the job that I’m totally winging in order to cover my mom’s standing commitments to her former clients to let bring me supplies or to help me meet a deadline. It’s been a fucking insane week for everyone, and apparently he has slept through most of. I understand that we all deal with grief differently, and he is probably really heartbroken and distraught. But the fact that he has allowed Boo back in full-time in my mom’s absence has things really fucked up between my parents again at present. And the creature I gave birth to, Boo, can’t just do the right thing, can she?

So, basically, my mom feels as if my dad has “chosen Boo over her” again…and he is just oblivious with his fucking head further up his ass every day, it seems…

I refuse to have any contact with my daughter; while my parents have allowed her to remain a constant presence in their home, despite her many violations against them in the face of their kindness. And now, this leaves us in quite the predicament, because I can’t go home with my mom to her house and take care of her when Boo is smoking meth in the next room. It’s fucking absurd, how my dad won’t open his fucking eyes and just kick my drug-addict hooker daughter the fuck out so that MY MOM CAN RECOVER FROM FUCKING PNEUMONIA IN HER OWN HOME. I am at a loss as to what to do about any of it…I just know I can’t possibly send my mom into that environment as it is now, and won’t even consider it. Gods damn it, she pulled through this recent crisis, and she should have a good Christmas without the worries associated with her living situation…it’s most likely her last one…how does my dad not give a fuck about that?

A Strongly Opposing Inability.

It’s true:

I am a precariously teetering creature; fragile, on the edge between the ability to cope and survive, and a strongly opposing inability.

_

 

I’m good at allowing people to assume that I am “normal”;

I don’t know how to reach out to others for comfort or support;

I was born anti-social, and Life’s experiences have only hammered this trait irretrievably deep into my being, in turn;

I am honestly not sure how long anyone can make it in Life behind a facade before finally just coming undone;

I have realized that I am running on empty – and have been for some time now – and am puzzled in stomach-wrenching way by the fact that I haven’t sputtered and died out yet.

_

 

Here I was all this time, thinking I had things pretty much in order; in terms of the emotional handling of recent and life-altering circumstances and the associated outcomes, at least. My seasoned readers know about the struggle with my kid, how it’s been so long-standing and draining yadda yadda yadda. To the point where it is all just so incredibly bad and dark and regrettable that I have detached myself totally from it all out of sheer necessity. Do not get me wrong, it has been HELL; but it has been something that I have been “dealing with”, even if that means detaching myself (from a situation that I hold zero control over anyway). I have also written lots about my mother; about the lifelong boxing match (I mean this emotionally, more than physically, but she is a psychopath who likes to scrap, too) between us. I have also described the unfolding ugliness surrounding the relationships between my kid and my parents these days, as my daughter has pretty much taken over control of their household and rules with thievery, destruction and chaos; I have written about my need to break away from the never-ending toxicity and generalized unease that is naturally and unfailingly attached to any dealings with any of them.

I haven’t been in contact with my daughter at all; which has been surprisingly easier this time than ever before because she disgusts and shames me on a whole new level. I have been trying to maintain some semblance of a relationship with my mother throughout, however, which I have already admitted here as being a stupid idea, and one that is counterproductive to my emotional status. I love my mother, in spite of myself; and genuinely long for closeness with her – the one that she has dangled in periphery all my Life. I am willing to bend for her; I am open to trying, but she is just so seemingly set permanently in her unhealthy and dishonest ways that it has begun to feel futile. I have straight out told my mother that I desire “no-contact” with my kid; and she always puts on this song and dance about how she totally gets it and is proud of me for being able to take care of myself, to put my foot down, etcetera. She plays as if she is totally in my corner to my face every single time, without fail; but is totally being a Fatmouth.

She sings a different song to other people; many have said this to me over the course of the living nightmare with my kid for the last ten years or so. She thinks my own brother (who does not sit there and let her badmouth me without defending me in outright defiance, for the record) won’t be so angry that he won’t tell me about it afterward, which is just mind boggling to me. In such instances, there are typically other family members present to witness what will ultimately become argument between them; my mother doesn’t even consider that any of those people might foster any relationship with me strong enough to warrant a bite to her tongue, either. She vows secrecy over touchy issues and then turns around and tells the very secret thing to the very person who wasn’t meant to be told. When confronted by the secret teller, she plays the ol’ “oh, I wasn’t supposed to tell them….? I didn’t realize you didn’t want me to tell them…” o convincingly that the only options you’re left with is to bludgeon her to death with clawhammer or just suck it up and move on. I realize more and more daily how toxic she is, even when she isn’t trying to be. She is toxic to me, at least. And, the reason behind her seemingly “exceptional” relationship with my kid is suddenly blatantly clear to me as well:

Of course they share a closeness that neither one has with me…they are so similar and alike in personality and behavior that it could be no other way!!!

 

I know what I need to do, like…for real; doing it will be the part worth mentioning in the future.

Plaster Hand.

I have this plaster hand…
Likened to yours;
Hanging above the kitchen door…
The one we made so long ago…
On Christmas Eve Day, just bored…
I have a poem written…
By your tiny hand;
As tiny as the one that hangs…
Above the kitchen door frame…
It says “Mommy I Love You”…
And the Gods help me…
If when I pass it by, I don’t hear the words…
In a sigh, a whispering…
I keep a tiny, silver jewelry box…
The one you saved up for;
Inscribed across the dusty top …
Is chiseled in, beautifully:
“I Love You Mommy”…
And Mommy dies a little more…
I have all these haunting memories…
Of having future plans;
Fulfilling hopes and dreams…
Just you and I surviving…
Getting back up to stand…
I saved these Christmas things…
Yours and mine;
Stored away like a box to mourn…
Every year, when it’s opened again…
And looks the same…
As the years before…
I held on to your special ornaments…
All of them;
Though I never hang them high…
I never get a tree anymore…
I see no reason why…
But I keep these things…
To remind myself…
Of the twinkle lost to my eye…
I held on to so many things…
Of yours;
Desperately trying…
To keep you somehow, near…
Closer at least…
Than wherever you are…
I have this little butterfly wing…
You brought home;
You flew it behind you like a kite…
A colorful ghost that chased you…
Right out of second grade…
I find these notes you wrote…
To me; To Mommy;
They read your apologies…
For spilling toothpaste on the rug…
And I want to come find you wherever you are…
And tell you that rug never mattered to me.

Sleeper.

I see the familiar namesake,

it’s held close to the core of my being,

I feel the familiar heartache,

as I walk closer to this namesake I see;

there are feelings tugging inside of me,

laughter – tears – pure tragedy,

I whisper hello and sit down beside,

the headstone I’m reading with pride;

I hate to come to this place of despair,

but long to somehow feel somewhat near,

to the brother I once buried here,

to the one who’s death lingers so vividly,

imparted onto the soul of me,

imprinted into my darkest memories,

impressed upon my happiest childhood scenes;

and here, is where you now remain,

a headstone lettered by your name,

without mention of what your life could’ve been,

without question that you’ll stay in this place;

I see a young smile, missing front teeth,

a 5th grader with double-scraped knees,

a handsome teenager too timid to speak,

my fiercest protector on the neighborhood streets,

but the thing I can’t shake from my mind,

is how you opted to leave me wondering why,

cursing myself through the sleepless nights,

for the way you ended your tender life.

 

Civility and Ruin.

Ever venomous is the tongue

spat in the darkness as the day has become

ever weakened in will is the Warrior’s son

ever reaped is the field the seed scatters upon

empty sits the place we meant to make our home

abandoned in the country from which our line comes

dilapidated in layers of dust and broken bones

ghostly and haunted by a truth all our own

 

 

Ever cavernous is the womb

hollowed out through and through

ever freezing more deeply like an ancient tomb

ever pleasing in secret to become likened to you

empty shall the streets remain for far too many moons

abandoned are the whisky glasses left in the saloon

blanketed in viruses we had no resistance to

ghostly is the line drawn between civility and ruin.

This Day.

In a different world with different endings
This is a day we’d laugh and play
this is a day we’d celebrate
a day with a new beginning
the love would be fulfilling
the night would not end with ushering in
so much emptiness
so much regret
This day would be reaffirming.