New Leaf
Well-Known Member
I continued working on rebuilding this weekend, slowly coming round from the latest incident and downward spiral resulting from my reaction to my daughters' current ongoing situation.
She appears to me in the darkness of my dreams.
Faded memories of long ago.
I listened again to the songs I posted, sad melodies wove slowly through my heart,
forlorn.
I broke down and let the tears flow.
I needed to have a good cry.
I said a prayer in between sobs,
salty tears met my quivering lips
forming the words.
God,
please
help her.
Trying to take one day at a time, struggling and praying for her, for me, to be stronger, kinder, better, something-er, the heavy load of it finally culminated into another migraine,
I recognized the telltale aura and swallowed a couple of tylenol
reluctantly
and rested.
At least it did not go into a full blown three day ordeal.
My body is trying to tell me something, and the hammering heart beat in my head forces me to listen.
So much to do, so little time........slow down.....take it one moment at a time.
In between the normal everyday life chores, work and incidentals,
the weight of this,
this.
Between sighs.
Sometimes, one day at a time, turns to one agonizing minute, one breath at a time.......
Shake it off, sleep it off, wake it off.
I know that helping is not helping.
One step forward, two steps back.
One step forward, a half step back.
The emotions I go through with this.
Walking the tight rope at the edge of the abyss.
Lifting up a bit here, and there.
Inching forward.
Finding balance, then a little wobble.
Trying to reach radical acceptance is no small feat.
I read articles about loving detachment, codependence, then I wonder to myself about that.
I am not upside down all of the time with.... this.
I have my good days and bad.
The emptiness, I push away.
The racing thoughts, I remand them to rest a bit.
Encaged in the corners of my mind.
Thoughts awaiting their day in court.
The sunlight bids me carry on.
But this, it looms at times,
a cloud around me,
other times I am able to find some respite from this.
A faded rainbow.
Glimmers of hope wafting within the colors.
As a mother, how could I not be effected by the trials and tribulations that my adult children face?
Does this make me codependent to have feelings, reactions that parallel the drama, to have to work on myself and process what my children go through, codependent......or does it make me....human?
We are naturally emotion bound to our children, we love them- being their parent never ends, yes, there is an end to "parenting", but we are forever their parents.
Our children are out there, our beloveds dealing with whatever they deal with,
this.
Whether they are doing well, or not so well, they will always be in our hearts.
This,
feelings teeter tottering,
back and forth.
The endless wondering
and
work at first,
recognizing this.
Finally realizing that I cannot deal with this.
This much I know
that I cannot help my girls by having them live with me.
This
just
does
not
work.
That was a time of darkness and drama and chaos within my home.
Leave they had to......stay out, they must.
Then the real work begins,
as the horror of them living with us fades
into the horror of not knowing what and why and how they are doing,
to the sudden unexpected calls, or dark appearances,
where there is no sense to be made out of the visit,
no relief.
The reports of relatives and siblings.
This.
To work through all of this while trying to eek out an ordinary life.
Day by day, hour, by hour, minute, by minute.
Some days fly by,
others drag out,
or come to a screeching halt
as reality,
this
unfolds,
into another story,
drama, untold.
I have been busy going to school at nights after a long days work.
Driving past the place where Hoku dropped off Rain,
driving past three nights a week.
The emptiness I push away fights back from my innards.
I can feel her near.
Driving past the area scanning the sidewalks, darkened figures walking
catch my eye,
I wonder if one of them could be my daughter,
wonder
this night
and this night
and this night
as my hands grip the steering wheel
tight,
is she is okay?
The knot growing tighter in my stomach.
I circled around that block a few nights ago, looking for her.
A small residential area in between businesses, an old library.
The homeless have been removed from the parks,
there are makeshift lean to's and tarps cropping up in the nearby surround.
This is where my daughter has lived.
I look and see a few tents here and there, no sight of Rain.
Thursday night.
Half sad, and half relieved, I go home,
and wearily lay my head upon my pillow,
praying that God watch over her and keep her.
I drift off into a restless sleep, and dream of her.
The her I remember.
The smiling, laughing her.
Friday morn.
Roosters crow jolts me awake, and I feel as if I did not sleep at all.
I shake off the cobwebs and go to clay class, mechanically rolling out slabs of clay,
working through feelings as the gray earth takes shape before me.
An owl forms, I build eyes, a beak.
It will stand guard upon the wall over my garden.
Gazing.
A sentinel.
Saturday, this day, the emptiness turns to a pain invading my head.
I reluctantly take to my bed.
Wake up in the late afternoon.
A day wasted, I think to myself.
Light of day fades to dark.
Sat down at the computer in the evening listening to a Karen Armstrong Ted Talk about compassion,
the golden rule.
Thank you Cedar, a fascinating woman, as are you.
Brilliant.
I looked over at my son and smiled,
his eyes grew large and he made a motion to the window behind me,
I turned around,
and there she was peering in.
In the darkness, an appearance.
I am startled, say a small prayer take in a shallow breath, then deeper.
Be calm my thoughts, be still my heart.
I go to the door.
Rain was with a male friend, they were both on bikes, backpacks full.
I see people all over the city riding bikes with full backpacks,
I know they are homeless, this is their "uniform".
There are many, many homeless people here on Oahu.
She is clean, hair done, her friend looks a little rough around the edges,
not unkempt,
but I can tell he has lived a longer life than his years.
I wonder if this is the guy that beats her, and purse my lips at the thought.
He is not.
She tells me the police picked the abusive guy up.
I am glad and I tell her so.
Rain is quite beautiful.
She looks nothing like me, the blood of her fathers ancestors overruled mine and formed strong Hawaiian features in my girl, broad shoulders, tall, big brown eyes and cocoa skinned, her smile reflects the moon of thousands upon thousands of years. Her people were navigators, crossing the oceans while others believed the earth to be flat. Star people, gazed up into the black sky, found compass points to travel the seas and knew with a certainty by mapping those brilliant constellations, the roundness of the globe.
Ancient travelers.
Perhaps she has inherited the restlessness.
I make them something to eat, a cup of coffee.
I ask for a hug.
Holding her close, I breathe her in and close my eyes, yearning for better nights and days.
I tell her I love her and that she has her whole life ahead of her.
I don't press about shelters, just listen to small talk.
She realizes she cannot fix this guy.
She says.
Her father brings out an extra light we have and affixes it to her bike.
A gesture,
a small token,
a symbol,
let the light guide you through the dark nights.
She talks about having to go to court.
Gave our mailing address for her State insurance, the hospital had her sign up the night she ended up there.
I tell her that I was paralyzed when Hoku texted me, she said they released her anyway.
Shrugging it off.
Evenly and slowly the words come out,
from me
that she has value and worth and doesn't deserve to be mistreated.
I say to please look forward.
She looks down.
I pray these words envelope her
stay close to her
resound and reverberate.
There is so much more that I want to say,
but I stop myself, because she already knows these things.
She knows.....this.
She says good bye and they go back down the road in the dark,
from whence they came,
to where,
I do not know.
Her shadow stretches up the driveway and reaches for mine.
What a strange world I am living in.
The nights are long and restless then
another day speeds forward.
I am going over my life,
as I go on with my life.
Reviewing past
living now
striving to be present.
The aches and pains of my weathered body
reveal the ache in my heart.
My time on this earth has shortened.
I must go on.
Despite
this.
I am feeling.....relieved that she looks okay.
Hopeful, that she tries to work her way to a better place.
I am in the in between.
A place reserved for mothers like me who go through this up and down and all around world of worry, fear, numbness, anger, grief, recovery.
Rise, stumble, fall.
Climbing the mountain before me, slipping at the rough spots, regaining my footing, one foot forward, hanging on to find the next hand hold, a foot hold.
I think of the photos I have seen of mountain climbers harnessed to the cliff in cocoon like hammocks suspended thousands of feet above the ground.
Do they sleep well?
The in between.
I am thankful to have seen her.
I am thankful that this time, she seemed.....more rational, her mannerisms a bit lighter,
not the heavy, sullen angry version, I last saw.
It is a small blessing, but I will take it.
I will keep praying that she find her way, as I try to find mine.
I will fold up my hammock, and work my way up the mountain.
Visualizing her as the captain of her ancient sailing canoe, navigating her way through life.
Perhaps, if I reach the top of the mountain, I will catch a glimpse of her white sails stretched taut capturing the winds of change, flying swiftly upon the jewel toned sea, towards the horizon to find new beginnings.
It is a new day, and the journey continues.
leafy
She appears to me in the darkness of my dreams.
Faded memories of long ago.
I listened again to the songs I posted, sad melodies wove slowly through my heart,
forlorn.
I broke down and let the tears flow.
I needed to have a good cry.
I said a prayer in between sobs,
salty tears met my quivering lips
forming the words.
God,
please
help her.
Trying to take one day at a time, struggling and praying for her, for me, to be stronger, kinder, better, something-er, the heavy load of it finally culminated into another migraine,
I recognized the telltale aura and swallowed a couple of tylenol
reluctantly
and rested.
At least it did not go into a full blown three day ordeal.
My body is trying to tell me something, and the hammering heart beat in my head forces me to listen.
So much to do, so little time........slow down.....take it one moment at a time.
In between the normal everyday life chores, work and incidentals,
the weight of this,
this.
Between sighs.
Sometimes, one day at a time, turns to one agonizing minute, one breath at a time.......
Shake it off, sleep it off, wake it off.
I know that helping is not helping.
One step forward, two steps back.
One step forward, a half step back.
The emotions I go through with this.
Walking the tight rope at the edge of the abyss.
Lifting up a bit here, and there.
Inching forward.
Finding balance, then a little wobble.
Trying to reach radical acceptance is no small feat.
I read articles about loving detachment, codependence, then I wonder to myself about that.
I am not upside down all of the time with.... this.
I have my good days and bad.
The emptiness, I push away.
The racing thoughts, I remand them to rest a bit.
Encaged in the corners of my mind.
Thoughts awaiting their day in court.
The sunlight bids me carry on.
But this, it looms at times,
a cloud around me,
other times I am able to find some respite from this.
A faded rainbow.
Glimmers of hope wafting within the colors.
As a mother, how could I not be effected by the trials and tribulations that my adult children face?
Does this make me codependent to have feelings, reactions that parallel the drama, to have to work on myself and process what my children go through, codependent......or does it make me....human?
We are naturally emotion bound to our children, we love them- being their parent never ends, yes, there is an end to "parenting", but we are forever their parents.
Our children are out there, our beloveds dealing with whatever they deal with,
this.
Whether they are doing well, or not so well, they will always be in our hearts.
This,
feelings teeter tottering,
back and forth.
The endless wondering
and
work at first,
recognizing this.
Finally realizing that I cannot deal with this.
This much I know
that I cannot help my girls by having them live with me.
This
just
does
not
work.
That was a time of darkness and drama and chaos within my home.
Leave they had to......stay out, they must.
Then the real work begins,
as the horror of them living with us fades
into the horror of not knowing what and why and how they are doing,
to the sudden unexpected calls, or dark appearances,
where there is no sense to be made out of the visit,
no relief.
The reports of relatives and siblings.
This.
To work through all of this while trying to eek out an ordinary life.
Day by day, hour, by hour, minute, by minute.
Some days fly by,
others drag out,
or come to a screeching halt
as reality,
this
unfolds,
into another story,
drama, untold.
I have been busy going to school at nights after a long days work.
Driving past the place where Hoku dropped off Rain,
driving past three nights a week.
The emptiness I push away fights back from my innards.
I can feel her near.
Driving past the area scanning the sidewalks, darkened figures walking
catch my eye,
I wonder if one of them could be my daughter,
wonder
this night
and this night
and this night
as my hands grip the steering wheel
tight,
is she is okay?
The knot growing tighter in my stomach.
I circled around that block a few nights ago, looking for her.
A small residential area in between businesses, an old library.
The homeless have been removed from the parks,
there are makeshift lean to's and tarps cropping up in the nearby surround.
This is where my daughter has lived.
I look and see a few tents here and there, no sight of Rain.
Thursday night.
Half sad, and half relieved, I go home,
and wearily lay my head upon my pillow,
praying that God watch over her and keep her.
I drift off into a restless sleep, and dream of her.
The her I remember.
The smiling, laughing her.
Friday morn.
Roosters crow jolts me awake, and I feel as if I did not sleep at all.
I shake off the cobwebs and go to clay class, mechanically rolling out slabs of clay,
working through feelings as the gray earth takes shape before me.
An owl forms, I build eyes, a beak.
It will stand guard upon the wall over my garden.
Gazing.
A sentinel.
Saturday, this day, the emptiness turns to a pain invading my head.
I reluctantly take to my bed.
Wake up in the late afternoon.
A day wasted, I think to myself.
Light of day fades to dark.
Sat down at the computer in the evening listening to a Karen Armstrong Ted Talk about compassion,
the golden rule.
Thank you Cedar, a fascinating woman, as are you.
Brilliant.
I looked over at my son and smiled,
his eyes grew large and he made a motion to the window behind me,
I turned around,
and there she was peering in.
In the darkness, an appearance.
I am startled, say a small prayer take in a shallow breath, then deeper.
Be calm my thoughts, be still my heart.
I go to the door.
Rain was with a male friend, they were both on bikes, backpacks full.
I see people all over the city riding bikes with full backpacks,
I know they are homeless, this is their "uniform".
There are many, many homeless people here on Oahu.
She is clean, hair done, her friend looks a little rough around the edges,
not unkempt,
but I can tell he has lived a longer life than his years.
I wonder if this is the guy that beats her, and purse my lips at the thought.
He is not.
She tells me the police picked the abusive guy up.
I am glad and I tell her so.
Rain is quite beautiful.
She looks nothing like me, the blood of her fathers ancestors overruled mine and formed strong Hawaiian features in my girl, broad shoulders, tall, big brown eyes and cocoa skinned, her smile reflects the moon of thousands upon thousands of years. Her people were navigators, crossing the oceans while others believed the earth to be flat. Star people, gazed up into the black sky, found compass points to travel the seas and knew with a certainty by mapping those brilliant constellations, the roundness of the globe.
Ancient travelers.
Perhaps she has inherited the restlessness.
I make them something to eat, a cup of coffee.
I ask for a hug.
Holding her close, I breathe her in and close my eyes, yearning for better nights and days.
I tell her I love her and that she has her whole life ahead of her.
I don't press about shelters, just listen to small talk.
She realizes she cannot fix this guy.
She says.
Her father brings out an extra light we have and affixes it to her bike.
A gesture,
a small token,
a symbol,
let the light guide you through the dark nights.
She talks about having to go to court.
Gave our mailing address for her State insurance, the hospital had her sign up the night she ended up there.
I tell her that I was paralyzed when Hoku texted me, she said they released her anyway.
Shrugging it off.
Evenly and slowly the words come out,
from me
that she has value and worth and doesn't deserve to be mistreated.
I say to please look forward.
She looks down.
I pray these words envelope her
stay close to her
resound and reverberate.
There is so much more that I want to say,
but I stop myself, because she already knows these things.
She knows.....this.
She says good bye and they go back down the road in the dark,
from whence they came,
to where,
I do not know.
Her shadow stretches up the driveway and reaches for mine.
What a strange world I am living in.
The nights are long and restless then
another day speeds forward.
I am going over my life,
as I go on with my life.
Reviewing past
living now
striving to be present.
The aches and pains of my weathered body
reveal the ache in my heart.
My time on this earth has shortened.
I must go on.
Despite
this.
I am feeling.....relieved that she looks okay.
Hopeful, that she tries to work her way to a better place.
I am in the in between.
A place reserved for mothers like me who go through this up and down and all around world of worry, fear, numbness, anger, grief, recovery.
Rise, stumble, fall.
Climbing the mountain before me, slipping at the rough spots, regaining my footing, one foot forward, hanging on to find the next hand hold, a foot hold.
I think of the photos I have seen of mountain climbers harnessed to the cliff in cocoon like hammocks suspended thousands of feet above the ground.
Do they sleep well?
The in between.
I am thankful to have seen her.
I am thankful that this time, she seemed.....more rational, her mannerisms a bit lighter,
not the heavy, sullen angry version, I last saw.
It is a small blessing, but I will take it.
I will keep praying that she find her way, as I try to find mine.
I will fold up my hammock, and work my way up the mountain.
Visualizing her as the captain of her ancient sailing canoe, navigating her way through life.
Perhaps, if I reach the top of the mountain, I will catch a glimpse of her white sails stretched taut capturing the winds of change, flying swiftly upon the jewel toned sea, towards the horizon to find new beginnings.
It is a new day, and the journey continues.
leafy
