I am thinking of adventure – on the heels of my house work – on the heels of my daughter’s passing.
I haven’t been writing like I would have wanted to. I’ve had plenty to say and an over flow of thoughts and opinions, but prudence held me back. There’s much sensitivity out there; sadness and anger.
I don’t want to stir the pot.
I write to make sense of my life, which now includes my daughter’s death. It’s been hard. None of it seemed real. Then it seemed real and then it didn’t seem real.
So, I will work. I will clean my house. And I will plan my new adventure. My daughter will be with me always.
It’s all in my head, as I watch Hannibal kill and eat, study, chase, travel, elude; my Netflix is unending, as is this sentence, that goes on and on, like life, that doesn’t, while cancer prevails, fought and incubated, as I eat my cereal, plain as can be, the duration is filled with people, sun and sand, surfing, working, laughing, praying, not leaving any time for tears, as I play music, the thunder and lightning sounds, the large pellets of rain pummel my scorched plants, all in the key of E. Born in the key of G, I sustain an E.
And then I cried.
Home is a mindset; fixed vs. growth.
- 1. A drunk, middle aged, uneducated redneck. Aimless and unknowingly lost.
- 2. A sad mother. She tried, working middle of the road jobs, going nowhere.
- 3. A whiskey drinker and business operator, at the end of his rope. Thrown into a world over his head. Living in a sink or skim environment, he is gasping for breath.
- 1. An elder retiree. She once was the boss. Having spent 35 years in a cubicle, pleasing her mother. She is stiff as a board.
- 2. Her sister. The big one thrives on chaos. As the younger ones surround her, she promotes, ill health, obesity and teenage pregnancy. She’s the family hero.
There was the great escape. It included domestic violence and poverty. A step out of family. A run down the road. A deep, internal instinct that things weren’t right. Dodging adversity, with a never ending desire to change and elevate, the trot became a gallop.
Who wants to be “poor white trash”.
At least get a two year degree. Read a book.
Try a Faulkner novel.
No one gets out of life alive ~
What drives people in their lifetime? Is it love, or is it fear? Is it dominating, or is it being a submissive soul? Is it a rant and a rave, or a peaceful sunset?
What makes you tick?
Is someone’s death your crown?
Wear it well ~ You’ve had lots of practice ~
Life is not about never failing ~ but rising from every fall ~
I have been on the island, for 18 months. My daughter had cancer. A long fought battle to survive, ended two weeks ago. Life requires more than a will to live. She never did relinquish. Her body gave out.
She’s in my mind.
A friend wrote me a note saying; grief is pernicious.
I am going to clean my yard.