* I've Come Undone

The fears which held me so tightly together inside,
The fear I would make someone angry,
The fear I could not please absolutely everyone,
The fear I wouldn't be perfect enough for my mother,
The fear my deportment might fail me and the book would tumble from my head,
The fear my conversational skills would leave me while at an important function,
The fear I was too fat to ever make anyone happy,
The fear I could not hold myself in this perfect package I was brought up to be,
The fear I couldn't be a peace keeper when the family was together,
The fear my Papa would say something to upset Connie,
The fear I couldn't ignore it, bandage it, talk over it, or make more tea,
The fear I would displease my parents and fall from grace,
The fear I would not make my husband happy,
The fear my step children wouldn't love me,
The fear I could not meet the expectation of contributing money to our marriage,
The fear I couldn't whip up fabulous family gatherings, social functions and      wonderful holidays, with ease and grace.

These fears, which were wrapped up so tightly inside me
Never to be seen by another human on this planet
Were exactly the fears which caused me to come undone.

They all unraveled at once
They spread like molten lava
Uncontrolable.
They loosened my grip, fell from my arms
And slipped through my fingers.
With them went my world,
My husband, my lover, my best friend.
He didn't know who I was anymore.
And neither did I.

* Untitled

Recently while in a deep meditation, I was literally transported back to my Papa's bedside the night he passed over.  Don't ask questions.  Simply accept.  I was there.  It was a cool November night.  The furnace was on.  The room was warm.  Papa was peaceful and I sat close beside his bed, my head on his chest, his hand in mine.  Rissie lay at the end of his bed by his feet. He knew we were there.

Suddenly, I had a great urge to grab a pen and paper.  I picked up the nearest scrap and a pen and my hand began to move across the page.  I was weeping so that I could not see the page, nor did I know what was coming next.  I only knew a deep sadness had overtaken me, and I had to do this.  And I quote:

"Don't leave me Papa ....      .... please            ........ don't go, don't close your eyes.  I am sixty five, but only a child.  Who will care for me?  Who will love me?  Who will be my mentor and my friend.  No .... NO PAPA .... you are leaving.  Your eyes are closing          ........ you see something in the distance and it calls.      I call too Papa       ....... please stay just a moment longer.   Here, hold my hand ...... I am here           .......come back Papa .... p l e a s e .... come back.  You are gone.  You are already there.  Even if you are only a breath away, it might as well be a million miles.  Why is life to cruel.  Why does it taste so bitter.  Why do I sit here alone as your hand grows cold?  May I come?  You say no ... but I ask you Papa ... What is left here??  Tell me!"

This is so very different that the actual night Papa crossed over.  I was fifty-seven.  I was calm.  I was ready.  Papa was ninety seven.  I knew it was time.  But this!  This was real.  This was the real grief.  I think perhaps I am grieving now.