Today, I felt some peace.
This time of year is so filled with emotion.
This time of year is filled with dread at the upcoming passage of time.
I am working for the first time in two years. It feels scary and it feels safe to know that I am having
purpose.
I just have to keep doing my work on my self, keep praying, keep doing the work of looking at things
that I don't want to look at.
I just cracked myself open on the word suicide. I am processing what that means to
me. Because it has directly affected my life. So I am cracking open and tiptoeing around that word, looking at it from a distance, and not ignoring how much it has affected and hurt me. It hurts my legs, and my poor eating habits didn't help it.
So now I am looking at the word and feeling the feelings.
It is interesting that grief and pain can take so long to peel back the layers and feel and process all the feelings.
Tuesday, June 30, 2020
Sunday, June 28, 2020
A quiet Sunday morning - a marker
Today I woke up and felt tired. Usually I am a ready to go person.
I put Agape on and just listened. And I heard my answers to how to solve a painting dilemma.
God. Simply God.
And I realized that if I just keep myself centered on God, which it is easy to get wobbly about, I could make it through.
I am reaching out to my brother Joey. That I have never consciously reached out to. A little judgey.
This morning, this sweet overcast Sunday morning, is a day of quiet. My father passed on this day four years ago. A marker.
I am being quiet. I am sending love out into the universe for where ever he is that he receive the love he didn't receive as a child. That he receive the guidance he didn't receive and that light surround him on his way.
And a space lifts me some what up and I feel a little lighter.
I put Agape on and just listened. And I heard my answers to how to solve a painting dilemma.
God. Simply God.
And I realized that if I just keep myself centered on God, which it is easy to get wobbly about, I could make it through.
I am reaching out to my brother Joey. That I have never consciously reached out to. A little judgey.
This morning, this sweet overcast Sunday morning, is a day of quiet. My father passed on this day four years ago. A marker.
I am being quiet. I am sending love out into the universe for where ever he is that he receive the love he didn't receive as a child. That he receive the guidance he didn't receive and that light surround him on his way.
And a space lifts me some what up and I feel a little lighter.
Saturday, June 27, 2020
Musing on a morning of reflection
Tomorrow is the anniversary of my fathers passing. He passed a month before my son.
My brother went to Arlington to pay his respects. I will pay mine from here.
I am grappling with a word right now. The word is suicide. I am working to take it's power away.
And to accept what is. It is a loaded word.
I have been painting and writing a book of my healing journey. It has been a positive process. I read the words I have written, there is much that isn't said. But there is much that is. My idea for the book is that it is a picture book with words that go with it for adults. For me. One thing I remember is I could not focus for long on a book on anything, grief, healing, prayers, it had to be short, simple and not complicated. My emotions were on overload, I could only take so much in. So my book is a picture book of my art. That tells my story.
My personal journal tells the story. I write notes and letters to my son. I used to write them everyday. I would come home from work and write him a letter. I write letters to people that I am working to find peace with. I write with less frequency, not really the best thing for me, but I am aware of that.
Usually I write the letters after I have had an intuition or moved to a place of tenderness or forgiveness, for myself and that person. Usually that happens after I have been in a kundalini yoga class and meditated and chanted and been lifted up spiritually. My heart open, my consciousness open I let go of something that I don't need to hold on to anymore.
It comes down to forgiveness work.
I am in a daily practice of forgiveness. When I do this practice, I find myself to be a little lighter.
I am forgiving myself and others.
My brother went to Arlington to pay his respects. I will pay mine from here.
I am grappling with a word right now. The word is suicide. I am working to take it's power away.
And to accept what is. It is a loaded word.
I have been painting and writing a book of my healing journey. It has been a positive process. I read the words I have written, there is much that isn't said. But there is much that is. My idea for the book is that it is a picture book with words that go with it for adults. For me. One thing I remember is I could not focus for long on a book on anything, grief, healing, prayers, it had to be short, simple and not complicated. My emotions were on overload, I could only take so much in. So my book is a picture book of my art. That tells my story.
My personal journal tells the story. I write notes and letters to my son. I used to write them everyday. I would come home from work and write him a letter. I write letters to people that I am working to find peace with. I write with less frequency, not really the best thing for me, but I am aware of that.
Usually I write the letters after I have had an intuition or moved to a place of tenderness or forgiveness, for myself and that person. Usually that happens after I have been in a kundalini yoga class and meditated and chanted and been lifted up spiritually. My heart open, my consciousness open I let go of something that I don't need to hold on to anymore.
It comes down to forgiveness work.
I am in a daily practice of forgiveness. When I do this practice, I find myself to be a little lighter.
I am forgiving myself and others.
Friday, June 26, 2020
It has taken two years to get here
It has taken me two years to get to this place of writing down parts of my story.
I am a little more open, I am a little more ready to talk, to express the feelings, tell the stories,
feel the feelings....
Life has pushed things around. We are in a civil unrest because of the blatant disrespect for black lives, in a quarantine for a covid -19 virus.
I have been working from home since March.
It was a blessing for me. I needed slow down time, because I never took anytime off.
I have to work, to pay my bills. I worked to keep myself busy. I worked because the children and my team didn't deserve to have a broken team, if I could keep myself together.
So I worked for that. Everyday, I showed up for the children in my class.
I was so delicate and fragile. The ground below me had been ripped up. The foundation of my life of love for my son and all the sacrifices that I had made felt nil. I wasn't sure who I was, and why the fuck did I not know my son was in so much pain.
Why did he hide from me? That is the piece I am processing now as I am learning to live with my grief, my pain and my regret.
If I don't write, if I don't get these words out now...they will get stuck in my body, in my knee and I won't be able to move forward.
Healing is a journey, a process, and for all the steps I take forwards, I take one back as well.
Recap - of some of the year -Still learning
This year has been filled with so much challenge for me.
A new teaching team, new children, and a trigger year.
This was Bartholemew's fifth college reunion. And that brings up so many triggers for me.
His beautiful friends asked me if I was okay with adding him to the reunion book, and of course I said yes. And then when it arrived, it was in the morning when I found the package.
I stood in the driveway and cried, I just burst in to tears. I didn't know what to do, where to go.
It happened that at work we had a professional development specialist and I really needed to be there.
I felt so numb. I called my director and co teachers to share where I was in that moment. It hurt.
It hurt. It hurt.
But I carried on, and was present for my team. We got ripped to shreds for "an unreadable classroom environment", and I had to carry on.
I think some people really are unconscious when it comes to how to be with people who are processing a traumatic grief experience.
And after the first year, just think you are okay. You AIN"T. I was not. I was slowly, peeling back layers of the experience.
Still dealing with probate for his estate. Still dealing with my feelings. Still missing my baby.
Still taking baby steps of reflecting on how the hell I got here.
Still processing my feelings about being angry. Still just trying to be present and a good enough teacher to the beautiful little humans who had no idea that I had lost my sunshine.
Still numbing myself with bad food choices...
Still learning how to be in the world.....
A new teaching team, new children, and a trigger year.
This was Bartholemew's fifth college reunion. And that brings up so many triggers for me.
His beautiful friends asked me if I was okay with adding him to the reunion book, and of course I said yes. And then when it arrived, it was in the morning when I found the package.
I stood in the driveway and cried, I just burst in to tears. I didn't know what to do, where to go.
It happened that at work we had a professional development specialist and I really needed to be there.
I felt so numb. I called my director and co teachers to share where I was in that moment. It hurt.
It hurt. It hurt.
But I carried on, and was present for my team. We got ripped to shreds for "an unreadable classroom environment", and I had to carry on.
I think some people really are unconscious when it comes to how to be with people who are processing a traumatic grief experience.
And after the first year, just think you are okay. You AIN"T. I was not. I was slowly, peeling back layers of the experience.
Still dealing with probate for his estate. Still dealing with my feelings. Still missing my baby.
Still taking baby steps of reflecting on how the hell I got here.
Still processing my feelings about being angry. Still just trying to be present and a good enough teacher to the beautiful little humans who had no idea that I had lost my sunshine.
Still numbing myself with bad food choices...
Still learning how to be in the world.....
Tuesday, June 23, 2020
Time has nothing on me.....
It has been almost three years, two years and 11 months, and I still miss my son and I still grieve for him. I am still working my way through the numbness.
In little pieces I process this event that has changed my life and the way I think.
My relationship with God is what is getting me through.
I work on forgiveness, almost everyday.
I have pain in my body, i am working on that.
I work everyday to get up and move and be inspired to be the best I can.
In little pieces I process this event that has changed my life and the way I think.
My relationship with God is what is getting me through.
I work on forgiveness, almost everyday.
I have pain in my body, i am working on that.
I work everyday to get up and move and be inspired to be the best I can.
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