looking at God

in his little face i see everything.  this little boy.  his eyes with long lashes.  he looks down.  and i say "look at me."  and he does.  but only for a moment.  i fuss at him.  "look at me."  again.  and again.  finally, he looks long enough to pay attention.

anyone who knows me knows i am not "kid friendly."  sad but true.  my patience is extremely thin.  i don't volunteer for the kids at church.  i don't do birthday parties very well.  i stand back and watch.  all those mothers who jump in and get all dirty and sticky.  ick.  what a reflection i am painting for all the world.

don't get me wrong though.  my kid.  i love.  dirty, sticky, stinky, icky, yucky, rotten.  he's mine and i love him.  but its the other little boy.  ick.  i thought.  ick.  why doesn't his mother clean him up?  he's always dirty, sticky, stinky, icky, yucky, rotten.  eeewwwwwww.  i can't do this.

i can't do this.  i. can. not. do. this.  no.  but i do.  ick.  this little boy with the eye lashes.  his shirt is on backwards.  again.  i say nothing.  he lives differently.  we have rules.  he has his own.  and it drives me nuts.  but i do this.  i do this.  "me too" he says.  "me too."  and he does.

this little boy has a buddy.  a best buddy.  my little boy.  and i have no choice.  "can i go over to his house?"  ooohh nnoooo!  please don't ask me to do this!  "can i go over to his house mama?"  ick.  i have an instant headache.  "go on."  my little boy runs and bangs on the door.  i think "well at least i don't have to worry about cleaning up a mess."  my house is silent.  the guilt washes over me.  i'm not so kid friendly.  no.  i'm not.

it started with wednesday night church.  "can he go mama?"  i realize the age difference.  i realize they have to be together or they will both be upset.  i realize the disabilities others will have to deal with and accept.  i realize i will have to explain why.  "he's hard to understand."  "he's younger than my son but he'll cry if he has to go to another class for his age."  "they have to be together."  "things are different with his family." 

now its sunday school and church.  "we'll see."  we find an extra booster seat by the car.  i sigh.  loudly.  i don't want to do this.  "mama can he come too?"  sigh. again.  how can i explain otherwise.  how can i say no.  i can't explain my "ick" feelings.  he's a little boy.  "me too?"

i left the house today.  to get away from boys.  to go to a girl store.  to look at girl things.  no boy stuff.  the cable guy was coming anyway.  that's boy stuff.  i remember my husband grunted as i left.  not a groan.  but a definite grunt.  i did not feel the least bit guilty.  i was tired of being the meanie.  i'm the mean mama.  you have to mind me!

i left a coupon at home.  it was worth driving back to the house for.  the clerk was more than glad to hold my things while i left to go get my coupon.  "if you give me $20 i'll take the boys with me and stop at mcdonald's."  did i just say that?  were those my words?  i watch my husband light up like a christmas tree waving a 20 at me.  "me too?" the little boy asked.  "go ask your mama."  did i really, i mean really, did i say that? 

load 'em up and move 'em out.  we go back to the store.  we all hold hands crossing the parking lot.  "now you boys behave.  don't touch anything.  no running.  or no mcdonald's."  such good little boys in a girl store.  i find the cure all for my ick.  each little boy gets a blueberry smelling antibacterial hand gel with a neat holder to go on their belt loop.  "me too?"  he asks.  "you too."  i say.

both boys are noise sensitive and mcdonald's was a zoo!  blood curdling screams could be heard for 2 blocks with no end in sight.  it was a birthday party in full swing.  ick.  ick.  ick!!!  but 2 chicken nugget happy meals later and eleventy three (yes, i said eleventy three) trips thru the tunnels and down the slides you would never have known their ears hurt.  and it was soooooooo hot.  and our table was right in the sun.

with seatbelts buckled and headed for home we discovered a great air conditioner.  all four windows all the way down.  with blood curdling screams all my ick flew out the window as  two little boys with full bellies laugh into the wind.

as we ride down the hill and both hands on the wheel i realize i'm looking at God.

until you walk in my shoes...

don't think for a second that i don't know how you judge me.  i live it every breath i take.  its written all over your face.  it is almost audible.  the look in your eyes when i say something.  don't ask if you don't want to know.  because i will tell you.  brutally.  my words will be brutal.  by definition.

i left a window open.  just one.  all others are closed and locked.  because there may come a day that someone wants to ask a question.  or just come back.  even without question.

last night i slept on the floor next to my little boy's bed.  he has rads or reactive airway disease.  its a condition in which the airways in the lungs overreact to certain things.  he was diagnosed last friday.  he will have to wear a medical bracelet.  but, now, he has a stomach bug on top of that.  he can't have his medication for rads.  his heart rate is up.  his temperature is alarming.  his little cheeks have been bright red.  the heat radiating from his little body has been overwhelming.  he's so sick that he sleeps for long periods of time.  and it scares me.  so i stay up and watch.  he tosses and moans.  or he's deathly still and i watch to see if he's breathing.  he is.  tonight i let him sleep on the sofa.  we will both sleep here tonight.  for the moment he is quiet and still and the overwhelming heat has left his body.  finally.

i have another little boy.  i remember so many years ago the hallucinating fevers that were his only symptoms.  he had asthma.  so many nights i would sit and hold him while he fought the raging fevers.  his eyes were glassy and wide open.  "look mama!  the horses!"  reaching his little hand out into the space that was our living room.  long hours.  holding and rocking while sitting on the sofa.  he never knew about the hallucinations.  nor did anyone else.  just me.  just his mama.  i watched him closely.  every day.  i held him tight every night.  he would say "sing mama" and i would hum a lullaby he was so accustomed to hearing before he fell asleep.  always in my arms.  and i would carry him to his bed.  he's all grown up now.  no symptoms of asthma.  he outgrew it.  a relief.  he's all grown up and has his own baby now.  i hope he remembers the lullaby.

those days are gone.  and nothing to replace them with.  he is his father's son.  but i left the window open.

words will never express the hurt.  the broken heart.  the loss.  all of my will never had a chance.  i had no chance.  the rage of the fight in me got me nowhere.  years have passed.  years i tried.  years i fought.  years i'll wait.  no matter.  i will wait.  i'm still here.  and i still have another little boy.  he's just all grown up now.

today i remembered all of these things.  not that these rememberings are ever far away.  but, they were up close.  and personal.  as i watched my little boy struggle with his fever for the second day.  it all came rushing back.  but they are not to be compared.  my little boy was awake for a little while.  as he watched spongebob his fever raged on.  and again he began to fall asleep.  i watched.  and out of the blue he looked at me and said "mama, everybody in my class is bigger than me."  he's in kindergarten.  "that's ok" i say.  as he drifted off again.  and i watched.

it doesn't matter what you think of me.  i know i did my best.  i gave everything in me.  to no avail.  i was held at arms length.  i was pushed away.  i tell the truth.  i will tell it again.  and its not just me.  its family.  life is shorter than you think.  before you realize it can all be covered up.  but i keep uncovering it.  every day.  i live it.  my life wills me.

i have another little boy.  but he's all grown up.  finally i laid my grief at God's feet.  the grief that controlled my world.  i have another little boy and i watch him breathe.  just as i did before.  i was there.  now i'm here.

you can't judge me.  not until you walk in my shoes...

panic is terrible.  it is a driving force.  without warning it attacks.  it hurts.  it reminds me of things i don't want to remember.  it wakes me in the middle of the night for no reason.  i am minding my own business and it strikes.

i live with panic.  it lurks.  it waits for me.  and just when i least expect it it becomes full blown.  basically, there is nothing i can do but wait it out.  there are those moments when i have to understand the difference between panic pain or is it my heart.  either way its breaking.

its all consumming.  and i have to fight it alone.  there is nothing, no one who can help.  medication?  yes.  for the rest of my life.  but it isn't instantaneous.  i have to wait it out.  the pounding is like thunder.  i can't see the elephant sitting on my chest.  but, its there.  taking its time.  time i can't take.  mentally.

healing comes with time.  time can be what makes me or breaks me.  i've learned to work it out.  that doesn't mean it doesn't get the best of me.  it runs my life.

i don't think about my panic until it sneaks up on me.  maybe its the only thing that gets me thru it.  i don't think about it.  i don't wait for it.  it just slams me and i have to handle it then.  there is no time to think about what to do.

my panic is no secret.  anyone who knows me knows that panic is me.  i face it every day.  every moment.  every breath.  every time i read something that hits too close to home.

home.  panic.  not the same.  my home is my refuge.  used to be hell only a different location.  my husband sees it.  he knows it isn't my fault.  he loves me thru it.  loves me thru it.  every time.  without fail.  he loves me thru it.

i can choose to hide.  my home hides me.  my home protects me.  my home is me.  my home.  but i don't want to hide.  my life is an open book.  its what i tell people.  i have no secrets.  so if my life is an open book then why hide?  because i can.  but i will tell you about it.  about me.  about what i know.  i'm me.  just ask and i will tell you.

i am fierce.  i'm out-spoken.  i'm mean.  i can be meaner.  but i love hard.  so hard it hurts.  i can't not love.  but there are those who think otherwise.  they think because "i let go" i don't love anymore.  but they are wrong.  i love hard but i have to let go.  if i love too hard i am consummed by it all and i fail.  i am not a failure.  but there are those same who believe i am.  but i'm not.

what is it they say   "... if you love something let it go... blah blah blah..."  i let it go.  but not without a fight.  i let it go so i could breathe.  i let go so i could live.  i let go because i love too hard and i shatter into a million pieces over and over.  does anyone believe me?  does it matter?  i let go not because i didn't love.  i let go because there was nowhere i could hold onto.

run.  run.  fast as i can.  i run and chase.  i run faster.  i'm almost there.  no i'm not.  there is no "almost."  but i run.  i can't catch up.  they won't let me.  this is my race.  no one can run with me.  no one runs for me.  no one runs to me.  but i run.  i still run faster. 

i read sadness.  i answer sadly.  it reminds me.  and i panic.  so much hurt.  so much pain.  what happened?  why did it turn sad?  i was there.  i know i was.  this heart was there.  this heart stays open.  it is wounded.  but it stays open.  it hurts still.  it hurts always.  i can't breathe if i close it.  i can't smile if i close it.  a wounded smile that no one sees.  they just see a smile.

time is too fast.  so i smile.  time turns away what was.  that smile is still there.  but no one sees lost time.  no one sees the time that caused the wounded heart.  no one sees the panic inside.  my constant companion.  pretend?  no.  real feelings.  i hide nothing from the world.  but its misunderstood.

i left.  i walked away.  no i didn't.  no one let me in.  i'm not too proud to beg.  i love too hard so i beg.  i can't not love.  but i have to wait it out.  i have to seem the bad one.  i'm not bad.  if you see me you know me.  i'm not bad.  i'm me.  with panic. 

there is no button to push.  panic isn't a button to push.  its panic.  its pain.  and it hurts.  and no one understands.  and it starts all over.

i let go so i could breathe.  i let go so i could love again.  i let go because i have to live again.  i let go so when i panic i don't fall apart.  i let go.

love panics.

new life

today is the day that the Lord has made.  i will rejoice and be glad in it.

so many will turn their faces to the rising Son.  so many will accept His love.  finally they can breathe new life into their old sore souls.  all of those who wander this earth looking for peace will have the chance again to open their heart and let Him in.  so many more will be in church.  coming to a place where they can feel the peace that is handed to them if only they will ask.

we all look back at what once was in our lives.  the choices.  the hurt.  the unanswered prayers.

my path was paved by the living God.  i've been saved from hell on earth.  He holds my heart in His hands reminding me of the healing only He can give.  choices are what we are given only because we are human.  we are washed clean.

this life i have is one driven by what i know is true.  i am loved.  i am forgiven.  i am new.

what once was is no longer.  to Him i owe the honor and the glory.

kay? come home.

much like any other day i can be found planted at the scrapbook shoppe.  but the day started with the final step in the completion of filing bankruptcy.  something we both hated with the knowledge of no other choice.

we met at the designated location standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the little white haired man on the other side of the door, trying his best to unlock what seemed to be too much of a task.  a bit of nervous laughter between us.  time seemed to crawl.  with the sound of the click as the door was opened we found ourselves shaking hands goodbye.  it was over.  the weight was lifted as husband and wife left to finish an otherwise uneventful day.

as i sat amongst my fellow scrappers laughing, double overed, eyes filled with tears because it was too funny, my cell rang.

with the remnants of laughter still in my voice i answer knowing its my husband.  the laughter stopped.  something in his voice silenced us all.  was it the look on my face?  was it the air of silence; his hesitation when i answered?  my husband.  i could feel his hurting throb in the emptiness between his words.

"kay?  come home." 

"what's wrong?"  i ask going into automatic overdrive.

"you need to come home.  kay?"  the crack in his voice stabbs, piercing my heart, something caught in my throat.  my head hurt. 

i hear his breath shudder with pain.  knowing he needs to feel something tangible.

"they laid me off.  i don't have a job.  kay?  come home."

"i'm on my way.  its going to be ok."  hearing myself lie.

but i don't go home.  rushing from my tools of creating scattered about i head for those who hurt my sweet husband.   taking his fear with me.  ready to assualt those who are evil.

reaching my destination to face those who have made a mistake; demanding an audience with the upper echelon who refuse to see me.  to face me.

i pace.  i rage inside.  waiting for answers.  demanding, yet again, for those guilty to appear and give credence.  fear driving them to hide.  with the truth of their mistake no one appears.  they know i know its wrong.

i find myself on the curb of a building that had demanded more and more from a man i love so dearly.  33 years of pure innocent loyalty.  knowing it was all for naught. 

sobbing uncontrollably as the street traffic picks up there is a tap on my shoulder.  i look up to see a box of tissues with an offering.

"you are in my prayers."  and she walked back to the evilness she recognized as truth.