grief

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The House That Built Me

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The House That Built Me

I'm sitting on the cold terra cotta tile floor. My finger tracing grey squares of gritty grout. The sun's warmth opens all the white lilies that line the deck, not strong enough, even on the sultriest of days, to bring this floor to even a corpse-like temperature. Its cold seeps through my jeans now and I laugh through tears. Thinking of how many times I've cursed that cold tile. Sucking the life force out of my feet for the past five winters. And even so, how I remained barefoot most of the year.

This beautiful floor. The hardness of it is highlighted by our quiet echoed conversation. Its unwillingness to bend or comfort. It had a job to do and it didn't get caught up in softening a blow to a foot or to a head. It was unconcerned with offering warmth or pliability. 

It held this house together. And it kept us suspended and supported in this place.

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Five Things I Thought I'd Never Be Thankful For

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Five Things I Thought I'd Never Be Thankful For

race yourself.

This isn't going to be a typical Thanksgiving post full of positivity-lite and generic gratitude.

Ironic, because I find myself in a place in my life where I have never been more happy. Or more grateful. And I could easily write a piece on how beautiful my life is and how thankful I am for that. To which you could roll your eyes. Or burn with jealousy. Or give me a standing ovation.

And I honestly don't think it would do either of us any good.

So, I thought about what I'd really like to share with you. What gratitude really means to me. And what giving thanks actually looks like in my life.

It's easy to be thankful for the "good stuff." A loving and kind man. Healthy kids. Career success. Strong body. Great friends. Beautiful home. 

It's easy to be thankful for the "simple stuff." A hot cup of coffee. Warm fuzzy socks. The song of the black bird outside my window. Amazon Prime. 

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I Am Not Afraid

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I Am Not Afraid

No. 

I am not afraid.

I’m not afraid of what it means to live my life. To live as me. To speak my truth. To hold myself accountable. 

To have my heart seen. Unsheltered.

To share the stories of my wounds. And my mending.

To utter words of intimacy.  So thick. Only the strongest of souls will be left standing to witness them.

Because I have been to the bottom of the burning torch lake. I have lost my voice. My breath. My sight. My ability to move. And slowly sunk in complete surrender to what the mother would do with me.

And when I found rest. And opened my eyes to the cold light.  I was given the gift of vision. And instead of the eyes of another. I now only see the flicker of mine reflected.

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Moon Prayers

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Moon Prayers

I said a prayer for my heart tonight. 

I felt that cold seeping in.

The inky blackness that hides in my veins. Just waiting for a call to duty. To harden and cement a barrier so thick that I will be protected from this hurt. 

The white hot barbed-wire that courses from my gut. Twisting and turning a tangled rusted knot. Weaving itself a corset through my rib cage. Suffocating and stifling. Tighter. Till there were only two words.

Love me.