Thursday, September 16, 2010

Morning sunrise

My crows are arriving, I can hear and see them fly into the Oak trees in my yard. The sunrise is a tequila cocktail of colors on the horizon as the morning star fades. Another day ....

Mornings are far better for me then the nights. Jim use to say that I would fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and he wasn't far off from that. This is no longer my truth, now I will lay awake in bed with a head full of worries, thoughts of Jim; memories from when he was sick and wondering if I could have done things better for him, memories of before his illness, memories of his laugh, memories of his body. Thoughts of all that I must do now, things that must be taken care of ... and fear seems to lie crouching just under the bed hoping that I'll give completely over to it so it might devour me.

I do not fall asleep when my head hits the pillow anymore.

People tell me how strong I am and I truly do not understand this, I don't know what they mean. I feel anything but strong these days. I feel like I'm trying to set sail without a mast, without a compass. This house is now all mine, and all my responsibility. This life is all mine, and my responsibility. I really liked sharing all this before. There was a feeling of a safety net before, a support system that Jim and I would construct for each other. A feeling that we could weather anything, we could survive anything .... except brain cancer ... and loneliness.

Oh it's all such unchartered territory for me. I'm not one who ever minded being alone. I would love it when Jim needed to travel for a couple weeks, love the feeling of being by myself, watching whatever I wanted to watch on T.V., not needing to tip toe around in the early morning as I would get up to go for a run and he was not going to join me. But now, this solitude is an entirely different beast. What I would give to be asked if we could watch the Red Sox game.

The light is turning white as the sun gets higher. I've got a lot of busy-ness to do today to get ready for a friend arriving from the west coast and a weekend of gathering for the annual reunion of my gal-pals I went to acupuncture school with. I will soak up the feeling of being supported by this group of amazing women. I will push the fear back under my bed and lock the door as I leave for the weekend ... maybe it will shrink down to size while I'm away.

My crows are sitting on the branch directly in front of my vision reminding me that they are there and they are hungry.

Another day.

Loving you all back,


  1. Mary

    Your words are so beautiful! you write very well. I wish I could help you with all these feelings! All my love to you,

  2. Thanks for sharing this, Mary. It helps me feel less alone. E

  3. Simone, I just love knowing you're here and still connected to my world!

    E - I'm so glad this may have helped you, for whatever reasons.

  4. Makes me so weepy. Which is good. I mean, it's a frigging awesome gift that you can write like this. But it does make it REALLY clear that the people we call "strong" may be strong the way an injured animal is: It forces itself forward day after day because that's what nature demands of survivors.

    I'm also reminded of that adage: You never know what burdens someone is carrying, so treat everyone with care.

    xoxoxoxo h

  5. Mary,
    thanks so much for sharing your "Sweat Lodge" journey, and your tears, too. Your words bring alive your adventures and I feel lucky to read them. They also tell me how much you are hurting, and somehow, some time soon, I wish and hope the pain eases some for you.

    I Look forward to reading about your crows, again, too.


  6. Hannah - that's definitely it!

    DaveB - thank you!