A short series on grief and acceptance, not necessarily in order
for the steps of grief and recovery rarely are. . .

There are different meanings for the number 711!
One is the popular [Angel 711] meaning that you
need to let go of the past,
forgive others and yourself. Some consider it a
lucky number, but for me it is an ominous number.!

I wrote the following, 11 years ago on this day after
a calamitous loss.
The following is a very short synopsis of a painful journey
over twists and turns, over mountains and grievous thoughts. . .

It was never thought to happen
One of those things that happens
to someone else but never to her

A forbidding call she is shaking
a child missing never
returning

To stay or go she is wondering
desiring to journey along with him

Watching him grow, playing and
laughing, always hoping and
praying his life would be
happy and lasting

Mother and son no longer bonding
one night
deciding, seeming
to be best, it would be loving, it is just too
much, such awful thoughts

9 months carrying him, body feeding
him, a womb providing a room for
him to grow in

This is a testing, thoughts increasing
nothing is helping, can’t explain the
feelings, hoping this is passing, there is
blaming, there is shaming

Back and forth driving, twists and turnings
dogs vomiting, not to be late she is
hurrying, careful the right road taking

Road construction frustrating, depression
visiting, mind spinning, she is withdrawing
obituary disturbing, this kind of death
met with frowning, eulogy confusing

She is stopping, the man is helping
his kindness endearing, storms withdrawing
passages protecting, comfort finding

Friends consoling, medications helping
eyes slowly opening, ears hearing
tears no longer weeping

Birds singing, sun shining, flowers blooming
shadows lifting, she is talking she is writing
on paper speaking, mourning turning to
consoling * *

your huddled masses
YEARNING TO BREATHE FREE –
the wretched refuse of your teeming shore
Send these – the homeless – tempest-tossed to me
“I LIFT UP MY LAMP BESIDE THE GOLDEN DOOR!”

She is a beacon of light – a national treasure. . . And one of the most recognizable
figures in the world!
Each year millions who cherish her ideals make
the journey to experience her history and grandeur . . .
She is the Statue of Liberty, a symbol of freedom…and hope!
God Bless America – and all within her shores!

This is the month when all is difficult, even more
so, in the ability to make decisions, to focus on things
that can create happiness and joy. When I started
writing it came forth as poetry with the incessant
need to rhyme practically every sentence. I tried
to veer from this but found it difficult.
But in this writing I will refrain (due to the deep
emotional pain I am experiencing). . . .
(or at least try to not do it as much)

The last glimpse that night left a lingering
memory!
Why they chose red I wasn’t sure
Did they have a drawer full of
scarves just for this occasion? Why couldn’t
it have been blue or even white? Was it because this color covered the marks and bruises best from the self infliction,
extinguishing his last breath that night.
An act that created a deep wound on a family gripped with grief and loss

The color red has a range of symbolic meanings including
life – courage – anger – love and religious fervor –
the common threads that weave the fabric of life
together
I’m wondering if the weaver of this particular
cloth had any idea what it would be used for, was this
color chosen ahead of time depicting the endurance that was
shown, the courage under dire circumstances, until the wearer
was no longer able to bear it?
Was he alone with his
last lingering moments on earth. . . . Was I, the one who
had given birth to an only son, left unattended, not prepared
for that call in the middle of the night?
As his coffin was lowered in the earth in the soon comings days
To know that in a few months
his body was to endure the seasons of heat and cold, summer and
winter, rain and snow
Will the red scarf fade into nothingness? There are different
beliefs on this kind of death, some say it is unforgiven, some that it
is sin, and some that it is sin but it is forgiven. Whatever the answer
I know that the red scarf, though it may
be a symbol of many things – we are given the promise –
“Though our sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as
snow, though they are like crimson they will be as wool“

Book of Isaiah 1:18

There will not be a need for that red scarf covering the marks of self
infliction, for they have been made as white as snow, waiting for our
Lord’s Resurrection Day!

Then one day I was shown we must stop
this battle we owned – she took me aside and said she was sorry
we must become one – she and I
she said the split had caused
too much pain – she had gone into
hiding – she thought she could live
without me – and yet I could not live
without her
the anger we felt caused our division we were scared – we were ashamed – we thought each other was to blame!

We held each other with open arms – we sobbed – we wept
we had been torn in two – it hurts to be born again
we leave each other a legacy of love – now that we are one!

There had seemed it was too much to bear, all of
these things had caused a split until I had to quit and turn away!

The trauma in my young life created two separate beings!
We were not sure who each of us were, then one day I
tried to talk to [ her], I told her my name, [she] said that
was her name too!
I was confused, how could there be two of us? I tried to
ignore her, but she was always there, we could not be broken apart
we tried again and again, as if she doesn’t really want to leave
it would break her heart!
We eat together, we sleep together, she whispers sad things
in my ears at night
We wear the same clothes, when I want to wear something
different, she says no
I try to learn to play, to be happy, but she is always sad and hides

I am so angry, I start to cry, tears flow, trying to catch them
before they fall, I must be the strong one after all
It goes on and on, the conflict increasing, this internal struggle with
each other, that one of us needs to leave we agree
we want to break away, but we can’t – we are attached
I really don’t think I can take much more!

But isn’t the promise that has been given to all ?
“No [trouble] has overtaken you, but such as is
common to man, but God is faithful, who will not allow
you to be tempted above what you are able. . . . but will. . .
also make a way of escape that you may be able to bear it”
1 Corinthians 10:13

“This house of ruptures could hold no more!”

After saying goodbye to my earthly father I sought
One to replace him. Due to the traumatic experiences of childhood,
a part of me. . . . [my inner child]. . . and I became confused, as if there was not
just one but two of us in conflict, seeking comfort and peace. The turmoil
kept me in a state of emotional distress, ready to succumb to the fiery flames
ready to consume me!

The foundation is weak, seeking its own level, rusty pipes
leak, joints creak. Red climbing roses speckled with paint
from decades of neglect has had its effects. The attic bares
the burden of this house of ruptures, storing baggage in rafters.

It is full and ready to blow, it has capacity to hold no more. I am
hesitant to go in, but that’s not strange, I left long ago! It was
too much for me, I split in two, leaving my child, a part of me
behind. But she followed me in my thoughts. In my dreams I
could hear her cry, in my nightmares she would scream. I can
bear it no longer, I have to return to claim what is rightfully mine.

Reaching in, pulling her out, now with me she shall remain. With
such weight, beams crumble, into the house falling. A soft glow of
orange erupts into red tongues of fire, consuming the rooms. A gust
of wind fans the blaze, until little remains but ashes and dust.

A few childhood remembrances that survived. The sole of a shoe that
once held my foot, now covered in soot. My pink dress smoldering in
cinders, a doll looking injured, with charred eyes and lips, her hair on
edge with scars on her head.

A book with singed ruffled edges opened to a nursery rhyme –
“And all fell down.” I am astounded!
Walking through the rubble, I see what trouble the
neglect of this house has caused. Sitting amidst ashes, tears begin
to fall, this house had been my body, the attic my thoughts. I really
didn’t want to leave, I did not know what else to do. If I had stayed,

I would have lost my mind. This house had been deserted, intertwined
with ropes and beyond repair. The pain it bore, tore a hole in my soul.
It must be restored, hinges and doors must be replaced, as well as
windows and doors. Who will do this, I must have Help? Thus the
search begins!

This poem is from my book ‘Weeping Child To Forgiving Child’

A sequel to ‘Love Letters To Daddy’
After saying my final goodbye. . . .

. . . . He then faded from my memory, as I began
to draw a picture of how I remembered him, until
my inkwell had become almost dry with the trace
of his image. My brush became heavy, the colors
became dark, until I was exhausted and I finally
gave up. He became nothing, as if he had never
existed, leaving an incomplete picture of a new Father
that must be created in my mind!

“It was You who took the churning waters billowing on the face of the deep.
In the darkness of swelling waves, crying aloud with
groaning pains waiting to give birth and be delivered. Before You spoke your Word

“Let there be light and life”* my existence was in Your thoughts. You patterned
my form when there was none.
A seed plunged into an empty womb, two beings creating a separate being as they
embraced in a moment of bliss. In an instant You wrote my life in indelible ink.
The beginning of a tiny infant is immersed in the embryonic fluid, my heart begins
pulsating life. Your plan for me is skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth!
But who am I to question why I was cast into circumstances beyond my control?

The chosen vessel carrying me is frightened, as her only awareness of life is of
abuse and neglect. Her thoughts permeated into my small mind, knitted
together, as sinews and flesh are fashioned about my tiny body. Engulfed with
her memories of long ago. While the blood racing through her body feeds the embryo
with a frightening adrenalin rush. I have to wait in that darkness just as the seed must
wait for the nurturing acts of God to bring forth life. I am called and reluctantly enter this
world. My first glimpse of life is not pleasant to my childish nature. I question as Job –

“Why did I not perish before I was born?”* A wall of separation comes crashing down
planting its steel bars into the chasm of the earth, culminating in an abrupt interruption
of time. You have said I must become as a little child, must I go back to the very
beginning of conception? Must I have the mind of a babe unmindful of its surroundings,
content to exist in each stage of formation?

If I could only shut my eyes and reflect on
the innocent mind of a child bathed in quintessential peace and tranquility. To be freed of these scattered thoughts. Ones that take me captive to another world of doubt and uncertainty,
quenching the Spirit and nullifying the goodness of God. I am helpless to know the answer
to these questionings, it is as if I were being drawn into a darkness of which I am powerless.

But perhaps this dark night of the soul has a purpose and a reason. That I need to embrace this
darkness, as the nocturnal labor pains of life experiences bring awareness of a Father that
has recreated the image of the one left behind!”
*Book of Genesis Chapter 1
*Book of Job Chapter 3:11

The summer solstice has arrived – bringing happiness, joy and cheer!

Come close child, today will be our summer day
to laugh and play!
We will spend it together – visiting the sea – jumping
the waves – until the day has passed into the realm of
dreams – and deep – deep sleep fills our sleepy heads!

In a series of ‘A Father’s Day Reflection’

Letter #5

Well Daddy, here I am one more time, but I’m getting closer to the end of writing
these letters to you!
I mentioned before, I had had a difficult time, when I looked to God I saw a picture of you, and couldn’t get it out of my mind.

You know we had no values, nor religious ties, where it came from
I didn’t know at the time. I was confused and didn’t know what to do.
It struck me out of the blue with petrifying force, undermining the
very foundation of my being, already in a fragile state of grief and
fear. Tormenting thoughts brought me to my
knees, one thought was connected to another, forming a great circle.
Then I began to buckle with dismay as words came up from the
rear, forming a loop with a whole new group of words and numbers
pressing on my brain, with chains that squeeze and defy.
That’s what OCD and Scrupulosity* do!

As a rule the tools of psychology should work and maybe for a moment
they do, but like butterflies in my head, their wings never fly as high again.
I know this is difficult for you to hear, but after much help and many years
Daddy, it got better. Well I have more one more letter to write!

*The definition of “Scrupulosity’
Obsession with moral or religious
issues, a form of obsessive compulsive
disorder (OCD with a religious component)

Into the world of therapy and recovery…

There needed to be a reconciliation!

I had to recreate an image that I imagined

in my mind, the one as a child that I had

developed, one that was

unhealthy and deceiving. Why I loved my

father deeply, when he was not around,

and when he was he was inebriated and

unavailable, I don’t understand. It was

now time to recreate a healthy Father image.

I have written a book called

‘Love Letters To Daddy’ letters that had

to be written before I could let go of the

old and grasp the New…

~~~

A Father’s Day reflection

Good morning Daddy, its your little girl!
It has been many years, do you remember me?
I have come to visit. I’ll just sit here by your side,
it has been such a long time since you died!

It is so quiet and peaceful. I see an image
of an angel guarding your grave, it is quite
strange,
I don’t know why this would be since you really
didn’t have any
angelic virtues that I could see. But I like reading
your name upon your stone, it helps me know you
really did exist.
Well Daddy, the ball always seemed to be in your
court,
you called the shots, you always seemed to be the
la-la man, having fun.
Tipping the bottle on the poker table with your
friends.
I wonder why I have given you free rent in my head?
Going through life believing what you said?
I thought you held the keys, and if I could please you
enough, I would be alright.
I know I have written several letters and just when I
think I have written enough, other things come to my
mind!
So I will write a few more letters, since these things are
cathartic and lessen the pain.
And perhaps this
child’s dark night of her soul will have a purpose and
a reason to help
others who question like I… Then that makes it alright!