"Getting older's not been on my plans"

  You always hear of things that cut to the very core of one's being. But, most of the time we don't entertain them. We give them little to no thought. Until we are caught in the middle of watching our soul being ripped in two right before our eyes, we can't imagine ourselves that broken. That it can happen to us.   It can be anything really. It can be death; it can be depression; it can be any kind of action that drives us to feel fragmented. It can be at the hand of another, or a catastrophe of our own doing. It usually comes with a displace in trust, and a shattering of a perspective one thought untouchable.   I spout often of the humanity of us all. How important it is for us to be truly human, but when that humanity flings its excrement in my face, I get shocked...why? Because of the insurmountable amount of pain caused, or because my words are more gilded than I truly believe them to be.   This year has been the shits. From day one until now. It has been this const

  He handed me the hymnal and asked me if I was ready...if I could do this. To be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I had never planned a funeral, and even if I had imagined planning one it sure wasn't this early in life and it sure wasn't for my only brother, my only sibling. At 25, I felt like a little child getting left behind in a sea of strangers. I was terrified.   2 days prior, my heart stopped beating. 2 short days before this, my peaceful world collided with the dark. And now I had to prepare for the world to say goodbye to greatness. The tree fell in the woods and the world shook with its sudden end. And we, as the collective, needed to imagine that very tree as the beautiful piece of woodwork it now was and bow to it's new exulted shape.   I wasn't sure how to plan a requiem. But, it had been placed in my hands and I wanted to give him the best I could. He deserved it. He deserved life...to live...to breathe still and chase every dream he thought into

  Want to know what I love about righteous anger? It's right. Or perhaps I can convince myself that I have every "right" to be angry. That there is justification. Often, I spout with my mouth that I am a firm believer in, "You are entitled to your feelings." And perhaps, somewhere down deep, I actually believe it. But, sometimes, I think people feel things just to feel them. Or perhaps they take fleeting thoughts and turn them into actual feelings. It goes too well with the "filter-less" and ever popular "I am offended" society" that we live in.   Is any of this making sense? This year has been a constant game of emotional dodge ball. I find myself often practicing the 5 D's "dodge, dip, duck, dive, and dodge." I mean...if I can "dodge a wrench I can dodge a ball" right? Lately it just seems that there are more wrenches than balls being thrown, and it is taking its toll.   I can't even take all the credit. I

  There is this moment, somewhere between his second to last slowing breath and his first snore. I usually get a a few quiet, glorious moments of staring and touching. His face: so serene and calm. And on occasion, when I caress his right cheek, just before he sails off into dreamless sleep, he slightly will offer his left cheek for a graze.   There is this moment, somewhere between him stripping down to his boxers and getting comfy in his chair. I beckon him with a look and he knows I want to stare. His body is for my eye's taking. I scour his every visible inch...if only for my memorization. And he quarter turns till I am done, and he doesn't flinch. It is for his health. For my pleasure.   There is this moment, somewhere between his 4th and 5th drink. His eyes get that hungry stare. That one that can only be satiated with me. I get to kiss him. But not in the, "I love you too" way...but more in the, "I need you now" way. I mentally put away every dark b

  Often I say snarky things. Most of the time, I say them to Baby bee. And more often, I hear him say back, beneath his breath, "I have; I am; I am." And it was just two years ago, or perhaps what sometimes feels like forever, that we first said those words to each other.   I always imagined I would walk down the aisle, arm locked in my father's, toward a goal. More importantly, toward a man. But I was never quite sure who that would be, or even who I would be. I was an independent woman, of 32, who lost much but knew one thing: I was loved. And as Edelweiss was beautifully intoned on the organ, I walked as gracefully as one can in a long wedding gown towards the man who would hold my forever.   And today, we celebrate ourselves as cotton. Last year, we were paper: fragile and inexpensive. Something that we write our goals and life's deepest darkest secrets upon to remind us that we are each other's intimate diary. This year: cotton. We celebrate the need to rem

  As the world so desperately mourned those 7 selected, it waited in disbelief as Ronald Reagan, President of the United States, while quoting Peggy Noonan said so hauntingly and eloquently..."We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them...as they 'slipped the surly bonds of earth' to 'touch the face of God.'"   I was 7 when I first read these words, and although I didn't quite understand, my brother, who has since slipped, tried to paint a picture of purest goodbye. The gut-wrenching moments of goodbye that rip us from normal and place us in an alternate reality. Our new home...our new normal. It would be many years later, that fateful day he touched the Almighty's face, that I grew to understand.   It appears that 2019 is shaping up to be a very trying year. From the first day, as we said goodbye to my aunt, when just moments before she was giggling Happy New Year to her son, till now when I hear rancid reports of my cousin being

  It is most usual for someone who is speaking at a funeral or memorial to speak of the dead. Accomplishments and personality. Characteristics and perhaps a few flaws...if only to remind us that they, although great, were human. We are to talk of who they were on blissful Fridays and how they overcame stressful Mondays.   But sometimes those things aren't necessary. Sometimes there are more important things and most times...those things go left unsaid.   Even if I stood here and boasted of Aunt Samantha's beautiful countenance and strong abounding love...it would still be leaving something unsaid.   So, I turn then to you three. You beautifully broken three. First... I love you.   Second, I want you to look to the woman sitting just there... that is my mother. Alive. Grieving her sister but still alive. So when I tell you I understand what you are going through it is not that I understand the pain of losing a mother...or even losing your mother. It is that I understand shar