Rays of light

Whispering quiet

Truths

That I otherwise wouldn’t know.

I try to pay attention.

Light shining in my eyes and

Falling across my shoulders.

“You’re going to be okay”, the light

Whispers.

Facing the light,

And tears beginning to form,

But not because of sadness this time.

Tears form because

Hope exists.

It floods my soul,

And pierces my heart.

Reminding me ,

“This is not the end of your story,

So lift your head up”.

Head raised and openly crying,

I allow the light to bathe me in its

Redeeming warmth.

I remember the tears and incessant screaming. He was just a month old and I was afraid colic was going to kill us all. He only slept tummy down on my lap as I patted his bottom in a distinct rhythm. Pat pat- pat, pat pat- pat. We did this same routine for hours at a time until he felt soothed enough and was able to fall asleep for the next 4 hours. That sleep was cherished, even dreamt about while dreaming. Nevertheless, I knew. I knew like every other mother knows. My boy was destined for something great. He was so strong. His vocal cords were proof of that. I adored him.

He was a fast gainer and I started putting cereal in his milk earlier than I would have liked in order to fill his tummy. I can still hear his milk drinking gulps. Baby food soon followed of which he was a huge fan. Hawaiian Delight was his favorite. Peas; however, were a no-go.

Sometimes we took naps together. His body molded into mine. We slept soundly, hearts beating in sync.

In hindsight, I should have known. He was so protective of those he loved, his country being one. Of course he wanted to serve his country. It only made sense. My history-buff son knew more about his Nation’s history than most people his age.

So, when he enlisted and chose the Marines, I wasn’t surprised. I also knew that at some point during his career, he’d deploy to some foreign nation. But that time seemed so far away and I couldn’t really see that far.

Today is the day. He is on his way to some foreign lands. I’m reminded by the Dr Seuss book, “Oh, the Places You’ll Go”. Maybe Dr Seuss had a child and knew what every parent goes through as he wrote, “you’ll be on your way, you’ll be seeing great sights, you’ll join the high fliers who fly to high heights”.

I’ve talked to him half a dozen times in the last day and a half in his preparation to leave. I’ve cried every day. It’s a hurt deep in my chest. I kept telling him to “be safe”, “please be safe”. As he was growing up, I could see the dangers coming and could help him navigate choppy waters. I can still see the dangers. But, I’m not there to help him navigate those waters. Where he goes, I can only follow in my heart.

He’s a strong Marine, his father reminds me. I know he is, but he’s still just my baby. He still looks to me for reassurance and advice. What if he needs me and I can’t get to him. Nevertheless, I’m so proud. He is strong, kind and honorable.

The loyal nuzzle

Of a matriarchal soul

Soothes even those

Who have nothing to offer

In return, except

For the lasting promise

That your heart

Will forever and always

Hold this delicate soul’s

Home.

Maybe that’s what love is.

Creating a space for each other.

Sometimes just being in

The other’s presence.

Not saying anything,

And not having too.

Each heart says it all

A curious word

With layers and layers

Of meaning.

Insidious, it sneaks

Into your world

Before you even know

It’s there.

And when you do realize it?

It grips your heart,

Taking you hostage.

Squeezing your blood vessels and

Causing your heart to gallop,

Making it hard to breathe.

Tears form as the

Panic unfolds

Into mindless

Asymmetry.

You try. You really do.

Just talk yourself through it.

But, try as you might,

The air only becomes thick

With your own words,

Going nowhere.

Fear has taken up residence

With its grimy and gnarled fingers

As fear invades deeper

And deeper

Into the depths of your soul.

Warm summer breeze
Whispers softly
Reminding me of
The ebb and flow,
Frailty and strength,
Loss and gain,
And constant shifting.
Delicate branches
Moving with the grace
As if mirroring
The winds of change
In my own heart.

I reflect on times I’ve had to really put my head down and continue to push forward. Nursing school was one. Getting a divorce was another, and various other times of difficulty. I wouldn’t know how to push through storms if I hadn’t already experienced them. I can look through what looks like a hurricane’s spirals and see the beginnings of sky after the storm. I imagine when I get to that space, I’ll be able to see storm clouds dissipating above me. The air is always cleaner after the storm and I love the smell of wet earth and grass (not that we have much grass in the desert but I can imagine it anyway). I’m not there yet. I’m still sitting in the middle of it. But, even while being encumbered by the effects of storm activity, I am at peace.

Time slips through my fingers like sand. No matter how hard I try to keep it in my cupped hand, it always slips through. My son is home so rarely, and I sometimes just stare at him.. watching him and committing to memory the shape of his face and his sweet head.

He’s deploying soon. Some corner of the world will be blessed for his presence. I know he’s a grown man, but I still worry. What if he needs me? How am I supposed to get to him? Such questions that wake me up at 3am.

Earlier in the summer I went on a small vacation. I was sexually assaulted while there. There are only a few people that know. I am not telling the world because I feel the need to. Rather, the weight of this is breaking me. I am undone. My knees are buckling and my clavicle snaps like a twig.

The desert is non-forgiving. It will eat you up and spit you back out.

The mirror betrays me. The person I see is not the person I’ve seen in the mirror for the last 44 years. I don’t know who I am seeing. I don’t know who I am right now. And, I don’t know where I went. I disappeared on a sunny day in July.

I remember standing in the desert’s amid harsh tumbleweeds and various types of cacti. It was beautiful and alive and gave wings to my outstretched arms.

It’s been two and a half months since I last worked. There are days that I feel just okay. There are also days I can’t get out of bed.. days that I cry all day and days when sleep is my only friend… until I wake up and remember.

Most people think brown is the only color in the desert but they fail to look beyond. Varying hues of oranges, reds, yellows and even greens paint the desert in an endless pallet of color.

I go to a therapist every week. I see a psychiatrist every three weeks. She adjusts my medications and is the ultimate decision maker when I can return to work. I saw her yesterday. She didn’t clear me.

Today, as I watch the sun go down, I only see brown. It’s such an off-putting shade, and I have to look away. I feel the sun burning my skin even as it goes to bed for the night.

An enormous amount of pills. Oh the pills. Pills that lessen nightmares.. pills that are supposed to help the depression.. pills to help me sleep.. and even more pills to give me more of a boost during the day. But, I sleep anyway. All those pills, and sleep is my only relief.

The desert isn’t actually a dead place. My brain knows this. It teems with life. Roadrunners, coyotes, bighorn sheep, beautiful butterflies, snakes too. I’ve seen them all. They thrive in their element. I wonder if they’ve seen me watching them, trying to get the perfect photograph.

When it first happened, I was afraid of being inside. I’d panic while in enclosed spaces. I could walk outside and breathe easier. I visited some horses in the area and they seemed to read my countenance… talking without the luxury of words. It was communication in its most basic form. It was beautiful and gave me hope.

There is very little hope in the desert today. A never ending ocean of death is all I see. Dead Joshua trees, dead earth.

I used to tell my trauma experiencing patients that sometimes you have to sit in the mess of it before you can go through it with the hope that it brought them comfort and some peace. I try to tell myself that now. It hasn’t worked for me. I wonder if it worked for my patients or if they thought I didn’t know what I was talking about.

My doctor said I need to have more good days than bad before I return to work. In my heart I know she’s right. The tears flow again as my head explodes in quiet frustration and anger. I’m so angry. She tells me to be gentle with myself. I feel like slapping her.. and me. Instead, I thank her. I know she cares.

I scream into the desert. My voice disappears into a vacuum of dry heat.

Please God, don’t let this be the end of me. I’m afraid it is. I’m afraid of so many things these days. What a strange season of life this is. Still, I’m thankful. I have a daily ritual of listing everything I’m thankful for. Thankful for my wife. She is a rock and walks this journey with me, tirelessly. I’m thankful for a small group of friends that send encouraging lovely notes of hope, wishing me peace. I’m thankful for a place of employment that provides avenues of job protection.

One day, I will return to the desert and see the beauty once again. There will be a day that I can easily inhale the air into my lungs without feeling the weight of gravity. This day is coming. I get the occasional glimpse of that day coming soon. One day, you’ll see a Phoenix flying with its wings outstretched. Know that it’s me, finally free.

“In order to rise from its ashes, a Phoenix must first burn” ~ Octavia Butler

Memories. Frozen in time and forever standing still. Laughter and giggles still echo on my heart. Eyes looking forward but reaching behind, pulling memories right alongside me. My heart now a knapsack resting gently on my back; pondering this journey with all those around me. Hundreds of images but not a one to keep. Treasured always for always never sleeps.

I hugged my son goodbye the other day. I won’t see him for at least 7 months. I know the world views him as a Marine. But, he is only twenty. I still see my baby. Gosh, I miss him.