Jim - Still Here

It has been 4 1/2 months since Jim passed. I think about him. When I do, sometimes it is reviewing the bad times and I realize I am still angry about those. Sometimes I think about the Twin Flames connection we had. Still have. There are some memories where the two connect.

In this memory I was mad at Jim for some reason. It could have been because of any combination of his drug use, drinking, or lying. We both acknowledged that in our pasts we were together in some form or another so in my present anger I told him that I have cut the cord. I was done. I wouldn't have him be a part of my future lives. Flabbergasted, he replied, "You can't do that!"

I said, "Yes, I can! I am done being there for you and then helplessly stand by as you continually make the wrong decisions. I'm not doing it anymore. It is so frustrating and it hurts me."

When I see a man that resembles Jim, I do a double take. The pain in the pit of my stomach tells me I still feel the loss of not having him in my life, even as spotty as it was prior to his death.

The connection we had, we still have. He visits me from time to time sometimes so intensely I am filled to the brim with the comfort and love he can now share. I think it's funny that he likes to visit when I am with my mother, like he did today.

My Sunday visit with Mom was routine - lunch and Goodwill shopping. On my way to taking her home, I turned into her subdivision. That is when Jim popped up in the backseat. I asked him, "What are you doing here?" His answer? "I'm just here for the ride." Typical Jim. I started laughing and shared it with my mother. She said, "Isn't that clever," and laughed, too.

Your loved ones are never far from you. Even if you can't hear them or see them, feel them or touch them, they are there. If you talk to them, they listen. Their love is still yours. They know how deeply you feel their loss and that, for some of you, you are walking through this life with a chunk of yourself missing.

They want you to be happy so do what you can to be happy.

Love is love is love

Sometimes Poppy likes to be held like a baby.  He nestles in my arms with his little head pressed against my neck and I rub his back.  When he is in my arms like this, I get very peaceful and calm.  I end up softly singing to him while gently rocking back and forth as I sit.  Half the time I think that if anyone saw me doing this they would think I had lost it.  The other half replies, "I don't care."

I held my kids like this.  I sang to them and I rocked them.  With my son it was mostly in the middle of the night when he couldn't get back to sleep.  With my daughter it was mainly trying to get her sleepy enough to take her afternoon nap.  I loved the feel of their small bodies pressed to my chest.  The smell of their heads and the feel of their hair as I tilted my head down to kiss theirs.  When Poppy requests this kind of time with me, I do it as much for him as I do it for me.

The only other person Poppy cuddles with like that is my mother.  When we visit sometimes she walks around her house holding him and talking to him.  He loves it!  My mother calls him, "Pee Wee" or "Peaty".   It's very cute.

When we were having our quiet time this morning, a very clear memory came popped in my head. I was very young and my family was at our summer camp, aka Camp Toothacres because almost every male in our family was a dentist.  Something happened that got me all in a twitter.  My older sister, Reesa, saw it as a golden opportunity to tease me. Since she is three years older I did not have the vocabulary needed to fight back so I screamed at her whatever I could muster.  This was even funnier to her.  I must have been loud enough that my father appeared out of nowhere and scooped me up into his arms, cooed to me, and rubbed my back as he walked with me.  At 53 I can still remember how it felt physically and the sweet relief that washed over my heart and mind. My father was my savior and I was complete.

Reesa tried to tell him why I was awful and he just said that I was little.  That took the wind out of her sails.  Poor Reesa!  As the oldest of 4 children, she was always put in the position of having to understand except when I would bite her but that's a whole other story for another time.

I have a lot of memories of my father.  This is one of my favorites and I think this is why there are princess stories.  Dad was the original prince and as little girls grow up, they want to feel that same kind of love and protection from their mates.

Happy Birthday To Me

Just putting one foot in front of the other is laborious.
Just breathing is hard.
How does one push forward when the wheel on your wheelbarrow is cripplingly bent?
No amount of glue, duct tape, or mending can close up the gash.
The cherished memories are rammed by the hurtful ones causing explosions of flames creating burnt-edged holes in my heart, mind, and soul.
My North Star has gone missing.
My blanket guarding me against the cold was lifted by the storm.
Happy Birthday to me.

A Poem

You

You are the soft breeze that moves gently through the air
In the cool of the evening after the sun has set
Creating music as you wind around the hanging chimes.

 

You are the pillow that holds my head at night

Surrounding me with comfort

Caressing me with support.

 

You are the brook winding through the willows

Gurgling as you move forward

Hypnotizing me with your actions so that I have no choice but to follow.

 

You are the lightening in a storm

Temporarily blinding me with your brightness

Causing me to drop to my knees because of your power.

 

You are a man so I am a woman.

Your hands hold my heart.