Happy & The Holidays

I wish the stain of losing people we love (to suicide, overdose and strings of unhealthy choices that could lead nowhere else) would fade, just a little.

Bright and shiny holidays are smeared.  Special occasions chipped.

I'm so fucking tired of the missing, the grieving and the sadness.  

I'm so fucking tired of making the best of shitty situations.

I'm tired of a Christmas song coming on and instantly reminding me of my mum, bopping around in our kitchen making our house smell like magic.  

I'm tired of my eyes filling up with tears totally against my will.  

I'm tired of sitting here, stunned still, that the holidays I miss so much will never be again.

And I'm tired of wanting that so badly because my rational mind knows that we must create our own version of holidays now and keep moving forward.

But how does one wake up each morning and choose to move forward "happily" when people they love didn't even choose to stay?

With a lot of energy, hard work and discipline, that's how.

With a lot of unanswered questions, too.

My pendulum swings with ferocity some days.  

It might sound fun but trust me, it isn't pretty.

I go from happy to sad, pissed to glad in a blink.   It's like an ultimate spin cycle but without choosing it.

Holidays magnify the spin.

Holidays magnify everything, actually.  The happy moments, the sad moments, the wanting and the missing.

The holidays are fucking exhausting.

I think I need to go back to bed and try to choose "happy" one more time.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

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Phoenix Rising

Close to a month ago I heard all this yelling and commotion next door.  I had just gotten out of the shower, threw clothes on and hustled outside to find nothing but silence.

A few minutes later my other neighbor, my hippie-botanical-boho-buddy, Jim, came by all worked up.  He told me the dog next door had attacked a cat (it was the owner I had heard yelling to try to stop the dog).  Jim had intervened, did his best to save the cat by prying it out of the dog's mouth and putting it over my fence, to safety.  He asked if he could go out back to find it and I followed him to our wall of areka palms.  Which is where we found her.

I could see big, fearful eyes in the dark of night…and that's about it. She couldn't move.  I wrapped her in a blanket and we carried her inside, getting her settled into a nice cozy spot in the garage (safe from my 4-pawed tribe).

By the time Bobby got home I had already did my best to clean her up and sooth her a bit.  We both believed her to be feral.  Bobby didn't want to say it but I could tell he didn't think she had much of a shot at surviving.

I was worried about managing her pain but I had a feeling she'd be ok.  We agreed to nurse her overnight as long as she appeared to be managing ok and see what her status was the next day before bringing her to the Humane Society where I worried they'd rush to put her down (potentially being feral in an area that's overrun by feral cats).

Well, several weeks later I'm happy to report that she's a purring, nuzzling and eating machine!!  Her legs are little wonky still but I guess that makes sense when you have a boxer clamp down on your hips and try to crush you.

Truth be told - she's a survivor!

I have eased into leaving the garage door open for extended periods of time uncertain if she's in a hurry to go back to wherever she came from…but each time I make my way back to the garage to check on the status of Phoenix, there she is, just looking at me as if to say "you don't want me to leave, do you?".

Crazy Cat Lady status is inching toward red alert.

:: Always from under the same sky ::

Tara

The Hurt

Sometimes The Hurt comes rushing in with the force of a tsunami.

Merciless, destructive and with the art of surprise on it's side, it takes you under upon impact.  

You try to find your way to the surface but The Hurt is so heavy, you find yourself sinking, fast.

You are going down and you know it.   

As you tumble, your lungs tighten, your heart aches and the tears fall but in this current, they are uncatchable.   

Instead, you watch them scatter into the chaos, arm outreached as if there was once a chance to recollect them.

This is not unfamiliar territory.

You've been swept up by this before.  

The Hurt has taken you for many a ride.  

By now at least you know the only option is to let it flow over, in and through you.  

You don't bother fighting it.  

The Hurt doesn't lose.

You have to let it take it's course.  

It rushes madly through all of your cracks and open wounds.

It leaves you no option other than to cling and float upon the raft of Hope.

Hope that it passes quickly.  

Hope that your breaks and battle wounds are healing.

Hope that The Hurt won't return too soon.  

Hope that someday you will be stronger than The Hurt.