Wednesday, February 8, 2012


This wound is open again, and I hate him. Is it wrong..yes it is. I know.  I hate him for what he did to them, to us, to me. Where was the man to protect me? He was there standing over me, hurting me, night after night, always there. Relentless in his pursuit of control and savage ownership of my body, soul, mind. The sad truth is if he had loved me, if he would have sought help for his wounds, wounds that I could not heal with my own submission to his hand; I'd have stayed and continued to give it my all.
When I see these pictures of my children, my heart is open and raw again. Those feelings rush back, fear, intimidation, sacrifice. I sacrificed myself for them everyday. I hid the torture from those bright beautiful eyes. I hid the words of contempt from the mouth of their father from their innocent ears. I hid my fear of death by his hand. I hid, I hid it all. I only did what I thought was right.
At what point does the pain become less? At what point will my children be restored to me? Ten years? Twenty? My dear God, must I wait until you return? Must I wait until ALL is reconciled? Oh, my God, restore us. I need my children, and I think, they need me. just as we, your children need You. I am raw tonight and broken again.
I give you thanks my Jesus for these years You provided. Thank you for the beauty and joy that my children and I shared. I'll never regret those years, or the blessings that will one day come to fruition from them.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

My local news channel of choice here in San Diego did a story on "Divorce Parties". I didn't watch it. Divorce to me is a traumatic event. My divorce was anything but a celebration. A marriage is an entity in itself, like a person, it takes on a life of its own. Some marriages, if sanctified by God, if nurtured lovingly by both people involved, can be a beautiful relationship. It needs care, time. One person cannot care enough to keep it alive. Divorce, is the sad, desperate attempt to save a cancerous relationship that you know is dying...and you alone, can't stop it. You pray, you beg the other person to help, "please help me make this better". Yet still, it dies, slowly, painfully. It becomes a corpse that you carry around with you daily, trying to revive it. Daily, its cold response alarms you anew. There comes a point where you realize that if you don't let it go, unplug it from your heart, it will deplete your soul, and you'll die with it. There is mourning, rage, fear, failure. There are children who have to deal with the reality that this entity that was their security, unhealthy as it was...still, its dead, they need to learn to grieve and mourn. So, should divorce be celebrated? For some, it may be their way of mourning, for me, I can't bear to think of celebrating the traumatic event that threatened my sanity and delivered a devastating blow to my beautiful children. I couldn't save it died. I am still alive, my children are alive, I'm safe. For these blessings, I will celebrate.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out of time.
When the first stone looked up at the blazing sun
and the first tree struggled up from the forest floor
I had always loved you more.
You freed your braids...
gave your hair to the breeze.
It hummed like a hive of honey bees.
I reached in the mass for the sweet honey comb there....
Mmmm...God how I love your hair.
You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance.
Lost, injured, hurt by chance.
I screamed to the heavens....loudly screamed....
Trying to change our nightmares into dreams...
The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance our long way home.
I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out
in and out
in and out
of time.

~Maya Angelou

Monday, November 29, 2010

It was in their beautiful, precious and delicate

A wave thundered down upon them

now their hands are empty

water trickling past their fingertips

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Promise, that when you think of me,
You will remember me
Remember me when I was young,
my eyes how they shined
Remember the blonde hair that cascaded
my strong arms for my mothering tasks
Remember the way I could hold my child in the air
my strong legs to carry their weight on my hips
Remember the clever wit, and laughter
my voice that sang sweet songs for you
Remember not the deterioration of my memories
Remember not the slow death of my voice
Remember not, remember not this bane
Remember not this bane that takes my mind.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Yes, you may see the situation and think, "That poor boy never sees his Mom, she's never around, she just left him"  But here is what you don't see, you don't see the years I endured an abusive controlling husband for the sake of that boy and his sisters. You don't see that the day I left, the day I ran in fear, that day, I took all of my children. I took my son with me. The only choices I know how to make, are the ones that I think God wants me to for my children. So you don't see how I struggled with my heart when my boy asked to go back to his father. You don't see how I prayed, weighed and measured to determine if that would be the right choice. You don't see how I feel like a failure as a mother. You won't see the nights I cry myself to sleep praying from the depths of my soul  that God is taking care of him, comforting my boy, tending to his broken heart. You won't see the tears behind my sunglasses when I see a little brown eyed round faced boy in the park hugging his Mommy. My wound, this grief is always fresh and is pricked by the slightest of reminders. You don't see how my soul aches everyday that I can't tell him I love him, I can't guide his school lessons, or hear his laugh, hear him practicing his drums, or hold him in my arms. He is my boy, my first born. I did everything I knew how to do for my boy and his sisters. This separation, it is the cruelest thing I have ever known. My son and I walk around, apart, separate, living lives of such intolerable pain. If he chooses not to see me, how can I help him heal? If he refuses my efforts, how can I do anything? I pray, I pray...and I pray.  He believes he is a man now. After all, that is how I raised him. I wanted him to rise up and be the man God calls him to be. He is choosing this path, he is choosing to go his way. Maybe I need to stop praying for my boy, and begin to pray for my young man.  My young man, go and follow, love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. I will watch from the distance, I will watch as you go, always knowing that you are because for a time, God let me be your Mom.

My James,
I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living
My baby you'll be

Thursday, September 2, 2010

I can see you there. Looking back as people crowded me, pushing me through the security line. I didn't want to go. I don't know how I walked away from you. I can still see you there, your hand over your heart, your brave smile. Even now my chest aches to think of it, and my heart chastises my common sense for leaving you there that day... I'm coming back, I've got to get back.