Stolen Hope

This one is dedicated to one too young to have left us. I’m also dedicating it to her family, and anyone else out there who either suffers from depression or knows someone who suffers from depression.

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Life is so fresh
And we try to seize every day
But some of us just can’t.
Sometimes it’s just overwhelming.
We’re lost in this … fog and we can’t get through.
We don’t see that pit we’re about to fall into,
Where we tumble into the oh-so-familiar abyss.

But we see a light up there.
We climb out … once more into the fog.
We try again.

stumbled-into-the-pit

 

Some of us just get tired of trying.
Some kind of thief steals our hope and we no longer see the light.
Everyone has their own thief.
You’ll meet him if you ever fall so far into the abyss

rock-bottom

You truly hit bottom.
He gets in your head in that dark place and finds a way
To steal that last bit of hope,
Leaving you no strength to climb out again.
All you have are your choices – the rest of your life at rock bottom,
Or some method your thief left behind to end the pain.
If you’re lucky, you remembered you brought your phone with you.
Most of the time, people don’t remember.

The younger you are, the more vulnerable you feel.
You may have turned your phone off.

Baby girl, you were so young.
I can’t ask you why you never talked. I’ve been there.
I can’t ask the gods “why”, either.
The gods died last night when they let this happen.

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Miss you already, my Goober boy….

My son made a gruesome discovery today while I was away from the house. Bagheera, one of our kitties, was hit by a car. We are heartbroken at the sudden loss of our Bagheera, whom we affectionately called our “Goober Kitty”. He was with us for over 11 years, and lived a long and happy life, but that doesn’t make this any easier.

Goober was the only cat I ever had who talked to his reflection in the water dish. He was so worried about that cat, and he tried to set it free on more than one occasion.

He would sit outside my office window and wonder why I couldn’t pet him.

PetMeMom

But he was such a love… He wouldn’t just rub up against you; he would push his head up to you and hold it there. I never had a cat that would “headbutt” for pettins’ rather than rub his head to the side like other cats do.

When he purred, he “chuffed” like big cats do.

He was a talkative cat. I could ask him, “Who’s my goober kitty,” and he’d answer me.

He called me, “Mooommm”; quite loudly, I might add, especially when he would get lost inside the house. Not that our house was large enough to get lost in… he would love on you in one room, walk to another room, and forget where you were.

He was a beautiful Bengal boy… and his family tree had no branches. If I could have made him a kitty banjo I would have.

And I loved him with all my heart.

Bagheera Kitty   March 2004 – June 2015

Life Goes On

(more thoughts from my previous post)

Pooh passed away in the middle of the night. He’s no longer in pain, and his family can go through a grieving process that will end. They no longer have to cope with the pain of watching a family member suffer.

The sun still rose today. I was up before sunrise, as usual, in my garage making incense. Mr. Magick Man got up, as he always does, and headed off to work.

The death of one person, just as birth, is a part of life. If it were a rock being tossed in the pond of our world, it wouldn’t really make a ripple. But the water where the rock lands – right where it lands – is moved and disturbed. It doesn’t just fall back into place immediately. That water represents those immediately affected by the one person’s death; their loved ones.

Why do good people have to suffer in such a manner when there are others in this world that perform truly horrible acts and don’t have to suffer in kind? We may never know. The answer to this question may come down to your spiritual beliefs. It may be a lesson you have to learn in this life before passing to the next. It may be we do not understand God’s plan. Or it may be there is no higher power; it’s just a disease and it’s a roll of the dice.

I have friends who walk each path. Personally, I believe there is a higher power. I’ll never understand the why’s, but I try to find some kind of growth from life’s experiences – no matter where I am in that pond.

Pond Of Life

A Crisis of Faith

My first post in how long? It was supposed to be about how busy I’ve been. I was going to write about my new business, gearing up for an upcoming festival, and success. These things are not at the forefront of my mind right now. What brings me out of the shadows and back to my blog is a need to write.

…2am and I’m still awake writing this song
If I get it all down on paper it’s no longer inside of me
Threatening the life it belongs to…

“Breathe” – Anna Nalick, 2006

Today I write about a good friend of my husband’s. He’s as big as a bear, has the demeanor of a teddy, so I’ll call him Pooh, because you all know I never use anyone’s real names here.

Pooh is losing his battle with cancer. Over the past five years I’ve had the honor of knowing this man and his wife, and he’s a very good person.  My husband has known him far longer.

Pooh surprised the doctors and lived beyond their expectations. He is a stubborn old man and we wouldn’t have it any other way. But in the past month he’s started going downhill fast. This past weekend was hard, and now he’s really not in good shape. When he’s coherent he seems like himself but most of the time he’s out of it. I’ll be surprised if he makes it another week.

I’ve seen Pooh cope with the anger and frustration of not being able to do what he used to do. To have the mental capacity one has but lose one’s physical capacity and know one is just slowly withering away, with no control over the situation, is not easy. I just saw Pooh on occasion; I can only imagine what his wife saw on a daily basis and how hard this has been on her.

I see Mr. Magick Man coping with his emotions. He’s one who tucks things away. I ask how he’s doing and he’s honest – he says, “not good.” But he’s not breaking down like I would in this situation. He’s got the emotions neatly packed in a box somewhere so he can function throughout his day. Meanwhile I sit here being so close to him emotionally I can feel it. And I weep.

I wonder if it’s just this, or if there are old issues being triggered, and I already know the answer. Old issues I neatly tuck away in my own box so I can go on seem to never come out of that box. If I don’t look at them they don’t exist. They just reach up and bite me in the ass at times like this.

A good friend of mine lost his own battle with cancer years ago, when I worked at The Empire. His diagnosis was a bit worse than Pooh’s. Doctor’s gave him a very grim prognosis from the beginning – about a year, tops. He lived 3-4 years. Attitude is a lot of it, from what I hear. When he passed away, I wondered then, “Why do such good people have to die in such a painful way?” I never came to terms with that concept. I never got my answer.

People die every day and it isn’t for us to make judgment on “good” or “bad”. But when you see the news headlines or hear about these sick people in the world who do terrible things, from rapists to child molesters to terrorists, one has to wonder… Why do they have it so easy? Why is it these things happen to good people instead?

As I was in the garage this morning making incense, I fussed to the heavens above about this… again. I still don’t have an answer. I just have a headache.

‘Cause you can’t jump the track, we’re like cars on a cable
And life’s like an hourglass, glued to the table
No one can find the rewind button now.
So cradle your head in your hands
And breathe… just breathe,
Oh breathe, just breathe

“Breathe” – Anna Nalick, 2006