No name

I cannot speak the name here; I cannot speak the name among my family; only my closest friends can hear this name. It pains me. This name came to me without looking, without knowing it should be. I wished, I prayed, I gave up, I prayed, I wished, I decided to just be, just be in all my pain. The name came without a notice, the name came. I want to speak the name all the time, but cannot; forbidden it is to speak such a name, to speak a name that causes a smile, a laugh, a feeling of peace. I cannot speak this name. Happiness is forbidden, for now, for now. No name. No name.

Proceedings to Begin

It has been many months since I have been here. Much has happened in those months. I don't know if there is time to put it all down here, at least not tonight. I have been accused of much.  I do not attempt to defend myself because the mind of those who accuse are set on what they believe. Time is my ally now; pain is my guest for this time; friendships are my leaning post. Ginet will not speak to me unless absolutely necessary. Jess is Jess, but bitter with me often. David takes no sides, which is the way it should be. Vincent . . . well, he deals with his issue. He isn't happy about dad and me, but he will survive.

Vincent's cancer appears to be gone, but nothing can be positively concluded until September when most of the scar tissue from radiation has subsided, leaving the doctors to see what is "really" there. Chemotherapy does not fair well with Vincent. Treatments have been altered three times since February. The doctors believe that therapy might have to be stopped because his body cannot take it. He has had at least four transfusions that I can remember, but I believe it is more; and one transfusion--beyond the regular transfusions--has been for platelets. Half of Vincent's bone marrow is depleted. Pretty much, if he gets cancer again, he won't make it. Steroids are tearing up his body. I keep praying he will be off of them soon. Well, so is the chemo. Vincent struggles to be motivated to do his physical therapy, his occupational therapy, and speech therapy. His stroke has made him become weak hearted mentally, feeling as if there is no need to do anything. Prayers please.

A rough, pitted, rocky, knee wretching journey begins.

Well, Garry knows now. His reactions are desperate. While I'm excited for Vincent to go home, it only means closer contact with Garry. For a year I have reflected back to see how my feelings changed only to realize how many times I fought to stay in love with Garry. The work was always on my side, everytime; he couldn't see where any fault lie with him. Now, I feel sick when I have to go home to get things. I've been told to set ground rules. If I can get it where we can talk without him trying to touch me, to kiss me. I wanted to have the money to just move out before I ever said anything; I was given no choice to the when. I was cornered when I came home to wash clothes and take care of other needs. Pleaes pray for me as I take this step forward, as I walk this road.

I can say it clearly without feeling guilty

For the first time, I wrote the word "divorce" in my journal. Yes, I wrote the word "divorce." I kept from putting anything in my journal in fear that someone would pick it up, read it, then run off to tell the person I haven't spoken to yet. Well, that time is coming very soon. I'm figuring withing the month. I thought it would have been at the end of November, but I wanted to speak to a pastor first for some spiritual guidance as I take this step. My heart figured out long before my mind that I am no longer "in" love with Garry. I do not feel guilty. As I weighed the reasons to "not" file for a divorce, to the "do" of filing for a divorce, the do's were heavier. I also made a list of all those arguments that people would come up with in an attempt to stop me from following through. The fact about all of this is, I don't love Garry, I am not happy being with him, and I realized I have fought to stay in love with him for at least 20 years--the last 20 years that we have been married. In those 20 yeas, I went to counseling three times (without him because he wouldn't go). The focus was on "what could I change about me, and in doing so, change him." Or, "what could I do for him to get what I need in return"? Wait. Just wait. Something wrong with this picture? I'm not going back. Twice before I didn't love him and fought to regain it, all to my determent, which unhappiness most of the time, feeling empty and lonely, and doing most of the marriage as a single parent.  I will no longer live this way. If I am going to be lonely, I will be lonely because there isn't someone there physically, not lonely with someone there physically with no emotional conscious of me or my feelings, my cares, my hurts, my frustrations, or not backing me without my implicit planted foot to "prove" it is good for me to do this. His actions never needed my approval. My actions always needed his. And then, when I asked for his input, he was always to busy until I made the decision "he didn't like." Argh, I do not want to write a tagent here. Anyhow, this is where I stand; so friends, now you know what my new futurre is. I know it will be hard, but it is time to step out and see the world through free eyes.

I may have failed . . .

Love is a tricky emotions to understand with so many nuances and avenues, all the different types of love that exists--that is to say I came to love the foundation in a soul that my husband has never filled in me. No, I did not have an affair. This is a love that is friendship, a deep friendship, a friendship that shares who we are without fear of the other judging. We might question the other, but we do not judge. When I figured out this "love," I questioned myself morals, the traditions, and what it was that made this love possible. This other person fights for my emotional well-being as I fight for "Taylor's"--I use a neutral gender name for protection of self and other. There is no other attraction within this "relationship." We have agreed; we are emotionally there for each other. "Taylor" fights to remind me how strong I am; I fight to remind "Taylor" about the strength possessed within "Taylor," remind each other daily our strengths that carry us forward--Taylor has his demons, I have mind: together we fight.

Now, knowing that I no longer love my husband, and I have figured it is due to the lack of emotional support throughout our marriage and his inability to fight even with support, I pray for the guidance upon the decision I have made. Most of what will occur in the months to come will be lain at my husband's feet; his decision will decide my final decision; however, separation at this moment is needed for him to first see--I think this illness of Vincent's has started that, but he still continues in self pity and pushing others away. I doubt complete understanding will come for him--faith has always been an issue for him. I guess I'm trying to say, I want a complete man (not necessarily a man that has nothing physically wrong), a complete man that fights and supports as much as I do.

I thank you "Taylor," even if you do not make it through your turmoil for showing me how love works. I hope you read this.

Building Blocks

The dishes stay stacked      (like Richter 10 buildings)        on the counter
in both sides of the sink                                My eyes count the hour

      hand by hand into the rack      (the difficulty of shaping)

empty                   and full                 at every moment                             just one      (pulled out of place implodes)      could be wasted

      for    . . .

--I must ask myself over and over
What am I doing here--

                pen to hit the paper                       drop a word                       shatter a letter
                (rupture)                                             (toppling)                            (rubble)

--One letter, just one letter                        Dear Jesus

                Please rescue me
                                find the time to take away the cancer--

This is a waste

repeating a task                                                                     that repeats before I’ve finished

       Anaphora

at its best

More on Polar with Mom

Dawn Luebke November 3 at 1:14pm

Okay, we have a second word becoming more visible: more. Then, with occupational therapy, she was able to get him to say, "oh yeah," which is part of the order of the vowels he has been practicing: ae, o, oo, i (long e sound), and eye (forgot the phonetics for 'i'). He even said MOM today! Ha ha, I was able to hear MOM! Yesterday the speech therapist worked on picture board, identifying yes and no, pointing to it to communicate. His grade for the test given was 75%. Have to always make sure he is looking at the board.

On the physical side, when I left this morning, he was able to roll his right hand. It took a long time to get the message from the brain to the hand, but he did it. I could see the muscles contracting, the arm wanting to obey, and I could see the rest of his body working to make it so. I hope he is stood up today, placed in a chair, and sits for an hour before radiation.

And . . . the x-ray showed pneumonia depleted.