Winter whispers in my ear cold & flu season is definitely here. We have not been spared–no dismissals, no chance at making ourselves useful. Cuddled under covers with our loves, fishing through movies in fingerless gloves. No “White Christmas”, but payback has landed, thankful to God I’m sheltered–not stranded.
I’m taking time to count my blessings, praying intently, sharing my confessions. The days ahead are getting longer, my broken heart is beating stronger. Old Man Winter isn’t asking for much, one day soon, I’ll embrace the touch of anyone in my circle or crew I’m waiting for that day, it’s true.
Isolation keeps me weary, my brown eyes are often teary. I can’t change the season, and there’s really no reason for me to rush time. Here and now is sublime.
I don’t send Christmas cards to you anymore and while that may not be a thing to share with others for many people, it is something I think about. eighteen years of celebrations and laughing and love and gifts and . . . and . . . every fucking thing else and now . . . nothing.
I walked away from a vehicle that was a financial burden when the price was right and I thought immediately after, “This is something _______ would do, not me.” but, there I was, nodding to the rhythm of the words coming out of the sales associate’s mouth. I took my check and ran.
the dog buries herself in my lap, nesting painfully– my thighs have scratch marks failing to heal. I spoil her. she can have her way. hers is a pain I don’t mind.
I set myself up, Shutterfly’d customized holiday cards with my smiling face plastered on the front — the dog, wearied and bothered on the back. this is our way of being present in a time where place is no longer tangible — I can’t touch it. I can’t get to it.
I’ve spent these last two years secretly weeping over a woman who has yet to call me to ask me to return. how egoistic of me — how traditionally insufficient. but I said it. I admit it. shouldn’t this count for something?
winter is spinning around the lonely souls — blanketing us with past loves and reminding the willowed bones of their frailty. what would I say if I heard your voice today? how would I react?
who knows? who knows? I just know it’s one more year of no Christmas card to you and no redemption for me and that . . . still hurts when it’s not supposed to — not anymore.
I keep saying I’m missing out on so much — I’ve lost every aspect of growth in front of me — I feel like I’m chasing after it — losing my speed. I’m trying . . . I swear, I am. My family is increasing in numbers — the beauty of life sheds her gifts upon us, I am speechless.
My brothers keep me informed. My phone is home to hundreds of pictures of nieces and nephews from the beginning of their time here on this earth. I can watch their growth as much as I want. I can rewind — playback — fast forward, and stop time digitally, but in real life . . . Nothing can be halted.
I don’t have that kind of power.
From the day he roared into this world, I could tell Thyrie would be a thinker — an observer. I saw it in his eyes. His soul has been here before, it isn’t its first time. I dream of the day I will hold him close to me, kiss his forehead, and sing him lullabies.
I am four hundred sixty-one miles away from the call of his cries, the kindness of his giggles, and the wonderment smoothed behind his ears. I am so far away but so close to him — connected by blood — linked by history. How did I get to be an auntie of six? How?!
There is a nation rising up in Thyrie’s heart — he’s got a grip on this world already. I think he knows what it needs — what we lack. “There’s no pressure,” I whisper to myself, but I can feel the intensity of his stare. He will be infinite change — on loan to us for years to come. Are we prepared?
I have lived long enough to see my siblings form their own families; whether big or small, and I still tear up reminiscing about their childhood. When you can change a brother’s diaper or give a sister her bottle or help another brother learn how to swim, while the youngest one watches on — waits for his turn, or you cook, clean, bathe, and rear up ones lagging behind you in years — you gain wisdom.
In the eyes of this wondrous creation, I see new beginnings and a world I’m not so afraid to attack anymore. I will call the day to me when I will bask in his coos — be altered by his smell. He has so much to teach me and I am here to learn.
*I wish I had more words to appropriately convey the joy I have in watching my family grow. I believe Thyrie will be another reason for me to load up my things and travel home and past home to just be with my people. Looking at him, it’s hard for me not to want to race as quickly as I can to him.
it is Saturday morning before the birdsong ends, my neighbor tests his drone. he prepares its landing just before Jernee and I cross his path. he giggles excitedly at his accomplishment.
I say to him, “Like a little kid on Christmas Day.” he responds, “Almost.” the joy shivering through his skin is contagious. I giggle too. I watch him swoop his body through the air — throwing it at the sun, following the seeker.
this moment of happiness is logged into my memory bank. I’m blessed by its occurrence. he crosses over from his side of the complex to mine, plants his feet onto Autumn’d grass, and sets his toy free into the air again.
his smile remains. I pick up my stride getting close to our building I feel the pressing of air charging for my veins. this is my favorite season — it pulls my body out of mourning and we welcome the dead and the dying knowing new life is ahead.
the sun opens its eyes, clearing the crust of the previous night, and light kisses my face. I motion my eyes to my neighbor and he’s shooting his head in small spurts to the right, guiding his robotic friend to safety.
Jernee is a strutter. she attacks our walks with the vigor of a playful puppy instead of a senior and I am somewhat jealous of this gift. I pace myself, battling a shoddy ankle from a shower fall five years ago. the pain still lingers, but I fight it head-on.
the greatest love for me at this very moment is walking ahead of me, tags and metal identifiers clinking together — little random bells making their own music. a signal that we have arrived home and can now find sweet rest.
*Author’s Note: I am currently reading, Greatest Love by Dr. & Master Zhi Gang Sha with Master Maya Mackie and Master Francisco Quintero. It’s a great piece of literature in which to lose myself after a few stressful days of work.
He calls her up, one more time for a memorable event Blessing her with extras like they do Jake cuz she’s got great rates Put the money where it hides tips her more than she desires
She doesn’t even count it anymore lets it pile up like before She’ll have enough for a new car new house . . . new life No more sticks No more stones and absolutely no more broken bones
He woos her with his lisp showers her with special gifts She pawns them at “The County Dime” They pay her for her time She leaves him empty-handed Ole boy is whipped and stranded She doesn’t even look back
Girl’s got moves to make hijacks his heart and that’s the breaks No one comes to his aid this is what happens when everything you want isn’t stamped “paid” He searches for an exit
None can be found None is at the ready She keeps things nice and steady Prepares herself for a new leaf changes colors . . . changes beliefs But still remains the same