yesterday, right before the moon
began to smile,
I left you.
I gathered our memories,
tossed them into an old
file box, and neatly placed it
on the top shelf of my
coat closet.
I won’t think of the way
you would spread your
legs wide, an invitation for
an eager grin and two
busy hands–those days are
long gone now.
how you hovered over
me, breath–the scent of lilac
and clover, plus fresh mint.
you were my sunshine,
a bright light that lit up
my heart for seventeen years.
today, I remember yesterday
and all of the yesterdays before
it, and I light a match,
flick it into the box where
our sacred past resides,
and watch it
burn.
I spread the ashes
over my feet
and walk away changed.
Cairn, Bakersville, NC — In front of Crooked Little Flower’s studio|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Part III: Listening To My Surroundings
I am often too busy on most days after work to be able to just sit and be — to “listen to my surroundings” as my therapist puts it. I used to have time. I used to be in a position to take comfort in rest and relaxation after a grueling day of work, but of late, things at my job have shifted, and those moments are fleeting. I am taking them back and I am doing so by taking little trips to places that bring me peace and provide me with memories that I will not forget anytime soon. What am I hearing? What am I capturing? Am I learning anything? I am, at least, I think I am.
On my birthday, April 17, 2019, I had the opportunity to meet, spend time with, and enjoy the company of Crooked Little Flower in her neck of the woods. About two hours and thirty minutes away from me, but only about an hour from where I mini-vacationed, meeting Connie is sure to be one of the best things that has happened to me this year. Here is a woman I have known and loved for over three years on this platform and we have been close in proximity and had not met, but to scratch that one thing off of the to-do-list has filled my happy box with its much-needed ammunition. I basked in the beauty of nature near the place that she calls home and took in as much as I could of the sights, sounds, and tastes of the mountains.
Studios at High Cove, Bakersville, NC|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
I toured the studio where she creates her art and also shares it with the community. This place, not only is it the homestead of amazing artwork, it is a tranquil space where upon entering it, all that broke me down previously, faded from view. I could hear the voices of artists whispering to me, asking me to tread lightly and look at a space where thoughts, ideas, and heartwork come to life. I felt the presence of artistry and all that makes up a creative and what we have to do in order to maintain the abilities to continue to create. Not only was Connie welcoming to me, but she also opened up her door to my Little Monster too, Jernee, and she gave her sniff of approval of the studio and of Crooked Little Flower too.
Jernee, posing for a “studio shot.”|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
Watching this little one romp about the space, learning her new surroundings, and trying to lay claim to every nook and cranny moved me to no end. Jernee does not know a stranger. Any place that we may visit, tour, or plan a brief stay seems as if it is mentally logged into her doggy brain and becomes one with her forever. She remembers every place we have been and it shows when we return as she gets excited, plops her tongue out, and races around those spaces and places with undeniable joy. I am taking cues from her as I watch her listen to these places. I am still in the learning process — it is taking time, but it is proving to be beneficial.
I could hear my therapist saying to me, “have fun, create new memories, and take what you need and leave the rest.” I did exactly that. I could feel the pressure in my chest breaking down a bit and suddenly, smiling felt natural again.
“Wide Open Spaces,” Bakersville, NC. How can you see this and not be moved?|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt
While listening and attempting to take in what I needed and leave what I did not, I could not stray away from the questions that have been plaguing me:
Why be overly sensitive?
What are you lacking?
What can you gain?
How can you be in a place so beautiful and still sense the ugliness of you?
And by ugliness, I mean — in my soul, in my heart. “We all have our demons” and how we deal with, struggle with, or overcome them is our personal testimony. There are a lot of things that I know I need to change and I also know that changing these things will take time. Taking the time that I needed away from my normal hustle and bustle was exactly what “the doctor ordered,” but in this case — what my therapist highly recommended. There will be shedding and as I continue to shed, I know there will also be more pain and tears and feelings of inadequacy and a bit of loneliness mixed in too and how I handle these emotions and various feelings as they come will dictate what I have learned.
For the next few weeks, I am making myself understand that although I am human and mistakes will be made, dwelling in the dark places does not have to be my end all, be all. I have more memories now to pull from and smile at on my down days. I have to thank nature, Connie, living to see another year, Jernee, and a few other remedies for that.
ripe age of
an eight and a four
an age everyone
is more concerned
about my love life
than i will ever be
idea upon idea
impressed upon me
layers of expectations
domes of doom
wise words
cement into a cage
as gentle voices
voice demands
do i know what i want?
do they know what i want?
*I doubt that you can read the above and not feel its peacefulness even though the subject appears to be one that is of great sadness. Tien is great at this. I wanted to do a direct Reblog, but that option is not available via his blog. Please show him some love via the link above. Peace, beautiful people.
I am not the heart beating in his chest
no sense of calm can make the storm
raging in him subside. I say that I know his pain,
but truly, do I?
Am I walking the same path? He has his hands raised above his
head permanently, a shell of a soul, residing in a body beaten from the
very earth that struck it into being.
Dust upon dust,
dirt upon dirt.
He shows no form of mimicry —an exhausted
engine chugging towards an unknown
destination.
I am trying to learn about his
relentless past, how it hangs over him,
dangling like fresh meat.
He tells me that the damaging years
are far behind him and
I see truth glimmering in his eyes.
“We all have our demons, our battles.
You are fighting yours. I am fighting mine. Are you willing to win because
I have no time for another loss.” The way he holds his mouth,
terrified of uttering the truth,
makes me love him even more.
Makes me realize that he has groundwork to lay and
the foundation of us may have
to be placed on hold.
The spinning web we have
weaved holds no sustenance. Everything caught, must be
released.
Today, I prepared my Living Will & Testament. I had been meaning to draft this up for years, started it, and never finished, but today–it is done. I have all of the necessary mentions, made one of my best friends the Executor and both she and my mom as primary and secondary beneficiaries. Why one of my best friends and not my mom? We have discussed this, my Mom and I. Should I go before her, she is not what one would call a stable person emotionally. She would be too overwhelmed with sadness and grief and probably not the one to execute things accordingly. As grim as death is, in the event of the death of your child, plans still have to be made, funeral arrangements need to be completed, the gathering of souls and notifying them as well must be carried out and well… to be frank, she would not be able to get this done.
My best friend, on the other hand, handles things efficiently and does so in a way that many cannot. Plus, it will not be her first time dealing with death and dying and head-mastering the arrangements. I hate tasking either of them with this, but it must be done. Although I am what most would call young in age, death does not care about that. When I am called by God, I will be called and age will be the last thing on God’s mind. While diligently compiling the list of belongings and making sure Jernee will be cared for and loved when I am gone, I became a bit emotional myself. To think of one’s own death is quite macabre, however, as I stated earlier, this is necessary. I have had a number of peers die “untimely deaths,” and I am certain there will be more. It is not my intention to leave my family wondering what my wishes are nor is it my intention to leave them solely responsible for funding my homegoing.
The nearly three-page document lacks nothing. I went through it with a fine-toothed comb and I am pleased with every item bullet-pointed, including the want to be cremated and have my ashes relegated to my mother who may do what she likes with them at her discretion. I requested a small funeral–family and close friends only. I do not see a reason to have a mass gathering for the purpose of me leaving this earth. The more people at this event, the more my mom and best friend will have to deal with and I intend for their burdens to be light. They will have enough on their plates. Should my Mom go before me, I am the Executor and her primary beneficiary and I will adhere to her wishes as she has laid them out for me. The same goes for my best friend. We talk about these matters, better to do so than not be somewhat prepared.
The only thing left to do now is to obtain signatures and get the Notary Public at my credit union to notarize the document. I will try to accomplish this in the next week or two. I can let out a sigh of relief because after the fall in the shower, nearly two years ago, the one thing bleating in the back of my mind like an untamed billygoat is, “you need a Living Will. Get it done, Tre.”
A Cornered Gurl 
You must be logged in to post a comment.