A glassware breaks... you pick up the shards of glass... and glue them together... but it is a broken one and the cracks are so visible... and to hide them, you paint it with beautiful colours and place it somewhere safe and use it for something else that it was not meant to be used for...
There are moments when I wonder, isn't that what I am? Isn't this a short write on my life? Isn't the writer the glassware painted and kept elsewhere and used for something else like... discarding what's not needed...? Or things that we might need one day... Someday...?
This is a weak moment, I confess. And more often than not, Sana Rose is the person I become when I run away from my life. When love is not very fair... When life seems so... blunt... When it's so blank even when it could be filled with so many precious things that matter... When I am not heard...
When my heart is a hearth where my very average and sensitive dreams and hopes are burnt... God hears me and keeps me going even when I am denied the lesser things that I need most, unlike other girls of my age...
But it can make me cry, if you offered me some love that's unstained, some tenderness... I would crumble down to nothingness moistened by tears if you gave me a hug - I am so fragile...
My heart quivers as I write this, for opening myself to the numerous eyes out here is not the coolest thing...
I grew up wanting time and words of love and care, instead of food, clothes and a house from my mother.
The void is so great that, I constantly tried to fill it, but nothing substituted it, not for a long time. And now, I thought, someone has. But I again and again find, that void is still empty... And every time I try to fill it, it just stays that way. Everyone passes me over that void, no one looks into it. And those who try, can't see into it.
Even after all these years...
Pema Teeter, the Story Charmer, is doing an amazing and beautiful series on her blogsite (www.storycharmer.com) to commemorate the tenth anniversary of 9/11. What she is doing is genius, and is breaking my heart daily. (I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one.) This is a good thing.
My dad died when I was seven years old. He dropped dead of a massive heart attack when he was only 42, leaving a 33 year old widow with two young girls. It was 1951, and I lost not only my dad that day, but also my mom who then had to go out and work two jobs, and also our home to renters, while we moved into a 15 foot camping trailer. My sister was ten days away from being two years old, and we were days away from Thanksgiving. Christmas was a 15 cent coloring book and lots of sad faces. Tears were discouraged.
I spent the next two years praying every night to die and join my dad in heaven. If I hadn't been raised in church and taught that suicide was the only unforgivable sin, I would have killed myself. Instead, I spent a lot of time trying to trick God: staying out in the cold trying to get pneumonia, walking too close to Hwy 66 trying to get sucked under the wheels of semi-trucks, staying too long on the railroad tracks hoping I'd trip as I jumped out of the way of the freight trains that came by across the road from our house. None of it worked. Only time caused me to give up my quest for death at such a young age.
I think it was the death of my first step-father that shook me out of my deep depression, because my mom was already going out with the next man she would marry. And when she married him we were going to move into town. That was going to radically change my life.
I may have moved forward a lot sooner had grieving been encouraged in any fashion. Instead I was told not to cry, to forget about my dad. We severed all contact with my dad's family, all those aunts, uncles and cousins I had grown up with to that point. All were now erased from my life. Mom remarried only four months after Dad died. Today I realize she did it so we could move back into our house, and she could work only one job instead of two. Then I thought she was trying to replace my dad, and I hated my stepfather and withdrew from my mom.
Grieving is good, necessary even. When we repress those feelings, they do not go away, they just go deep. I believe I'm carrying about fifty pounds of tears in my body to this day. Will this be the year I let them go?
What are you holding on to?
By:
Joe Sottile,
on 9/12/2010
Blog:
Joe Silly Sottile's Blog
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When they have anniversaries of sad or tragic events, theyears seem to skip by, and I am always asking myself the same question, “Was itreally that long ago? It seems like it happened last week.” Maybe that’s truefor me because those memories of events seem so vivid.”
I don’t know why I had the television on that morning, but Idid. I saw the second plane hit the second tower as it occurred on TV. The hostof the Morning Show didn’t know what was going on in New York City, possibly awhole invasion of the city, starting with two planes used for the destructionof landmark buildings and thousands of lives
.
At that time in my life I had been retired a year, and wewere in the middle of a painting all the ceilings in our house. So, we had theTV on constantly. We stopped whatever we were doing for new news about theincident. From our covered sofa and other chairs, the tears filled up ourhearts and mind, as relatives looked for their missing loved ones. Those scenesare etched in my heart.
Soon after that there was a new spirit in America—cars wheredriving with little American flags on them, many houses proudly displayed flags,people were opening doors for one another, and smiling at strangers. We wereall glad to be alive, and determined to live in a better, safer world.
That “high” of good feeling and good in the country hascertainly declined, due to two wars and bad economic times. If only we couldput our tears symbolically in one place and move on with a brighter spirit,while never forgetting 9/11.
That is possible—at least to put our tears symbolically inone place. There is real 100-foot TeardropMemorial that was dedicated September 11, 2006 in a ceremony attended by formerPresident Clinton and other dignitaries. The sculpture was donated by theRussian people and is located in New Jersey.
The Teardrop Memorial is verylarge, big enough to contain all our sacred tears for those who died...
By:
Anita Mejía,
on 9/22/2009
Blog:
Monday Artday
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By: Anita Mejía,
on 9/22/2009
Blog:
Sugar Frosted Goodness
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By: Sandra de Helen,
on 8/24/2011
ouch.
Stunning.
this is sweet! love the style