When you acknowledge him, you acknowledge me, one of the deepest parts of me that loves him with my every atom.
When you mention him, even if in some small way, even if you never met him, even if it’s as simple as saying his name. When you mention him, you are giving me the freedom to share the part of my heart that I too often lock away.
Because when someone dies, we don’t forget them. We live our lives and learn to shape them around the missing piece. We hunt for hope and joy and peace because grief and survival doesn’t allow for anything else. When they are gone from our presence, they are never gone from our memories, our hearts, our lives.
When you remember them. Their name. Their face. Their memories. Their legacy. Acknowledging any of it, acknowledging all of it, you give us one of the greatest gifts you can give.
When you acknowledge them, you acknowledge us.
I STARTED this blog – well the first SILVERBIRD Just to write about my life in longterm recovery from alcohol and drugs.
Then my beloved man, Izzy Foreal. ran off into the Forest on his Morning run and never came home again and my writing became a desperate survival tool.
3 months later, I became ill from grief and shock and heartbreak and developed sepsis pneumonia which led to an INTUBATED COMA AND THE BLOG developed into one of my very few connections to sanity and the world and some way of facing each day.
Its less than 2 years since my world collapsed and I have not clarified a great deal of what happened to me and within me and around me. I just write and read and keep on going. Sometimes, its barely that.
When I write a light post as I did today, that’s just part of it. A smile here before my soul is smiling. A word here when words are empty to me.
I have my photographs and my internet and I value them.
I have my Little Girls whose pure love has brought me back from the edge of the abyss more than anything else of which I am consciously aware.
Tonight , I see just how tough this has been and still is.
I would like to keep gaining a clearer mind and the ability to write. I might or I might not. I might live or I might not. I might stay here or I might go South.
Bot tonight, Compassion for myself is with me and an acute awareness of just what an enormous task has been given to me.
Lord have mercy on my stain-ed soul.
I wonder why the hibiscuses are growing so well. I am a non gardener – but these are working and are exquisite.
Anyways – each time I sit down to write about what this is like , the enormity of it shatters me and I turn once more to the flowers and the birds and the water and the love of the little ones.
One of the difficult things is that I appear to look OK. The hidden damage. I have 28 years of Addiction Recovery as a training ground for this. People seem to need to see blood or broken bones before they believe. So, I am finding my own new baseline and its difficult. Particularly because a good deal of the time my mind is not functioning well .
The weakness and fatigue are debilitating as is the struggle simply, at times to stand up or walk down the one step between my living room and the kitchen and bathroom.
Now I also have vision problems since the cataract surgery and pain in my neck.
I don’t get to many meetings. I am often alone.
I am someone unlike the woman I was 2 years ago. I do not yet know this Woman well. I know that she has too many responsibilities and duties for someone in her condition at this time.
Lord its just too hard the way it is. Lead me through this.
Well there you go. I did the Suggested Thing and got out there past my nervousness and resistance. Had a good time in an odd way. Chatted and drank iced tea and took photos. God I am lonesome most of the time.
People said great things about my Izzy. We chatted and – Geez , him and me we was good peoples. I don’t know how to be good peoples on my own.
Down South the Eden people walked the Bundian Way and sent me videos with bellbirds calling .
I swear that this evening my head is slightly out of the swamp and filth of despair.
Fenua who makes FART furniture spoke with me . He said Iz ran past his place each morning and he wanted to stop and talk with him but didn’t get to. He credited Iz with helping revive music down here.
I spoke with friends and strangers and My dear Hug Wad of whom I am very fond joked with me.
I spoke with the record man. Ah Lord I have a history here but my familiar restlessness is upon me.
It don’t matter tonight because the anguish has passed once more. I am less lonely. Less unsure. Still clean and sober.
Good as it gets sometimes. Now Facetime with Eden. I have eaten a roast dinner from Meals on Wheels and seem able to breathe more easily after dark.
I have encountered Gentleness and Kindness and laughter today. Makes a difference.