Saturday, August 26, 2017

A Letter to My Story...


August 26, 2017
Dear Madison Joan,                      

You are My Story, Madison, because I have demanded that.  But you are 
My Daughter 
first and foremost, whether The Story or not.

This year through the 16 days that would’ve been the days you lived, I have had so many different emotions.  Oh, the usual ones are there, of course:  

dreadful anticipation,
crushing chest sadness,
dizzy with too many thoughts too many times per second,
waiting for each day to be over, wishing they would last forever,
pit-in-your-stomach scared - I’m not sure of what - but constant immense fear,
vicious wonder,
contemptuous rebellion,
the bottomless empty,
and so on,

But in addition, this year, I have been strangely awaiting your Sweet 16 next year.  I don’t know why, but it looms in my head since I began thinking of your 15th.  Is it because 16 is such a special time for a girl? Is it because there is no way it could be that long and that short all at once? No, that’s how it feels all the time.  

My hopes for myself this year are two.  One, that I don’t torture myself for the whole year dreading 16, which will come whether I dread it heavily or just the same.  And two, that you all remember My Madison's name once this year as a gift to me in her memory.

So that’s it.  I don’t have the answers.  
My Daughter, I am putting your name out there again in memory of the day you died, Madison Joan Friel, August 10-26, 2002.

Love always,

Thursday, August 10, 2017

My Life of Emotional Treading

swimming alone,
head above the surface, carefree with just an occasional wake of a wave.   

swimming in tandem with My Love,
head in, but now - scanning, looking around for the next troubled wave.

swimming too deep,
almost lost - but somehow I’m keeping afloat.
I’m alive (or am I?) only because My Love is holding me. 
I am supported.

falling, falling, deep, deep
beyond all places one should go, the place your mother didn’t even warn you about.  
I have no choice. I was not given one. I am lost.
Even with My Love holding me, supporting me.  

We are both lost in the exact same, completely different place.

T i m e.

T i m e.

T i m e.

and so on…

swimming with my head submerged -
knowing other proverbial shoes will most certainly drop,
Trying to savor on eggshells, when I remember well.

once in awhile, diving deep - There, again,
spotting others lost, drowning in the deep darkness
and I’m grasping at them by their fingertips.
bringing them up to as far as they are willing and capable.

but - now I’ve been There, again,
semi-drowning with that overfamiliar anvil on my chest.
It’s that lost, deep darkness.
And now, again, fresh - raw - vulnerable.  

I cannot stay away. I want to disappear. Really I do - sometimes forever.
Yet, somehow I must choose this, as an unwilling participant -  
Or is it a willing one?

T i m e.

T i m e.

look! I see another lost one below. 
I feel my fiery anger swell at their proverbial shoe.
It’s not even mine - yet.
“I’ve already done this for us all!” I’m shrieking -  at noone - again.

reaching out,
I must.
I’m compelled unwillingly?
I’m in It, again - with them, raw, again.
but still I’m There - in my own lost, deep darkness.        

My life of emotional treading.

In loving memory on what would be your 15th birthday,
Madison Joan Friel
August 10, 2002 ~ August 26, 2002
Forever my daughter