The Pain of Goodbye

Goodbye, although it has the word "good" in it, is the hardest word to say.   It's even harder when you have to say it to people that you have grown to truly care about and, most of all, love.    You would think that loving someone would make it easier to say goodbye merely for the fact that you'd want that person to be happy, but this isn't the case.   

I have reached a point in my life where I have to say goodbye to numerous people.  It isn't strictly one or two people, but more.  I honestly do not know how I am going to manage to do that.  It isn't something that I can plan out.  

My pastor is leaving in June.  He has had such a profound affect on my life during the past 8 years.   I cannot even begin to spell out all that he has done for me.  He gave me confidence.  He has shown me of my capabilities.  He was one of the first people in my life to show pride and awe toward the things that I can do.  He gave me a wonderful introduction to God and to religion in general.  He has been a mentor to me.   Saying goodbye to him will be crippling to a degree.  He has been a source of inspiration, humor, faith and wisdom.  

I'm in the middle of planning a goodbye party for him, and it's been hard to do.  I find that it is difficult for the both of us to discuss his leaving.  We avoid the subject when we speak.  We've bonded over the years.  I did, however, tell him that he couldn't go because we aren't done yet.  We had so much more work to do.  It didn't fly.  He told me that "I" had work to do and that I could handle it.  I'm not so sure.

My best friend told me yesterday that he and his wife will be selling their house and moving to Louisiana.  We had talked about this possibility.  He had applied for work down there about six or so months ago.  He just returned from a visit, and his wife has made the decision that they will go.   I will miss him severely.  He is the one person in my life that I can act like a 6 year old with.  He is one of the people in my life that I can be myself around.   I adore him.  

I am unsure of when he will be moving.  All I know is that I need to take advantage of the fact that he's still here.  His wife will not like it much.  She has severe issues when it comes to him and female friends.   He was supposed to walk me down the aisle at my vow renewal, but not only wouldn't his wife let him, she would not even permit him to attend.  But that is another story entirely.  

Family friends are also moving.   This is an especially hard one because it affects my entire family.  Their daughter has taken on the role of being my daughter's little sister, at least this is how my daughter sees it.  Even though they are years apart in age, they have developed a closeness.   My daughter is devastated.

My son and their son is the same age.  I was telling my son that they will be moving within a month.  He was not a happy camper.  He said that he will miss them, and I believe that.   

Things will not be the same.  

Church will be quiet without the pastor's presence and I will have to find my own way.  I will have to look above for the guidance that I need.  But it will not be given with the same level of warmth and humor.  

I will have to cage the 6 year old inside of me eventually... or maybe not, but it will not be the same.  He is a special soul.   His faith runs so deep and he leaves me in awe.  I will also not have anyone to take me for a ride on their motorcycle when it is 30 degrees out and I have no coat!  What a ride that was!  

Scout meetings and events will no longer be the same nor will the 4th of July.   

The memories will live on.  My first meeting of the pastor.  The motorcycle ride and the chewed gum thrown at me during church service.  The long text messages that often came as five separate texts.  The day I first met the father, the den meetings, state aquarium and camp outs.  The 4th of July and Memorial Day parade.  

While you want the people that you love to have a wonderful life and be as happy as they can be, it doesn't make it easy to say goodbye.   Goodbye is hard regardless.  

.. soon I shall be a memory, waiting to be erased...

I hope that I am someone that meant something to them.  I hope the memory of me will live and it is never forgotten.  

The precious memories that I have of them will be with me forever.  If I forget just a moment, I can open my journal and slowly flip the pages to relive the moments that I hold dear.  

Love is hard.  

I love... a lot.

Goodbye.

Another Has Arrived

Another day has arrived.  The sun is filtering through my bedroom blinds, and I can hear the sound of singing.  The birds are all chattering in a bush near my bedroom.  Their voices are demanding seed, suet and all things good.   

It is a typical morning for the birds and I.   They will sit there chattering until I make the move to feed them.   It becomes a battle of who will hold out the longest -- me or them.  Can they chatter for hours on end?  Actually they can.  Can I withstand the constant chattering without breaking down?  Actually I can.  

So begins the battle.. 

I wrote yesterday that I needed to simplify my life.  The truth of the matter is that while I can simplify my life with material possessions and with some activities, I still have responsibilities.   I suppose I will always have responsibilities that I cannot possibly shrug off.  

Today is one of those days where I need to take care of some of those responsibilities.  My best friend will be picking me up later this afternoon to go visit a church friend of ours.  He has had such a difficult time of late.  He has been in and out of the hospital for a year now.  He has had complications involving his diabetes.  He's has had several knee replacement surgeries.  One of those surgeries resulted in a nasty infection that the doctors had a hard time ridding his body of.  He was left without a knee until the infection finally decided to leave his body.  Last week he had heart surgery.  His doctor did not think that he would survive the surgery, but he has; however, he wants to die now.  He needs to fight - not die.

Free community breakfast, late summer camping trip, prayer bears, Easter egg dyeing with a hunt on Easter, mother's day brunch, father's day bbq, a harvest festival and more than a handful of mission activities to prepare for.  These are just some of my responsibilities that I need to attend to. 

 

Whew.. I just made myself tired by thinking about all of it.  

 

As daunting as it may all sound, I am looking forward to each of them.  I just do not want to do them all today or tomorrow or even the next day.  Doling things out one bit at a time.

There is one event that I am anxious for.  The end of May I am scheduled to go to the shore for a church conference.  I was chosen to go and represent our church.  There I will be voting on what I feel would be in the best interest of our church.  I'm looking forward to that because it will mean 3 days at the beach (no children or husband), and my pastor tells me that communion will be held on the beach itself.  Wildwood is my favorite of all shore communities in NJ.  It will be beautiful.

But for now..  

Now a house needs to be cleaned, a shower needs to be taken and a child needs to be taken to work.  

Responsibilities.

 

The Time Is Now

Currently, I am reading a book titled "Gift from the Sea" by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.  It was first published in 1957.  As I reading an old article about someone that I admire, I noticed that he said that this book was his most favorite.  I decided to give it a read.  I'm glad I did.

It is making me question life, particularly my own.  I am finding that I have begun to ask myself if certain things are necessary in my life.  I am also finding that most of the time the answer is "no".  This isn't much of a surprise really.  It is pretty apparent what is needed and what is not.  

This book has stumbled into my life at probably the best time.  It is now spring and I am finding myself trying desperately to shake the winter blues.  The blues grasped a hold of me quite tightly and would not release.  

Spring is a time of renewal.  Flowers push their way through the hard earth to show the world their bright, vibrant color.  Perhaps the flowers, themselves, have a lesson for me to learn.  I need to push through this rough period of blues and let the world see my colors.  

I sat in a restaurant on Saturday with my husband eating lunch.  As we sat there, a family that is familiar to us walked through to go to their vehicles.  The mother and father are devout Catholics, and they have 9 children together.  It was simply amazing to watch them.

I stared out the window in amazement as the oldest son carried the youngest outside.  Both had smiles on their faces, and were clearly enjoying each other's company.  The mother, in her handmade dress, turned around in mid-stride to locate her daughter.  Her daughter, wearing a exact replica of her mother's dress, smiled at her mother and ran up to her.  The mother was tender toward her daughter.  Her hand went up to caress her daughter's hair and I could clearly see just how much she loved her daughter.  It was quite amazing to witness.

They appeared happy even though they lacked the frivolous things most people carry around like badges of honor.  

I turned to my husband and asked, "Would it bother you if I dressed plain?  Would it bother you if I wore a simple long jumper?"

He said, "It wouldn't matter what you wore."

He meant it.  

It's time for change.  It's time to shake off these blues and start planning for spring.  

A bigger garden is on tap for spring so it will provide even more yummy goodness for my family to enjoy.  I would much rather eat from a garden that my own hands had a part in creating and keeping alive than I would somewhere else.  

Flowers, trees and bushes will be planted.  I cannot wait for this.  

A cosmetic overhaul of my kitchen is on the "to do" list.  Bright yellow and crystal clear cabinet knobs.

Things are going to happen.  It's time to change.  It's time to rejuvenate.  It's time to blossom.

I am quite looking forward to the change.  I'm looking forward to finding joy in simpler things.  Maybe it's time to shake all off all of life's frivolities.  

Simple can be better.  

No, it will be better.

 

The Wicked Queen

 

Forgive grudgingly, but never forget..

This is my motto.  I find it difficult to forgive someone for doing something that caused me to hurt.  You see, I hate pain.  I hate physical pain and emotional pain.  I believe that I can handle physical pain better.  

Hubby and I were discussing on Monday night a person that went out of their way to hurt me.  It was a pretty nasty incident, and the sad part was that I didn't realize that I was being used in such way that would make my life explode into pieces.  It was, by all accounts, a bad scene.  

I held a certain position and because of that position, I could allow her to handle a certain event.  So, I allowed her to do it.  I had no problems with her and neither did my husband at the time.  We knew she was a bit "out there", but really.. who is normal?  What is normal?  

She would phone a couple of times a day to iron out details.  She would email four or five times per day.  I honestly believed that we were becoming friends.  She began to open up to me (or so I thought) and I began to open up to her.  

Little did I realize that all that I had said in confidence (it should have been kept confidential --it's what friends do) would be hung out on the line to twist in the wind.  After the event was over, the proverbial shit hit the fan.  All that I had said was twisted and .. oh god.. it was horrible.  I think horrible is an understatement.  

I was hammered with accusatory emails.  I was accused of things I did not do nor did I say.  It went as far as being told that there was a rumor that I was practically an invalid.  I am not sure where that came from!  

I was devastated.  I cried.  I hurt.  I wondered why it all ended up that way.  I still to this day don't know why.  I suppose she wanted her moment in the sun and she got it.  I gave it to her but in the process she hurt me.  

I haven't forgiven her.  I have tried, but I find it so difficult to do so.   I see people who was tangled up in the aftermath of the event and daggers are shot my way -- even now five years later.  

I see her from time to time.  She refuses to look at me and I am thankful for that because I am unsure as to whether or not I could hold my tongue.  I believe what tweaks me now is the uncomfortable air that exists when I see her husband.  I see him on a weekly basis.  

I have always believed that every single human being has a good side.  I imagine that most people would see me as naive.  I suppose I am to an extent.  The shock of finding out that people don't always have the best intentions is soul jarring to me.  

What she did jarred my soul.  I guess since I am writing about it that it still tweaks me.  It doesn't make me angry.  It makes me sad.  

I believe in my heart that all people are capable to treating one another with respect and kindness.  When respect and kindness aren't shown, I find it hard to forgive.  Once hurt, I will never forget. 

 

Melancholy Joy

It's Tuesday and here I sit doing my laundry.  Oh it's an exciting day!   I do it at a public place because hubby was supposed to fix my dryer six or more months ago and hasn't done so yet.   So here I sit...

Coming here isn't all that bad actually.  I get to do one of my favorite things:  people watch.  My grandfather taught me the fine art of people watching while sitting on the boardwalk in Seaside Heights.  Oh the people we saw!   

The laundromat (not this one) in general holds some pretty good memories for me.  My hubby and I did the bulk of our dating at a laundromat.  It was where I agreed to meet him in person for the first time.    

We really raised hell at the laundromat.  We both acted like 10 year old kids without supervision.  I was wild and so was he.   Those were the good ole days-long past and long ago.  

Now he falls asleep on the sofa on the weekends and I stare out the window wanting to get up and go.  I wonder if it's ever possible to capture that glimmer of youth again.  

But I digress...

So here I sit.  It's nowhere near as exciting as it was 10 years ago.   But I suppose the people watching will have to do... for now...

Falling Into the Valley of the Unknown

This is what this blog entry is all about.  The unknown.. meaning I am not sure why I logged into here.

Hmmmm....

I ran away from home on Sunday.  I grabbed my keys, my purse and slammed the front door behind me.  In fact, I slammed the door so hard that I splintered the molding around the stained glass windows of the front door.   I was angry.

There are a lot of times when I feel taken for granted.  

"Oh, it's okay, she will always be here to do this or that or this or that."  

"It's okay that she's not taken care of when she's sick.  She can handle it on her own." 

"It's okay that she's hurting.  She's strong.  She can take it."

"My feelings will always be more important than hers, so it's okay that I whine about what's in my head and blatantly ignore what is in hers."

These are the messages I get.  I don't know whether or not these are true, but these are presented to me in their own way, shape or form.  I hate it.

I reached the end of the line and ran away.  I left behind my cell phone and my partings words were, "I am never coming back."

At the time, I meant it.   I meant it with every ounce of my being.  I tore out of my driveway like a bat out of hell.  Yes, I eventually came home, but I never lost my disappointment in others.  

I came home to find that they were gathered around the television laughing at something stupid.  It was taken for granted that I would return, obviously.  

They all were so upset that they made and ate their lunch.  They flipped through the channels to get a cartoon on, and ceased to even remember that I had left the house with the intention of never returning.  

I don't feel important.  I don't feel that I really matter much anymore.  Sure, I matter when the clothes are dirty, the house is a pigsty and when someone needs me to buy something, pay a bill, etc.  

But me... 

Not Mom or Wife.

Me.

Melissa.

This individual does not exist around here.  

I'm not the girl I used to be.  I've grown, matured and aged quite beautifully, I must say.

I may need stronger glasses, but I digress...

I was mad.

I was mad at the kids for ignoring my demands to stop fighting.  I was mad at him for not opening his eyes and remembering why he begged me to marry him.  Yes, he really did beg.

Now.. I'm not so sure where I stand.  

I know I'm standing on my own two feet, but then again, I've been doing that for awhile.  

Be responsible for your own happiness.

I heard that somewhere before.  It may be time to follow it.

Make a Wish

I made a wish once.  Well, that isn't entirely true.  I have blown countless fluffs of dandelion in hopes that all of my wishes and dreams would come true.  I made sure that none of the fluff landed on the ground (at least not in my presence), because I knew that if the fluff landed, the wish would never be granted.  So I would chase the fluff all over and blowing beneath it so it would stay airborne.  It didn't matter if it meant diving into the dirt or rolling across the grass to assure it stayed afloat.  I did whatever was necessary to make sure that the wish granted would be mine.  

It never truly worked.  I never was granted any of my wishes -- childish ones or not.   This did not deter me from making more.  Even today, in my old age, I will still grasp a hold of a dandelion stalk and bring it to my lips.  My lips will pucker and I will blow ever so gently and send the wisps of fluff fluttering through the air.  As I do this, my eyes will screw up tight and my mind makes that one wish.  I will still chase the fluff around, making sure that they shall never touch the ground.

I have yet had a wish granted.

I will still send those little pieces of fluff spiraling into the air, and I will still hope and wish.   

I will also wish on the first lone star that twinkles in the night sky.  I close my eyes and recite that infamous poem:

"Star light, star bright,

The first star I see tonight;

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish I wish tonight."

 

The first star never holds my wish.  Do I give up?  No, I search the night sky for the lone star and make my wish.  I've been wishing for the same wish for four years now.  

As I sit and reflect on my wish and how the past four years have played out, I must confess that there have been bits and pieces of my wish given to me.  At times, the pieces of the wish came to me wrapped in a shiny bow.  They leave me with little droplets of memories that leave me feeling as though I am 14 again, as I quickly write about them in my private journal.   

I had always thought that when I grew up that those little things that make your young teenage heart go pitter-pat and makes your squeal with delight would end.  I truly thought that I said goodbye to them, but they still exist. 

The feeling of butterflies in your tummy as a glance comes your way.  The heart skipping a beat as the sound of a voice fills your ears, and the loss of thought as someone is near.  The feeling of being totally incapable of holding a mature and thoughtful conversation with someone just because they are standing there.  Oh how charming is that!  

 

I will still search the night sky for that lone star and make a wish.   I will still bring a dandelion to my lips and blow. 

Wishes don't have to end.  Wishing reminds me that I am alive inside.  It reminds me that "I" am me and I think, feel and breathe.  It reminds me that I am an individual that wants things, feels things and desires much.  

I wish... I wish...