New Waves

My thoughts kept rolling over like the ocean waves lapping over the rocks I was staring at. The smooth stone on the edge of the jetty was slightly more comfortable to sit on them the rocks rising out of the ocean. Are there ever any new waves? I ask silently. Or are you the same waves from a thousand years ago? My brain offers up theme song to help answer the question 🎶"But in the end, it doesn't even matter"🎶 Linkin Park floats through my thoughts. 

I turn to the man sitting next me, I am the only one that can see him and hear him. Most days I convince myself that I am imagining him, my loneliness with a depth so great it has built me a friend that only lives in my imagination. Other days he responds in ways that surprise me or answers things that I didn't know. Maybe I am crazy-, I hear a laugh leave my throat that surprises me. I look around to see if anyone noticed. But I am still alone on the jetty. 

Roger- the name he introduced himself as to psychic who introduced me to him and informed me that I had a ghost walking with me through life- I drove all through the East Coast. Why didn't anything extravagant happen? I sigh as the disappointment settles inside me. 

Rachelle- Roger is Italian, not my words the psychics, and when I hear him speak it's a pretty heavy accent. He always says my name in Italian-  I am not a magician, I could not hop in bodies and move them and speak for them to do extravagance. 

A cold gust of wind cuts through the layers of shirts I am wearing, and the sun's warmth on my face gets whisked away with the wind. I tighten my hug on myself, I guess to keep the rest of the gust from wrapping all the way through me. 

Roger, I am ready for a change right? Am I really not happy? I have this hole that I have been trying to fill for so long, I can't even remember when that part got taken from me. Was it the move to Mt Shasta when I was Eleven? Getting ripped from my home that I loved? How could I do that to my kiddo now? What if I tear a hole in his being, and he spends the rest of his life searching for it? 

Rachelle- there is much to be done here before any moves happen. I need you to remember the details of how your parents move unfolded. They did not even have a home to move you to, until most of your home was packed. They made you throw away most of the items you loved, while keeping dried foods from the 70s. It is not the same. It could not be the same even if you tried. 

If it the ocean that calls to you then you need to listen. Heed the less then extravagant nudge. You must focus though on working in an area that sparks your soul to live. You have been healing well, from the traumas of the past, but it is time to take the next step in that healing journey. 

Roger, what is that step? 

I sit in silence, as I wait for this pseudo imaginary voice to speak to me, as the ghost of this handsome Italian man sits next to me staring into the ocean. 

You must write- he shrugs , that is it. And study I guess, that too- he says with a smile. 

"Study what?" I ask. There are soooo many classes. I can't take them all.

Nor can you Rachelle. You could not get into all of them if you wanted. Some are expensive, or far away, or require other classes first. You must focus. He says with emphasis..his hands motioning through the words. 

I look over at him, sometimes he is so clear and others like now, he's barely there. Only when I am not looking directly at him can I see him. I look back to the ocean and I can see him clear in my periphery. 

Ok, find ten classes you want to take that start in June. Doesn't matter where or cost, then narrow down from there. Find alllll the possibilities Rachelle. Bring them to me and we will sort them out together. 

He reaches over to move the hair out of my face. A gentle warm breeze moves it for him. And then he is gone. 

Between Deaths Doors

     The days leading up to my moms death were tough. I didn't know death was so close, waiting outside the front door. I thought I would have a little more time. More time and opportunity for my mom to give me some last tidbits of info or advice, to forgive me for those things she had stayed so angry about for so many years. To tell me she loved me and regretted not being able to stay longer. But that last one wasn't true. She could have and chose not to. 

Sitting here 5 years after her death, I still feel so much anger for her leaving, for her wanting to leave. For her not even thinking about fighting the cancer.

I was at work and my dad called. He said mom hasn't gotten out of bed yet today. I talked to her, she was breathing hard. She said she just couldn't catch her breath and was tired. I called hospice and asked them to send a nurse out. I remember driving to the house to check on her. She was short tempered and wanted to be left alone. I tried to help. She didn't want help. I went back to work.

 I returned home after work with the kids. The nurse was still there. My mom never got better that day. I should have come home earlier. The nurse said she had been giving my mom morphine and it had been helping my mom calm down. I went in to see her. Hoping to comfort her or maybe to be comforted, I guess from her. Hoping for reassurance that she would be ok. Hoping she would say she regretted her decision to not try and fight. Hoping again for those last words of love. One last hug. Instead she was irritated, and snappy. I tried to offer my hand for comfort and tried to hug her. She pushed me away. she didn't want to be touched. My mom said to the nurse and I that she wanted to use the bathroom. She said she had been waiting for me to get home so I could help them. The nurse and I lifted mom out of bed, my mom barking orders and letting us know all the things we were doing wrong or too slow. We got her into the bathroom and on the way out of the bathroom, she decided she wanted to brush her teeth. I tried to tell her that she was turning purple and needed to rest. Inside I was panicking. Knowing I was watching my mom dying right before my eyes.  She lashed out, her voice cutting through me like a knife.  Her angry response, The tone of her voice, her words; the blade so cold I could feel myself turning cold. Well Shit, Rachel. Nothing I did in that moment was acceptable. There was no moments of sadness, or thoughtfulness. Just a lashing out at my being. 

Death was in the house. Maybe she knew it was close. We got my mom back to bed. She sat on the edge of the bed gasping for air. Her concentrator humming loudly in the room. it was up as high as it would go. My moms lips were a deep purple. Her eyes wide open. She was leaning forward and then back on to the bed. Lifting her arms above her head and lowering them again, flailing around as the panic set in that she couldn't breathe and couldn't catch her breath. Her eyes were darting wildly back and forth. I tried to talk to her, tried to offer my hand on her arm for comfort. She swatted it away. I could see the nurse wince from discomfort of having to witness this. The nurse touched my arm and said I should go check on my kids. I turned to my mom and tell her I will be right back. I hope in that moment I still have time. Time to have one last conversation with my mom. One last meaningful interaction. One last chance for her to impart something for me to carry on with. One last hug, one last I love you. Anything. I would take anything. 

My dad is sitting on the seat of his walker outside on the back porch. I take the kids out there and I tell the three of them that mom isn't doing well. I know it will be soon, but I don't know exactly when. I am in a fog. I dont know if I want to puke or cry. My dad looks straight ahead into the yard. "Well this happened so fast. I didn't think it would be this fast." He says. Tears welled up in his eyes, but never crashed over the edge. I felt in that moment my emotions coming in and out like waves lapping over rocks, anger, sadness, guilt, heartbreak. I felt numb. I wanted to cry and sleep at the same time. 

The nurse comes running out to the porch. "I think she is dead. Your mom is dead." 

"Are you sure?" I ask. She didn't seem sure.

"You should check"  she says to me. 

This is not a moment I would wish on anyone.

I walked into the room and my mom was laying there, still on her side facing away from me. No longer heaving her chest up and down trying to get enough air. I walk over to her, and the life is drained from her face. It is a gray color that only death can bring. The image burned into my memory like a branding iron on flesh. A wound that will never heal. A part of my soul that will never be the same again. I feel her wrist and her neck. I already know, but I check anyway. Her skin has already started to cool in just those few short minutes. Death had came and taken her away before I could even say good bye. Before she would let me hug her, before she was willing to hug me one last time. My whole soul shattered as I stood there. the finality of it, this, this one moment. shes gone. My brain on autopilot I tell the nurse, yes she is indeed dead. The nurse has tears streaming down her face.

 I feel dead inside. I have nothing. There is nothing there. I comfort the nurse in that moment as waves of guilt and shame roll through me like thunder. How am I not feeling anything I think to myself. 

I step out onto the back porch. I tell my kids and my dad that she is gone. I hug my kids and then I turn to my dad. I need help in that moment, support, love, comfort, reassurance. A hug. Anything. I need my dad. I get nothing.

"Well that's too bad" he says. We should call Michelle. I choke down my anger in that moment. I want to push him off his walker, kick him in his shins. slap him. There is nothing, no sentiments of how much he loved her, not even an I am going to miss her. No tears. 

 I look over at kids they are not crying either. I feel lost in that moment. What do I do now? We call my sister and tell her. She is crying so deeply, heartbroken her mom is gone. All I see every time I blink is my moms dead gray face. I try to comfort my sister but it is a blur. Anger and heartbreak rising and falling in my chest.

The nurse lets us know the mortuary will be there within 2 hours to get the body. 

My dad turns to me and asks "hey you said earlier that you might go out to eat, is that still on the table? I am hungry and would like to go" 

I stared at him is disbelief. I could not believe the callousness of the words falling from my dads lips. I didn't know what to say in response. I look around me hoping to find something to guide me. A guidepost to let me know my reaction is appropriate. There is nothing. I have no guidance. its just us. "Dad they have to come get the body before we can do anything." I say, still in disbelief. I didn't even feel like me in that moment. My brain in fog, my body felt numb, but my chest hurts as waves of emotion continue to crash into me. 

The kids and my dad want to go inside. I tell them I will check to make sure the door to the room is closed. I step into the house and look in the direction of the bedroom. I feel the searing of the branding iron to my memory as I see my mom on her back with her mouth gaping open in a way that only happens after death has arrived. Her eyes sunken deep into her eye sockets. she is a ghostly grey now. An image that stays directly behind my eyelids every time I close my eyes and think of my mom. 

The mortuary people arrive. The first man that does the talking is a very large man. He tells me don't watch as we take the body out its not pretty. I didn't really know what he meant. I always thought they took them out on stretchers. or a backboard in a body bag. I ushered the kids and my dad back outside to wait in the cool April evening air. I shouldn't have looked, they warned me. I didn't know. They were each carrying one end, but the body had slumped into the middle of the bag. folded in ways only a dead body can. They were right, I shouldn't have looked. Another searing image to haunt me from the branding iron to my memory. 

I wasn't hungry, but I knew my kids were. I felt numb, like nothing really mattered. We all went to Ihop after they took my moms body away. I felt rolling thunder  claps of shame and guilt crashing through me as I heard my stomach growl. How can you be hungry at time like this? I ask myself. This is why you are fat you know. I admonish myself. I sit and stare at the man across from me as he eats. There is a stoic silence at the table that only I seem to notice. I watch him as he eats his food almost happily, content. How can a man who just lost his wife eat so happily? why can he not offer me any words of comfort? No happy memories of mom? He says through his bites of food, that he will sleep better tonight without my moms snoring and oxygen concentrator running. I am at a loss for words. That's true I mumble, angry at myself instantly for not defending her. I stopped eating half way through my plate. My stomach no longer growling, the exhaustion of the day settling in. I push my plate away. You are going to finish that right? my dad asks with a tone of admonishment, finally making eye contact with me. I feel like I am five again, having been starving for so many hours only to be forced to eat a huge plate of food until I felt sick to my stomach. I feel my body and brain go cold and numb. "Yes I will finish it", I reply. By the time I am done I feel sick to my stomach. The comfortable ache of familiarity. That's what you get for being such pig  I can hear my own voice tell me. You get what you deserve my friend the voice continues to chime in. I swallow hard to choke back the tears, as the kids and my dad finish their meals. The rest of that night is lost on me. I could not tell you how I got home. I remember nothing from the rest of the evening. It was late, that's all I know.

The next morning I got up with the kids and went about our day like any other day, guilt and shame hitting me in the gut every few steps. I honestly didn't know what else to do. I felt so numb. Going to work felt like putting on a comfortable pair of jeans. The mask of happy work boss was easier than staying home. I got home from work early that day. All of the hospice equipment was already gone. My dad was elated. He bragged about how much room he had now and how he could store more stuff there. I felt like I got punched in the stomach. This was my mom. The person I had called 2-5 times a day, every day, for years. And he is HAPPY.  The callousness of the man in front of me left me speechless and more heartbroken. The man in front of me was supposed to have loved my mom. 

The numbness, the emptiness, the hollowed cavern where my soul used to be seemed frozen in time. I felt dead inside. Untethered to this world. 

Days leaked into months, I changed jobs, aged a year, spent hundreds of hours and dollars trying to get my parents house cleaned enough to AirBNB it; finally renting it to a young couple. I made my dad breakfast every morning before continuing on with my day. My dads cancer continued to eat at him.

December arrived. The AC units already taken out of the windows, and the cold air at night were the only things really announcing winter. The last few days the pain from his cancer had gotten worse. He missed a dialysis visit. I was lifting him out of bed, rolling him to the bathroom and back, lifting him back into bed. I had requested antibiotics for a UTI, but they were slow to arrive. I called again and a third time. Finally after a week they were here. I didn't know death was already in the room waiting. 

I awoke and went to make breakfast for my dad. I usually could hear his bed rising up, but lately he had been sleeping a little later. I made his breakfast and carried it into his room. I started talking to him before I even opened the door. "Hey dad, good morning, I brought you breakfast, are you up yet?" I fling the door open with a big smile on my face, only to find Death had already come and gone. He had already taken my dad. Stolen him before I could say good bye, before I could hug him. Before I could tell him I loved him. I didn't think I could break any further until that moment. 

I did not check his pulse as I had my mom. There was no nurse here that needed reassurance of her assessment. The image of him laying there imprinting onto my brain. My dad, ghost grey and his mouth hung open in that awkward only in death way. I said to no one out loud: Oh you are already dead. I didn't know. Im sorry. As if I was interrupting deaths last act. I step out of the room and back into the kitchen. thankful in that moment that I am alone and I do not need to figure out what emotion I should or shouldn't be expressing. It doesn't matter anyway. I have felt dead inside for a long time at this point. I call hospice and the mortuary. I diligently do not look this time as they remove the body. Hospice comes and gets the bed and just like that both of them are gone. The room is empty again. No secret envelopes with letters telling me they loved me. No words of wisdom imparted to me before death. Just me standing there alone between deaths doors. 

Photo by Luigi Boccardo on Unsplash

Meeting Of the Minds

I sit down at my kitchen table and take a deep breath. I have so many things I need to be doing and instead I am panicking about meeting with a group of Deities that I have called upon to help me with this 7 month container. I look up and look at the sliding glass door leading outside to my backyard. I close my eyes and open them again. It has become a solid white door. I look across the table and my spirit guide is now sitting across from me. He motions to the door without saying anything. 

I get up and walk to the door and open it. I step into the darkened warehouse. The light above the conference table is bright. I go to the chair at the end of the table and sit down. I look down at the papers I have brought with me. I look up and all of the Deities are now sitting at the table. I gasp and jump back in my chair. 

The Dagda raises his hand in a little wave. "We move quietly and swiftly, pardon the surprise. You have something in your hand?"

"Yes, I printed the plan for the container so you could better understand and hopefully explain to me how you all can help and support me during this 7 month journey."

"Please read for us." He says.

"Ok, so there are 4 Pillars. Shadow Work, Witnessing, community, leveraged commitment.

The energy dynamics focus is Intentional Action, Consistent vulnerability, Power-with Boundaries, Finance/emotion/time commitment, Ceremonies/Rituals, Generous gratitude action.

The shadow work: "A willingness to open my heart, inviting deities and cohorts as peers, into the heart space. Seeking their support as witnesses and guides, as we call up our old stories, fears, wounds, and the death-life-death journey of the old."

You are the Deities." I stop talking at this point and put the papers back on the table.

All 9 of the OGs, and GOATs stand up.

The Dagda speaks again. "We are doing ....Shadow work. Are you ready for this next step?" He does a "come here" hand motion towards the door.

Roger my spirit guide steps into the warehouse, and walks up to the conference table.

The Dagda turns to Roger and asks: "She decerns you clearly?"

"Yes she hears me clearly. and does well with separating her internal dialogue and myself."

The Dagda nods. "Very well. Thank you."

"These meetings will need to be done while you are alone moving forward."

He sits back down as does everyone else.

There are the golden goblets in front of each of us.

Hygieia speaks first - "The Depth and importance of self care. What we learned at 12 we will learn again."

Erebus speaks next. - "The Fears will rise, your understanding of your past lives helps greatly. "

Itspapalotl raises her goblet- "The dead shall speak."

Aine places her hand on her goblet- "The gratitude is in the details, we will find them."

Ganesh picks up his goblet- "Its luck when you can't hear the whispers. You must silence the mind."

Soteria leans forward in her chair, and clasps both hands around her goblet, but stays silent.

Euphorsyne picks up her goblet- "Finding joy underneath the darkness. Tulips in the snow."

The Dagda touches his goblet-him and Soteria look at each other. He looks back at me.

Soteria speaks up- "I will guide the protection."

The Dagda joins in- "And I am your accountability. We will meet more often than your sister wrote in the plan. We must see progress. We will let you work with your spirit guides to see clearly the goals to be reached by the end of the container."

With a blink of my eyes they were gone. It was just Roger and I at the conference table. We both got up and walked quietly through the door, back to my kitchen. Another deep sigh as I sit back down at the table.

I turn to Roger, "why didn't Caishen say anything?" I ask.

"He did", Roger replied. "You have some work to do in this area. He held up his goblet and said -Moving the stones of desire and fear open the creekbed to the flow of wealth and water.

You couldn't hear him." Roger says.

The Field of Screens Part 1

Conversation with Roger:

Him: "Hello Racqele"

He still has his Italian accent, and says my name in Italian.

Me: "Hi Roger, how are you?"

Him: "I am as good as you." He says with a chuckle.

Me: "Sorry it has been so long since I checked in."

Him: "it has been busy, you have been listening well without need to interrupt."

ME: "Last time I wrote our conversation  down, we were going to start navigating through the field of screens. Did we do that?"

Him: "Oh yes, the Field of Screens. Let us review the path to see where we are. Come with me."

ME: I get up off the couch and follow him down the stairs in the kitchen. We stand on the train platform again. It is no longer Fall in the train station. It is Spring with pink flower petals swirling around. It feels warm and smells like honeysuckle. 

"This is different." I say to Roger. As I am looking around. "It has always been fall when I am here."

"Yes," he says wistfully as he stands here with his hands in his pockets. "This is nice for you to be here at a different time. It is good for the soul. The train is coming are you ready to go?"

"Yes, yes I am."  I say, as I turn towards the tracks.

The blue and white light can be seen glowing in the distance down the track. And before I can soak in the feeling it is here, zooming through the station. 

"Let us go now Racqele," says Roger as he holds his hand for me to hold on to.

We step into the zooming light and off we go. I never stood in the blue light train before, but this time we paused. It feels like water without the wetness. it is thick but not constrictive. 

Roger turns to the left side of the train and steps off, pulling me with him.

We are standing at the edge of a grassy knoll. It is warm and sunny outside. 

"Let us go" he says again and starts walking away from the train. As we crest over the knoll we can see there is a valley down the hill in front of us. the field is filled with the screens. all with pictures or images on them like short movies or picture slides.

We walk until we are in front of the first row. 

"Can you see the images clearly on the screen?" Roger asks.

"No," I reply. "They are very bright. I can see the colors. But that is all."

"It is OK, please close your eyes," Roger says. I sigh, "OK" I respond, and close my eyes. 

"What color did you see before you closed your eyes?" he asked. "Dark Pink," I reply. "With some white rounded lines."

I can feel him pull me over a few feet until we are standing in front of different ones in the same row.

 "I want you to open your eyes and then close them again and tell me what colors you see," Roger says.

I open my eyes and see a dark green green color with the same white rounded lines. I close them again and we move further down. 

"Open them again," says Roger. I open them again and I see static. 

"This is good," says Roger. "You can keep them open now. We will go back to the ones you can see the colors."

We walk back down and stand there looking up at the big screens.

"What can you see?" I ask Roger.

"I see turmoil, money and happiness. Usually work, home and family. and not in that order all the time. 

Let us step into the Field of Screens and go to the next row," Roger says.

We walk past the first row of screens until we are standing at the next row. 

I see all dark muted colors. Brown, blue, maroon. All matte like colors. I tell Roger this.

"Oh yes," he says. "Turmoil again. we shall continue."

"These next few rows are all muted colors. We shall continue through." Roger says.

I look at all the screens as we slowly walk through the field. I can see the colors changing as the images flash on the screen. I need more practice to be able to see things more clearly when I am with Roger.

We are about half way through the field and we stop.

"This is where we are in the field," Roger says. 

"What do I need to do to finish the Field of Screens?" I ask.

He waves his hand in the air. "There is time that needs to pass, and things that need to be completed to continue."

"Like what?" I ask. 

"Well, Racqele you cannot see the screens. we come here more and practice and we will move faster through the screens."

"What happens after the screens?" I ask.

"When you spoke to your Soul, she told you, that is where a new journey begins with another soul. Maybe a boat ride across a lake, or a swim in the water. Or a picnic where you both pause and enjoy the view."

Roger points to my left and waves. there is a woman walking towards us in a long lightweight dress, with her hair in a bun. 

"Hello Rachel, how are you my dear?"

She sounds like my Aunt Arloa. I met her before, it is my Grandma Bertha. 

"Hi Grandma, I am good," I reply. 

"You always have so many questions, but never want to hear the answers." She laughs as she says this.

"Yes, I want to know everything that is going to happen until I can, then I don't want to know." I chuckle as I say it, knowing how silly it sounds. 

"You can ask questions if you have any right now," she says.

A thought flutters through my head, but I don't say it.

She laughs..."yes, you will. If that is a decision you make." 

I didn't even say anything. I say.

"You do not need to." she replies.

"Should I?" I ask aloud, as a follow up to the first unspoken question.

Be so busy you don't have time to question it. Grandma Bertha says.

"Fill you day from sunrise to Sunset, with activity." "This", she motions to the screens "is not of your phone or computer. You built this to help you see more clearly."

"Do all the things you need to, to make sure Roger and I are right there. You keep us away, my dear. Heartstrong too. You have learned well that our help, and guidance does not guarantee perfection, or absence of sadness or loneliness. But if you allow us to lift you up, you will feel the extra strength and guidance we can provide."

"Thank you Grandma." I say quietly. 

"Can I really do all of the things I want?" I ask, little incredulous. 

"Yes, all of them." Grandma Bertha says. "IF you keep your mind body and soul healthy."

"Come talk to me tonight. Let us help you align with what you need to be able to get what you want."

Before I could respond again she was gone. 

I turn to Roger and look at him. "What do we do now?" I ask. 

"Well we are in the beautiful Italian countryside. would you like to see the town?"

Before I can respond we are standing on a cobblestone road in front of a small Italian looking restaurant. I stand in the middle of the roadway and swirl slowly around soaking in the sights all around me. 

"I love it." I whisper.

I turn to Roger. "What do I need to work on?" I ask. 

Trust. Roger says. 

The Mood

I get up from my chair in the kitchen and walk to the door leading down to the travel platform. I open the door and and take a deep breath in. I can smell the sweet smell of flowers and cut grass. I walk down the stairs to the heavy wooden door at the bottom of the stairs. I pull it open with a heave and step onto the cool platform. I haven't been here for  awhile. I look around and wonder why. I realize in that moment I haven't spoken to my soul in a long time. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind of my thoughts and fears. I want answers to questions I haven't thought of, I want to know, until the moment arrives and then I don't. I wistfully dream of a million different variations of my future, and don't know where to grasp onto.I want to know that life has more than what I am currently taking and creating. What do I want? and what does that look like? So many ways to reach the same....destination? Feeling? Apex? A collection of experiences? What am I dreaming? What am I reaching for? What is missing? Do I really want to travel with the kids everywhere? I want them to feel secure...and see the world...I want to not be tied to a corporation...Business? I want to work from home? Alone? everyday? So I can go crazy in my own head?

I could feel the wind blowing and leaves were floating trough the air around me... all of them have different images of the thoughts in my head. I look up and see more leaves falling and swirling around me. I stand there and let the thoughts fall around me. The leaves start to gather on the ground, with gusts of wind picking them back up again....I reach out my hand to see if I can catch any leaves...as if I want to control at least one of my thoughts. The leaves evade my grasp as they sway through the wind.

I start to think about everything I have now...the blessings, the feelings, the smiles, the laughter, the cuddles, the friendships, the family, the loneliness, the tiredness, the pressure, the regret, the fear, the searching, the wishing, the planning, the freedom, the constraint, the silence......

The leaves continue to fall with all of these recognizable images in them as they mix and mingle with the other leaves. I can feel the emotions of each thought as they fall to the ground. I lean over and pick up some of the leaves off the ground...some of them still have images, some have words carved in them. Expectations, fear, guilt. I pick up a few of the expectation leaves. I can't even see the images that were on them when they fell from my mind. I crumble the leaves as they turn to dust and fall to the ground. I bend over and pick up a few more leaves with words on them. Fear, guilt, regret. I cradle them in my hands before I crumble them into dust in my palms.

The leaves with happy current moments, and images of people, stayed close to my feet where they fell. I looked further around me...there were piles of leaves everywhere. I picked up a hand full of leaves and looked at the images that were on them. People I didn't recognize, places  I  haven't been. The futures emotions are not very different from the ones I feel now. The same words are carved in the future leaves, as they are in the current leaves.  I pick up another handful of leaves as the other pile drops from my hands and drifts to the floor. I look closely at the ones in my hands. I find one that has an image of me on it. I stare at the leaf for a few moments and let the leaf slip out of my hand and fall gracefully to the floor. I turn and walk away from everything and head back through the heavy door and up the stairs.

Alone

How do I say this? I just want to explain this moment of clarity I have. I remember being alone many times during my childhood. I realize now that the first times I was left alone were when my sister went to kindergarten (I was 2) and my mom was.....writing? Still working?.......Not home. I realize now that I correlated being alone with them being together. .....As I got older my sister (no longer in public school) chose to not want to be around me and my mom was.....writing?....Still working?.......Not home. We were home schooled so there's that. I continued to be alone a lot. As I entered puberty and my teenage years I might well have been an alien. My sister was coveted for her strengths and quirky traits. I was normal and left alone. I forged my own path separate and alone from my family. They didn't really notice. Then my sister had a meltdown ...wreaked havoc on my parents and left....leaving a huge mess for me to clean up. I worked diligently to fill the void my sister left behind...trying to build a bond that would not be broken if she returned one day. I grew close to my mom for the first time in my life. 15 years goes by and my sister decides to return into our lives. I feel the bond between them growing and mine shrinking. They are my biggest fans yet I feel suffocated by them. Them as a team. I feel the empty lonely ache return. I reach out to them trying to find proof that I wont be left alone again. Both of their words of wisdom are that I will indeed be alone. for many years. I have many issues, many obstacles to overcome. Many trials to face before I can feel the victorious feeling of having a loving partner. I believe them and feel the weight push me down further. I move to a new town and now my only sounding boards, my only friends, my only fans are the ones that make me feel like I cant breathe. No where to speak my me. Nowhere to post words that might accidentally be turned the wrong way. I realize now they are not the makers of happiness or loneliness. Nor are either of them allowed to judge what I need and don't need. Little do they know...I am not broken, I am not lost, I am not weak, I am not searching for happiness. I have strength, integrity, power, wisdom, honesty, faith, prosperity, happiness, and now I have reclaimed my power over loneliness. I can say that watching the relationship between them blossom has been somewhat painful. I am again lost in background noise. The part that I lost track of though is that the path they follow of traumas, inner turmoil, financial discord, hard lessons learned....is not my path. I have worked hard to have financial security and success. It is not better, just different. I wanted so badly to share my path with someone; that I latched back onto each of them in hopes of finding some strength and security, and like mindedness; that I forgot how different our paths have always been. I forgive my mom for any moments she left me alone and I hold no anger towards either of them for our paths differences. I will say this: being self sufficient, independent, and able to be alone, does not mean I need to be alone or that I deserve to be alone.