33. Some of my favorite poetry and quotes

"In the dark immensity of night
I stood upon a hill and watched the light
Of a star,
Soundless and beautiful and far.


A scientist standing there with me
Said, 'it is not the star you see,
But a glow
That left the star light years ago.'


People are like stars in a timeless sky;
The light of a good person's life shines high,
Golden and splendid
Long after his brief earth years are ended."
~ Grace V. Watkins

"Recovery seems far and distant,
The road to healing, a long and lonely one.
Stand by me.  Offer me your presence,
Your ears and your love.

Acknowledge my pain,
It is so real and ever present.
I am overwhelmed with sad and conflicting thoughts.
Lend me your hope for awhile.

A time will come when I heal,
And I will lend my renewed hope to others."
-Eloise Cole

"Wisdom is seeing the shape of your life
without obliterating...or getting over
a single instant of it."
~ Albert Huffstickler



"Pathological Narcissists only discard the best, most precious of gems of people... not the worst. They despise the strong, principled, decent & honest. Their discarding of you is then their highest commendation of your worth!" - A.V., from lisaescott.com

"There's no need to miss someone from your past; there's a reason they didn't make it into your future"   ~ unknown


"By the time you swear you're his, 
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, and undying,
Lady make note of this:
One of you is lying."
--Dorothy Parker, 'Unfortunate Coincidence'




"I heard there was a secret chord 
That David played, and it pleased the Lord,
But--you  don't really care for music, do ya...
It goes like this:  a fourth, a fifth,
A Minor Fall, a major lift,
A baffled king composing
Hallelujah.
Your faith was strong, but you needed proof,
You saw her bathing on the roof, 
Her beauty--and the moonlight overthrew ya.
Well she tied you to her kitchen chair,
Broke your throne,
Cut your hair, 
And from your lips she drew a
Hallelujah.
Maybe, there's a God above, but
All I've ever learned from love 
Is how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.
It's not a cry that you hear at night,
It's not someone who's seen the light,
It's a cold and it's a broken
Hallelujah... "
           ~Leonard Cohen

^"2Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, ³because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. ⁴Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." ~James 1:2-4

"Stop and turn around

My arms are open wide

Come and let Me hold you

and dry the tears you've cried

In My arms no one will hurt you,

in My arms you will be free

from all the painful memories

that now are destroying thee..."

~ Susan Carlson

"We must be willing to let go of the life we had planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us"  -Joseph Campbell

31. Getting By

The time I spend in fellowship with God has decreased.  I'm human--subject to human frailty, human limitations, human failures.  No one knows I need to spend more time with God than me.  (Except God.)  I can wake up and say today I'll get back into the Word, and start praying more till the cows come home but until I get that real happiness, peace, and joy is tied to those things, I will have to be content just getting through each day.

And getting through each day is exactly what I am doing now.  Some days happiness abounds, most days sadness, or worse... apathy rules the day.  Blank, complacent emptiness.  Exactly what the enemy of God wants.  Let's face it, if we are in a state of happiness and joy we thank God and offer Him praise.  If we're in a state of grief and sadness we beg God and ask him to help us out.   Either way, we're relating with our Creator.  It's when we feel neither joy nor sadness; neither thankfulness nor self pity; just plain apathy, that we're most likely to ignore God.   When there is no reason to commune with Him--that's when complacency settles in.  That's when the enemy celebrates.

I can just see the angels on apathy day:  jumping around, yelling our name, shaking us by the lapel, shouting hey... wake UP!  Don't you know the Creator adores you?  Don't you know He's calling your name right this very moment?  He wants to chat with you!  He wants to hold you, look you in the face, smile on you!  Don't ignore Him, talk to him!  Read His word, learn about Him.  Don't let Satan keep you fat and lazy... take back your joy!  Sing, dance, praise Him!  Do something.

Or don't.  And get by.

30. A New Trauma

Yesterday marked the five month anniversary of the day I woke up on the floor of my granddaughter's bedroom in Spokane, WA to the sickening realization that my husband no longer loved me.  Today Kim and I are in Spokane for an Easter visit with Courtney and her family.  All has been going smoothly; awesome visit, fun time with grandbabies, hugs all around.

Yesterday morning around 9 a.m. my daughter Kimberly calmly walked to the sofa, sat down, and had a massive grand mal seizure.  No one in my family has ever had a seizure.  Or even seen a seizure.

The boys and I were making pancakes (pamcakes, grammie, pamcakes!), Kim and he rest of the fam were sitting at the breakfast bar talking and laughing.  Kimi stood up and walked over to the sofa, I told my grandsons not to get so close to the hot skillet, Kimi sat down, I sent my grandsons out of the kitchen for getting too close to the skillet... and Kimi stretched out her arms in the sunshine.  Every detail of every moment from that point on will haunt me forever.

I smiled at Kim, then asked her what she was doing, then asked again, then called her name sternly.  No response.  Just continued arm stretching.  Only something was wrong, wrong with the way her hands were bent.  And her fingers.  And her head. CALL 911! I barked to my son in law while I ran to my daughter.  I stood before her bent, twisted shape... and completely fell apart.  Her fingers, her beautiful long nails, were curled unnaturally into claws.  Her face was contorted, her mouth bent down to the left, with foamy bubbles coming out of her clenched lips.  While I watched in horror she began to twitch, rhythmically and quickly.  My baby, my beautiful precious Kimberly, who runs in marathons and bikes 40 miles to work, was seizing--quite literally dying from hypoxia--eight inches from me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

When medical aid arrived Kim was still unconscious, and when she came around she was confused and combative.  She was transferred to a local hospital and given a CAT scan, which showed no abnormalities.  She was also given a test to measure her blood sugar and the results showed an impressively low glucose level.  The physicians involved in her care agreed Kim's seizure was most likely a result of her low blood sugar.  She was given some glucose in her IV and a roast beef sandwich and sent home.

The picture of my beautiful, strong daughter rigid and convulsing is forever etched in my mind.   Saturday night as I tried to drift off to sleep it stabbed my vision, snapping me wide awake.   Next morning, Easter Sunday, I took a few minutes to pray; on the very spot I prayed to survive the day five months earlier--next to my granddaughter's crib.  I bowed my head and thanked God for delivering Kimi safely through the event, then asked Him to please remove the vision of it from my mind.  It was a simple prayer, only a minute or two long.  But God heard.  He listened.  He healed.  The picture of the event has now combined with my clinical experience gained as an EMT, and formed a type of shelf in my brain from which to choose educational material.   The trauma of watching the seizure has lost its sting AND has given me something new to think about when pieces of my divorce try to bring me down!  A new trauma.  A new lesson.  A new day.

29. The Box

Four months and four days ago, on November 25th, my facebook status read "Today I received five boxes of my life on a UPS truck".

I remember the day like it was yesterday.  It was an icy, foggy Spokane morning.  I had been expecting a package from Rob containing my winter coat and some other things. The doorbell rang and I opened the door to the UPS man.  He said simply hi, packages for Dyer and I signed the signature scanner.

I shivered in the cold while he unloaded five large boxes with a handcart.  What the hell...?? I thought.  "They're very heavy" he warned, and he set them on the asphalt driveway next to the garage door.  When he left I stood there freezing and contemplated the stack of boxes as tall as me.   A sadder moment has never existed I thought wearily.  I pictured him searching our home for any and all items of mine he could rid himself of, box up and ship to me. Suddenly one box caught my attention, and I was struck by a sickening realization that nearly dropped me right to my knees.

Stacked second from the bottom was a u-haul box marked by sharpie with the words fragile and kitchen staples in my own hand.   It was the very box I had so lovingly packed with kitchen items we would use at our extended stay hotel after our move from Utah to Olympia.  I had carefully chosen which spices and seasonings, utensils, and pantry goods we would use at our home-away-from-home, and packed them into a box.  The rest of the kitchen--and house--would be left for the moving company after we purchased a home in Olympia.

I found it sickening --and disturbing-- that Rob found and used the very same box to ship my belongings after kicking me out of our Olympia home; my heart broke while I stared at the words I had so excitingly written eighteen months earlier.



Today the box sits out in mom and dad's driveway.  Twice I've started to destroy the thing but I can't seem to do it.  I have no idea why but I just cannot get rid of it.  Not yet.  Don't know what I'm waiting for, when I do this will be the first place to which I turn.

28. Just Like the Dream. Only Different.

Yesterday I had a temper tantrum. Kim and I were driving here and there, errands, coffee, spending, and three or four things brought up memories, which of course brought me down. When the mere discussion of cappuccino took hold ::Shoreline, our coffee hut on the corner, velvet couches and free copies of the Seattle Times, baristas with nose rings who made the most amazing foam art in every cup:: I broke down. Only this time I didn't break down into a withered little flower, I broke down into...Rob. A steering-wheel hitting, oath-flying, mad-as-hell grown up having a full on, no holes barred temper tantrum.

My tirade was several minutes long, and when it was over we were somehow parked, engine and lights off, parking brake engaged, and keys in hand, in front of Joanne Fabrics. (How the hell did we get here...?) When it ended Kim spoke, and her words were encouraging, strengthening, and congratulatory! She said Mom, listen to you! You are pissed! You finally sound like the strong, vital woman you were created to be. Listen to all this worth coming out!

It was the first time Kim witnessed in me a step toward healing... a real step, not some namby pamby feel-good step from a self help book. She told me she LOVED this; my vitriol spoke healthy mommy to her. This was new, and it was very good.

It must have made an impression on me: last night I had a dream. It took place, of course, at the ocean. This time, however,there were no teary goodbyes; some dream vacation was not coming to an end. It was actually the last day I ever saw my husband: with his family at the birthday party, only this time we were at the beach. After saying pleasant goodbyes, removing a checkbook from the oven and trying to see if I could cast a giant fishing rod into the surf even though nobody else had ever fished there (I could, and I did catch a fish), Rob and I headed home.

Somewhere down the road real time history repeated itself: I said or did something wrong, Rob got mad and launched into a perfect replica of the assault that sent me on THE WALK. This time however, the ending was different. Kimi was in the truck with us. The harvested, dead apple orchards along the road at the original incident were now in full bloom. And I was empowered. I let loose on my husband, the man who emotionally bruised me for five years, with everything I had; I was a double barreled shotgun and I held not one round back. My daughter and the blooming apple orchards backed me up with their very presence.

Kim spent the night last night. Right now she's in the living room on her laptop; she just brought me a fantastic Kimi smoothie. It's springtime. I'm blogging. It's going to be a great day.

27. I was Someone Important?

This morning I sat chatting with mom and dad. Somehow we got onto the subject of when I was a baby, and mom told me that I was a 'pretty baby' and that people used to come up and admire her 'beautiful baby'. I was astonished. I've seen my baby pictures and, frankly, have never been impressed. Adalie... now that's a beautiful baby. I was just... normal. Short brown hair. Brown eyes. Small overbite. But, according to mom, I turned heads.

She told me that, in fact, she would take me into the hospital where I was born and the nurses would line up to hold me and take me around the place. "You were not just cute, but you were Dr. Curran's granddaughter, and to be seen holding you was huge. Dr. Curran, my grandfather, wasn't just a practicing physician at Arcade Hospital, he was one of the founding physicians of the hospital; the man had a PHONE in his car!

So. The feeling that overcame me after mom shared this news with me was peace. I looked at her and, with all the sincerity I could put forth said: I was someone important? Mom and dad were silent. I gazed at the floor, smiling; I simply couldn't believe this. Me? Someone to be seen with? Holy Moly!! It was a brand new identity for me; I felt like another person, someone not myself. I've always been the leaner; the reacher: always reaching to be with the important person. I'll be spending some time now thinking about how to deal with; how to index this revelation about myself. I think I'm going to like it.

26. Apple Trees and Wind Chimes

Apple Blossoms and Wind Chimes   
I saw a shrink today: memories and flashbacks are killing me dead. He pressed for specific instances: sights, sounds, smells, that bring on these debilitating flashbacks. He wanted specifics so I dug deep and brought them out: Last spring, a morning spent filming and photographing the apple blossoms on our beautiful tree next to the back porch. It's a warm spring day. The dogs are stretched out soaking up the sun, birds are singing, and the apple blossoms are dancing in a light, fresh breeze. Our acre of lawn has been freshly mown in neat diagonal strips--I cut it myself just the day before--and the scent of cut grass has mingled with baby honeysuckle growing on the porch. It's delightfully peaceful; I am in heaven.

Today the window from my room faces a concrete driveway, right next to another concrete driveway. Squeezed between the two is a small apple tree that my mom planted a few years ago. Last month she had the thing pruned and the branches tied in a bundle. Alas, two days ago the decapitated blooms stubbornly opened up in their dead pile. Apple blossoms. Back yard. Sunny lawn. Home. The little blooms flashed the sweet, tender, and dreadfully cruel picture of my day filming... and another cold, dark wave crashed down yet again. I marched out and stuffed the offending branches into a refuse can where they could no longer taunt my war-torn brain. Closed the lid tight on the little blossoms; God's beauty, refusing to die, showing His faithfulness, stuffed in a trash can. I did that.

********
It is Saturday in April. We've just picked up my brand new engagement ring, and now are driving up to the San Juan Islands for the day. Following a walk around Friday Harbor we sit down to lunch in a delightful cafe; Jack Johnson is singing in the background. We're talking, laughing, holding hands. We visit some gift shops, and Rob surprises me with a beautiful wind chime. This gift I will cherish forever, and though I don't know it at the time, the wind chime will hang from the front porch of my next five homes.

Today I hear wind chimes singing in the wind outside my bedroom window. Their music is beautiful; as much as I like wind chimes I should be enthralled with them. Instead, their song makes me sad, puts me in a funk; takes me back to the day with Rob at Friday Harbor. Another wave crashes down. So much sadness.

**********

With my sadness this time, however, comes a delightful treat: With the doc's gentle counsel I've come to realize that my bouts of blues, depression, memories, sadness, homesickness, waves--seem to be focused on things surrounding Rob, rather than on Rob himself! I felt truly empowered by this revelation. Another step towards success in overcoming this horrendous chapter in my life. Freedom is not too far off.