November 09, 2006

The Twelfth Of Never

Woody walking away Eureka Springs AR...

You ask how much I need you
Must I explain
I need you oh my darling
Like roses need rain

You ask how long I'll love you
I'll tell you true
Until the twelfth of never I'll still be loving you

Hold me close
Never let me go
Hold me close
Melt my heart like April snow

I'll love you 'till the blue bells forget to bloom
I'll love you 'till the clover has lost its perfume
I'll love you 'till the poets run out of rhyme

Until the twelfth of never
And that's a long long time
Until the twelfth of never
And that's a long long time
(Words & music by Livingstone - Webster)

"When I hear this song... he comes back to me vividly, in my mind... How long does this pain last? When do the spontanious tears stop..."

I looked at her...and said..."If you're lucky, they dont..."

I have begun to attend a greif support group at my church. This is a new group, and includes people that I know and a few that I didnt know at all until now...This isnt group therapy, moderated by a professional, other than our Pastor, himself bereived of a beloved sister nearly a year ago, very suddenly...she was 38 and left four young children. I thought that was really rough. But a bit less formal and because of that I feel a touch restrained... I know how to unload as you all know, having read this blog for a while. I dont feel right doing that sort of unloading in this situation...

I am the youngest (only by a few months, Pastor David and I are the same age) but in this church membered by mostly retirees, as you can imagine, most of the berieved are older, and have lost mates of a lifetime's love and devotion...some quietly others by inches as they battled painfull illness and old age. However, some are greiving the loss of their children and grandchildren... Illness accidents and sadly, homocide. Their pain is so great, for it is against nature for one's children to die ahead of you, and the loss of grandchildren... It is beyond understanding

I am the newest berieved and the only one grieving a parent, or rather parents...and perhaps a loss much deeper than that. The loss of any potential to rectify the past.

As I listen to these dear people greive as they tell their stories, I feel so unlike them. I am not so much sorry that my Mother died, death is a part of living. What I am sorry about is that we didnt have enough living... not by a longshot...

I fear that I need to go back into real counseling. I feel all crushed out, like a orange with all of its juice squeezed out. I dont feel like I have much inside me. Dwelling on my mother's life has caused me to think a lot about my own and how so many of the negative things are repeating in my own life. I vowed that wouldnt happen but it has and here I am...44 living with someone who for most "practical purposes" is still a stranger after 12 years of marriage. I fear that a professional would delclare "Ditch the Woodster" but where would he go and what about how he feels?... Working at a job that for the most part.... I feel like I am faking it. So much of what they want me to do is impossible so I press in through my days, not confident about what I am doing...I fear being found out.

At the group, I feel like I cant talk about what troubles me. How I feel like a statue. Standing in the elements, the wind and sun have erased my face leaving me a faceless, being. My Mother's death closes a whole chapter in my life, and as I go day in and day out, I have no future, it is formless, like a dream when one just wakes up and it seems like I have no hope of having much more than this vagueness in my heart.

November, in our church, it is given over to "Last Things" Life, Death, Heaven, Hell, and Judgement... /we are meditating on these things. I find myself thinking about my own feelings, and realize that I am doing well enough. I find that daily I grow more and more centered and I am living in the present moment more intensely than ever. So much so that writing is very difficult. Blogging, Letters and other forms of communication are semi shut down...I just pray hard that one day The damaged parts grow back and that my ability to write returns.

Until then I will struggle along, keep praying, keep busy keep petting a kitty when I am down, I sing the "Twelfth of Never" to Mak and Nani, and they purr back.

Spring will return...eventually