The Afghan...

Are the threads being untangled, or becoming more hopelessly knotted together? And what good is one long, untangled thread, even rolled into a nice, neat ball? Is it not through the weaving and knotting of yarn that the afghan grows? 

(Quite honestly, I am processing as I write. I originally thought untangling was the goal, but am coming to think perhaps they are meant to be wound together...) 

I have often found (or thought) myself on the fringe, connected on one side, yet feeling totally disconnected on another. It's the deep seated childhood fear of being unimportant and all but invisible... Because of our divorce, I do not have the same place in my husband's family. There is a raw edge between us, connected by a few threads. This is the way of life after divorce, but it does not make it less painful. I am grateful for the years of healing, healing tears, and my eldest son's Face-time call from Halifax this past July. I am looking forward to more healing. 

Every strand woven make the tapestry more colorful, yes? Grandma was a strand of bright and brilliant color. I only hope to be a little bit like her in all the best ways.

Another Farewell

What do I say about this goodbye? Another long anticipated crossing over? Thoughts are many but my mind simply doesn't know which way to process this today... It will come in bits and pieces, a few tears here, and few more there...

My son called while I was at work this morning. He wanted to tell me about his grandma's passing in person... "When I was little it felt like I couldn't do anything right," he said. "But when Grandmanita was around, I couldn't do anything wrong." I've been contemplating that all afternoon... What a beautiful gift to leave a grandchild... She was so full of excitement, laughter and encouragement...

Grnadmanita taught me so, so much. Lessons on encouraging others, on accepting those who were different, and on loving myself as well.  She would compliment me and when I blushed or rebuffed her comment, her admonition was, "Say, 'Thank you, I know.'" It was a hard lesson to learn... 

Memories are wonderful gifts. Remembering helps us process grief and loss. Remembering things like my 8 year old daughter getting a toaster, a used one, I think, for Christmas... We have laughed about it for 30 years now. It was a most memorable holiday surprise... LOL!

Lots of tributes on Facebook today... She was well loved.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

It feels as if our world is falling apart around us... but in the midst of our governmental chaos, I went out and forgot about all our troubles for a few hours. My friend and neighbor, Beth, invited me to attend a fused glass class with her. She'd been eager to try it and asked me about it when we were out together in December. It sounded like fun and so I agreed.

I went into the class with no expectation at all. On the table were sheets and shards of colored glass, all kinds of glass beads, and glass straws. I picked up pieces of green and red glass, fingered rainbow colored beads, and stared at straws of orange, blue and yellow... 

Years back I dreamed of broken glass mosaics... I have a Pinterest board dedicated to brokenness... I even bought a nipper and a pair of goggles, but I although my own broken pieces are coming back together, I hadn't yet put it into a picture. Not until yesterday. It's a fabulous beginning.

Crossing Over

It was an entirely emotional weekend. Unexpected tears flowed randomly throughout. Mostly I am sad, both for my friend and her family, and for the brokenness that always comes with the passing of someone dear. I've heard in the past that if our loved one is in heaven, then we are sad for ourselves, but I believe there is a deeper pain. As another preacher said, "We weren't created with a file folder for death." When our people die, a piece of us goes along with them; all our conversations, our memories together, our sense of connection... Tears are the healing balm.

As I sat in the funeral home waiting for the service to begin, I was touched on the shoulder. I turned to see a man standing next to me. "Hi, Lady," he said. I had to stand up to recognize the pastor of my previous church fellowship, the one I left when I moved off the farm and away from The Cabinetmaker. As neighbor of my friend, he had been asked to lead the service. The presence of both him and his wife, as well as our conversation following, opened a whole other torrent of emotion.

My ex husband and our separation came up in conversation. "Would you consider reconciliation? (with the Cabinetmaker)," they asked me, to which I answered, "What exactly does 'reconciliation' mean?" I have not been the one hiding these past two years. I have absolutely nothing from which to hide. There is no shame in my leaving, no shame in filing for a divorce. I have never sat down and talked with these people about our situation and it has been nearly 8 years since I moved. "I'm always available to talk," said the pastor's wife... except she's about 10 years too late. She'd have gotten a much reserved conversation years back. Today she'd get an earful and I'm not sure either one of us is ready for that.

I've learned a lot of things about church and organized religion these past ten years. I've also learned a lot about the love of God, His ability to care for me and my family, a lot about protecting women and children, and a lot about standing my ground and guarding my heart. I am sickened by the atrocities hidden behind church doors, the secrets kept, and the fingers pointed. I haven't lost my faith, instead it has deepened in a way I never thought possible. Gone are the trite sayings and flippant responses. Gone are judgement and condemnation (if I ever held that to start) and in their place is more love, more acceptance, and more room for those whose choices I don't understand.
  

Cindy. Cindy had a heart of gold. She was far from perfect, but she knew she was loved by her creator and trusted that her cancer and subsequent passing would glorify God. Her prayers were for her friends and family, myself included. Her prayers are being answered. I know that. God isn't finished with her at all. She may not be here in body, but she will remain in spirit for many years to come.

* Pictures from my walk at Webster Park last week.

Final Goodbyes (or are they?)

It's hard to believe I will never run into her randomly at Wegmans, or turn the corner at the florist gift shop and see her smiling... It's hard to imagine she will never call me out of the blue and say, Hi, Mart! (or Toots, or kiddo...), or that I'll never get another text message... 

She's absolutely right. We almost could have been sisters, with our platinum blond hair and light colored eyes. Her eyes were bluer than mine, her smile brighter. One would have never guessed how much she struggled with rejection. She was beautiful through and through..

The calling hours and service were today. Friend after friend, coworker after coworker, ex husband, son, brother, all testified to her love, both for her friends and family, and her savior. She was one of a kind and our lives are woven together like a tapestry whose threads weave over and around, come together and move apart before coming together and winding around again.  My sweet, sweet Cindy, you will never be forgotten...

"Goodby, my beautiful, sister friend.
Godspeed and I'll meet you on the portal's other side.
Thank you for loving me.
I love you the mostest too."

Bits and Pieces

A myriad of thoughts dance haphazardly through my mind, stumbling, sprawling, colliding, unready (or perhaps unable) to gather into one coherent string of words... 

*A week ago I assembled a small puzzle of our family. It was given to me as a Christmas gift in 2016 by my former daughter in law. All seven of my children, five of their spouses, and eight grandchildren arranged in tight group before Barn 3 back on the farm in Williamson on July 4, 2016. Smiling faces, unaware of (or hiding) the invisible, widening fissures in our family. It was to be our last all together, summer gathering with any semblance of normalcy, no matter how hollow it was for some of us. There would be a tense and nervous Christmas gathering to follow. By the holidays I was breaking into a million pieces while my unknowing children, full of questions, looked on not knowing "what was wrong with Mom." They could only guess... 

* It's January and our work hours have been reduced. It's evidently common for Dunkin to be "slow" this time of year although we still have bouts of utter insanity... I was hired verbally as full time, but the app that details our paychecks lists me as "part time," giving the powers that be the freedom to slash hours without repercussion. My hours have been reduced to 30 from the previous 37 1/2 per week. I have been assured, "It'll pick back up again in February," but the looming tariffs threatened by our current administration would most definitely affect our supply of coffee. Coffee doesn't grow here in the United States... I'm not staying awake thinking about it, but it is there in the back of my mind. I already spent most of the money I'd saved up last summer to fix the brakes on my car. If hours don't pick back up again, I don't know how I'll pay my income taxes...

* I've been in contact with an old friend. Here and there a message. I missed a phone call yesterday because I wasn't at home and therefore away from the WiFi necessary for the app to work. Well, that's disappointing. We have so much to catch up on too.

* We are in the deep freeze, along with the rest of the eastern US. It's nothing out of the ordinary here. Par for the course. Single digit temperatures with frigid wind chills are a normal part of winter. We pile more blankets on the bed, stay inside more (maybe), and drink hot beverages. (Actually, we're still selling a ton of iced and frozen coffees, iced teas, and other iced drinks.) It's the season of soups and stews, and soon 30 degrees will feel like a heat wave. (A picture from yesterday's outdoor adventure, and the reason I missed my friend's phone call...)

Walls and Fortresses

Fear and shame are crippling childhood emotions that often keep us trapped long into adulthood. It can take a lifetime to lay them aside and find healing...

I tried to write about it, but the words are still locked inside. I don't know exactly where the fear and shame came from, but suspect there were multiple cooperating forces, along with a predisposition to being timid... But I do know that the last ten years have stripped away many of the walls I'd built throughout my first 50 years. I'm still the same person I was before, except there are far fewer walls and I can breathe.

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This past Friday my sweet, forever friend Cindy passed into the world beyond. One of those rare and extremely special friends who I didn't have to see often yet was a part of my heart and soul. One day in 2007 we met up for lunch at Panera Bread and sat for four hours! We ate a lunch, talked and laughed, nibbled some cookies, and then some more cookies (her idea), and caught up on so many lost years... It was like we'd never been apart... and now she's gone. Brave, beautiful Cindy... Cancer takes the best of us. I'll find you on the other side and we can sit for hours and hours again...

The Long and Seemingly Never-Ending Saga

I had a day off work yesterday. January is slow at the coffee shop and I had an early morning appointment, and therefore was given the entire day. At 9:15am I found myself in the little town of Honeoye Falls, NY where I met with my attorney, a friend of my friend Gail, who has agreed to represent me in my CPS case. The hearing started at 9:30 with the judge surprised to find I had representation. (I dragged my feet on calling the lawyer to start with and then he needed time to look over the information...) Nothing has been resolved as yet. We have adjourned until March 24.