Happy Father's Day

It's been a good week. I had a visit with my favorite therapist on Tuesday morning and am paying closer attention to the parts inside that make up who I am. My parts don't always agree; some are confident and brave, and others fear failure and rejection to the point of avoiding activities and potential relationships. The grown up Martha is learning to take care of the child and other parts within. By the time I grow up completely I'll probably be at least 75 and totally gray. I'm mostly okay with that. Life is a process. I love who I am much more today than I ever have in the past.

Yesterday my sister and I took an hour and a half drive south to a destination nestled on a hill overlooking the eastern shore of Seneca Lake in central NY. We were there for a baby shower celebrating the impending arrival of our sister's first grandchild. It was a beautiful day. I took advantage of our all being in one spot to take a photo of the three of us. (Old photo from the same destination.)

Fresh Breeze

The tears have dissipated, just as I knew they would. I am okay once again.

I had a lovely Saturday. In the morning hours I took a basket of jelly/canning jars out to my son who makes jellies, salsas, and pickles. (I am cleaning out.) From Dave's house I drove to the next town where my eldest daughter and her family were working on their rental unit. It has been abused and neglected for several years and they have decided it's time to put it on the market. Finally, I headed toward Lake Ontario and my friend Gail's cottage.

Gail and I took a drive to Sodus Point and had lunch at Captain Jack's. BLT's for both of us, a side of mac salad water for her, and sweet potato fries and iced tea for me. Around the corner from the marina I found the Imprint Coffee Food Truck where I bought an small, afternoon half decaf and then we parked the car at the park and walked the beach.

I purposed to keep my feet (sneakers)  and blue jeans dry and kept an eye on the waves lapping the shore, but anyone who knows me is aware that I almost always come home with wet feet. It was a beautiful, relaxing afternoon of scouring the sand. I came home with several bits of polished glass and a pocketful of rocks. Maybe I'll do some paining, eh?

Sometimes She Cries

 And what think you of tears?

The toddler Martha stood silent, a knot blocking her throat, desperately attempting to hold back the torrent of tears welling up within...

I am a crier, much to my parents chagrin and much to the annoyance of my former husband, who both likely determined my tears to be a form of manipulation, but "silent tears fall at the moment when we feel the most alone, vulnerable and lost."

 (I went in search of a quote that might speak to my thoughts and found it here. I don't know that anything in the article represents me. Honestly, I didn't read much. I was simply collecting words that fit my own thoughts.)

I've shed so many tears in my lifetime that I'm certain God has several cisterns full because there couldn't possibly be a bottle big enough for all the silent tears I've cried. I'm finally finding words for what I feel and, sometimes, like today, for why. It is the fear of feeling lost, vulnerable and alone.

This week came with a major (from my perspective) relationship shift and try as I might to squelch the Toddler Martha, she appeared again and again until I lay in bed at night in the dark of my room, tears flowing, speaking out loud to the small child within. "It's okay. It's okay... You're going to be okay." 

Life is full of loss. It is also full of gifts. Letting go is hard, especially when the heart becomes entangled, and even when I know deep inside the release must come. The hand can only grasp something new when the old is set free.