Tag Archive | friendship

January 2021

So January was a good one for the writing. Maybe — Maybe not.

I have a story being held for consideration (fingers crossed and good vibes). Which in terms of goals means that I am actually submitting my work.

My writing sister from another mother (hi Rie!) Challenged me to a poem a day for the year. I am missing few days, but I have been doing it. Which is funny because I don’t identify as a poet but….

But when I was pigtails young, I did. I wrote a little chapbook for the school book project. At some point I stopped– lack of confidence, one too many insults? No clue. But I did, and now I am flexing those creaking poetry muscles and it feels good.

And then the cards! I did another batch on cards for the retirement home, which is still on lockdown. 70 this time. I was only able to do it because my bff Linda came over and we cracked them off. AT the beginning of the pandemic lots of people did lots of things for those that were shut in. We need to remember them. So I did– we did.

#becausewecan: 82 Cards

A lot of things are going on in the world right now, and what we need is inspiration. The docotrs and scientists need inspiration to find a way to navigate us out of this mess. And we need inspiration to help us remain human and connected in a world of social distancing.

Some things happened the weekend of March 20th that inspired me. Some people inspired me. The first was Jennifer Pastiloff. If you dont follow her on Facebook or Instagram, you should. In the face of losing her livlihood, she decided to hang on by asking “How may I serve?” She did one of her classes online for a donation… to help feed others. To buy diapers, food. To help. She could have set it up and done her confrences that way– Zoomed her way into a paycheck. I still think she should consider it. But at this time, when we needed help, we needed to remember that you can always find 5 beautiful things right here and now… she gave me that reminder. That hope.

The other person that inspired me was Jon Bon Jovi. He did a video of the start of the song and asked that the people watching help write the rest. I don’t remember the name of the song, but i do remember thinking that he has already made an anthem for these crazy days. Because We Can. And also Army of One.

Those who know me know that Bon Jovi wrote the soundtrack to my life. At one point I toyed with writing a monologe set to their music. Is it any wonder that when I was looking for inspiration and comfort and the “Hell yes we can do this!” I turned to them, to the band that I grew up beside?

So.

How many have seen the meme about writing cards to seniors in rehab care facilities? On Monday night i got a wild hair and called the one Dad had been in here locally.  They have 82 people there. Writing cards is my super power. I dont just sign my name, I write. 

And then God laughed. I wrote Tuesday. I came home from work Wednesday and crashed (essential employee). I wrote Thursday. Ended up on the phoen a lot Friday, still wrote thouh. I wrote on my breaks. I wrote on my lunch. I wrote on Saturday and on Sunday morning. And at some point, your brain goes to sleep and magic happens and you’re just creating.

I delivered 82 cards on Sunday. All the cards opened with “To My Special Friend” and ended with the note that they are special and they are loved. I signed only with my first name. No phone number, no return address. Because while it would be great to know if the right card got to the right person… I am fighting my need for positive reinforcement.

I did it because I am an #Armyofone, and #becausewecan.

And also because Jen Pastiloff asked “How May I Serve?”

Little Boys, Elderly Parents & Friends with Depression

The Poetry Edition

I recently had a phone call, where I was told that I am a natural “mothering” type of person. I like to take care of everyone, nurture them, all that good stuff. But I also need to learn to let go, to remember that not every battle is mine to fight, and sometimes people need to grow on their own. Mother and Smother are very close.

Last weekend, I broke a glass. I told the Princeling to stay out. Except, he didn’t. He calmly put on his shoes, gave me mine, then went to get the big dust pan. I swept up, and he picked up the larger pieces of glass and placed them carefully in the dust pan. The entire time, I was biting my tongue trying to keep the words behind my teeth.

Don’t do that! You’ll cut yourself! I don’t care if I bleed, but I can’t stand it when you do! What actually came out of my mouth was Be Careful.

He took the dust pan out, emptied it in the garbage can, and we went on. Except, you know… It hit me. My son is growing up. Helping. Taking care of me, even when it’s not all roses and sunshine.

Roses have thorns, and sunshine can burn, so I guess there really is no safe way to allow him to grow and never get hurt.

It was a broken glass. No drama, no life coming to an end. But something happened, and he came and helped his mom. Even if my neck muscles tightened as he helped me.

Then there’s my dad. I love my dad. He’s my hero, and one of my best friends. He’s still regaining what he lost, but he’s home. He’s walking with the help of a walker, and starting out with a cane. He does his exercises regularly, and enjoys going out. Nothing’s going to stop him.

Especially not a paranoid daughter.

He went out to the garage to wait for my son’s bus (which was late). Ok, fine. Except… When he first came home, I was trying to get someone to make a dump run for all the crap in there that has to go. His old recliner (replaced with mine), and old toilet (I know, I KNOW!), some wood and a broken lawn chair.

And dad went out into that mess to wait for my son.

You know, the mess that I’m afraid will kill me, let alone my father?

I can deal with him walking out to the mail box. He’s doing more and more and more every day. But that garage scares me. Now, I know my dad is a tough old war bird. He’s 89 and of sound mind. I need to let go, and let him be. I also called and rescheduled that dump run. I’m done waiting for it.

Done!

So that takes care of the two closest to me. But then, then… there’s my friends. I’ve touched before on the fact that I have had situational depression. It is nothing compared to what they go through, their struggles. I have no idea what they go through every day, one still in the midst of it and one keeping the delicate balance of not sliding back in.

There really is only one way to try and express my feelings about it. As a person who loves someone living with mental illness.

It took three tries.

Three.

A magical number.

Poem 1:

Tell the demons I’m here to stay,
There is no playground
For them to frolic
I locked the gate-
Threw away the key.
I smiled at each
And every
single
one
as my blade
shaped by love
Conviction
Strength
Love
Friendship

Pierced them
One
by
bloody
one

Until all heed
My battle cry
Be gone!

Yah, I loved that poem. Kick ass, it is. It’s also patently false. I cannot see, feel or fight their demons for them. It’s what I’d love to do. But I can’t fight their battles. They have to fight them on their own. No matter how much it kills those of us that love them.

Poem#2

I will hold the sword
as you ready for battle
I will hold the line
as tightly as I can
while you don your
armour piece by piece
Don’t forget the heart
Never forget the heart

I will walk with you by your side,

step
by
bloody
step
through the garden of your demons.
Although~
I feel helpless
and afraid
for this is a battle
you must fight

Why can’t I slay
               them for you?

I will stand beside you offering what I may.

This second one feels truer than the first, but it is also a pretty lie. We can’t walk with them, can’t help in so many ways. I can’t make the fear and depression go away even if I’m right there with them. It feels like there is no way at all to  do anything to help our loved ones. We want the battle to be fought and won, but that’s not how it works.
But there is something we can do. Even though it kills us. We, the nurturers, the mothers, made by God to help…. It feels so often as if we are failing them, failing ourselves.  But we’re not…

Poem #3 Sojourn

I cannot wield the sword
To destroy your demons
I cannot walk this mile
In your shoes…

Nor any other.

The tangled leaves blowing
Through your depression
Are a mystery to me.

So I sit here,
Quietly,
Holding a candle
That it might…

Maybe…

Possibly…

Send a glow of warmth
On your cold sojourn back.

I love you, my friends. I’ll try to keep lighting that candle: whether it’s with notes or phone calls or visits. I will always have a candle going for you.

© 2015 Wynelda Ann Deaver All Rights Reserved

Unfriended & floundering

I have never been the type of person to have a whole bunch of friends. Just a few, that’s all a person really needs, right? A few really good friends can get you through anything, and boy have they. But then things converge…

Four of my closest friends live either out of state or out of country. You know who you are, and for these purposes, you are officially “off the hook.” But I will say I love you, my peeps. And I miss you more than I can say. Although I’ll probably get pretty darned close.

But then there are those that are close. And yet still, I don’t talk with them. See them. Nada. I have one friend, B, who I see & talk with on a weekly basis. We used to see eachother every single day– watch Buffy together, even. That was when we lived in the same apartment complex. R and I… we used to see eachother all the time, too, before she moved oos (out of state). I’m used to having at least one friend that I can talk to all the time.

(…I think I’m getting needy…)

Don’t really have that right now. I’m at loose ends. Even my dad, my 83 year old dad has a social life. Tried to call him tonight– nope. He was not in. SIGH. (Although I am very happy for him).

Even though I had vowed I was done trying, I picked up the phone to call one friend tonight. Got voice mail. Don’t know why I bothered leaving one, I won’t get a call back. And I’m off into the viscous cycle.

You know, I was ready to not have time for friends because Ray needed me. I was. I was going to spend time with him, have fun, do this do that… And then it turns out that the developmental problems may not be as large as some thought. Now that the fight is over, so too is the need for over protection and making sure things go right for him. There’s still some level of fingers in the pie, especially with school… But no where near where I thought it might be this time last year. Now, he’s all gang busters making friends and being a “love” to his teacher.

Brian has classes 2 nights a week. Then there’s Bible Study on Monday, too. He loves Bible study, comes home all a-glow with the warmth of seeing friends and studying with them. How can I tell him NOT to go? Can’t.

It didn’t hurt so much, or feel so bad when I was at Dad’s because Dad is as social a creature as I am. Just enough to be connected, but leave me alone when I want to read. Brian, not so much a talker. Which is fine, I guess.  I mean, I married the man knowing this.

I’m just feeling lost. Unfriended, as if there was a poll and everyone decided to get rid of me. Isolated. Sorry for myself.

So here i am, throwing it all out there to the world. Lets face it, a blog is a connection of sorts. The act of reading this blog opens the possibility of a dialogue.

Or you know. I could get off line, pick up the phone, and try again.

I think I’ll do that.

Yah.

Right after I hit “Publish”.