Weeping Sweeps the Spaces

Writing in the middle is messy. I have chosen to use writing as tool to move through the difficult things I have faced in recent months. It is not a cry for help, but a vulnerable sharing. I believe stories are the most powerful gift we poses. Stories illuminate our humanity. I am attempting to deepen mine as I navigate in real time.

We are ok. We are moving through. We are healing. We are present with our suffering.

Weeping sweeps away the spaces need clearing. In the emptiness we expand.

She lay behind me. Her knees bending into mine. I match her breathing.

There is beauty here.

Can it stay?

No, but it will return.

We lay there. Wings filled my chest and blew themselves into my fingers and limbs. Warm rivers of strength stretching. I knew peace.

It grew cold behind me. She was gone. I curled in and around one so small. Flesh of my flesh.

There is beauty here. It cannot stay, but I will.

—

Medicine and miracles, she said. Medicine and miracles.

Keep me in the mysteries. Keep me in the places where everything is possible and kept in love. Rid me of these earth elements so I can have rest. Rest from all the whisperings that this can’t possibly be everything. This is just suffering. What God would subject us to suffering? Where is God in the suffering?

Weeping sweeps away the spaces.

—-

The lie lay on my chest as we searched for the non-existent banana.

She was starving as she awaited surgery. I promised her relief knowing there was none.

—-

They all arrive slippery. Why was this one perfect? Even as they told me she wasn’t?

—-

Medicine and Miracles. I wish for you Medicine and Miracles.

—-

Twelve weeks later she shats herself. An explosion that spreads itself to the floor, the bath, my hands, my hair.

It will make her better.

Will it?

When will it end?

The wound on her chest spreads itself over me. I carry it silently creating fuzzy edges around my shoulders and arms. Why aren’t they strong enough to carry all the bodies they made? Why let me make them then?

—-

Spaces need filling. Pick up the phone. Read the book. Turn on the TV. Fill it with sound. Push away, invite in another kind of emptiness. Turn away. Deny. Keep it hidden. They will see your nakedness. When was naked ugly? Wasn’t naked made perfectly?

—-

There is beauty here.

Can it stay?

No.

God, help me.

Collecting the stories that will make us.

Sharing them each Sunday.