I am in the Tomb.
I am in the tomb.
Grave clothes wrapped tightly. I'm struggling to be freed. I twitch and turn desperate to be released from the clutches of the box. I try to locate the exact source of this immediate, frantic panic.
Of course this internal wrestling is primarily birthed from the horrendous tri-chord tragedy that holds me captive...
No one. And I mean
no one wanted to stop
and take this pix.
Thankful I insisted.
My Mother took her own life. I don't feel as if I'm trespassing her by saying that, because sadly it has already been said... (See here: Hattiesburg Realtor Found Dead). Wrapping your brain around this bloody reality is an enigma shrouded in deep, dark, unknowable mystery. It is a violent vortex of indescribable agony that will suck you down into the darkest, vilest pit of hell if you allow yourself too much time wrestling with the "Whys."
And, yet once again, I find myself thinking: "I wouldn't wish this pain on my worst enemy."
All these unanswered questions loom...Could we have done something? What signs did we miss? Racking your brain...Circling. Circling. Circling back to those final encounters. Final conversations. Closing texts. What did I miss? What if I would have picked up on something? ANYTHING?
Yes, we knew she was depressed (and suffered from depression & anxiety), but there was always a part of her that was not settled. Disappointed. Heavy laden by some self inflicted, but mainly circumstances beyond her control and selfish people appointed chains. And so like a relentless detective on the case every single person I come in contact with I ask...When did you last talk to Mom? How did she sound? Looking back what did you notice?
|Thank you, Dora!|
And "thanks" to all for the
strong hedge of love &
support enveloping our family.
But if being paraded down the center aisle of St. James Catholic Church in a yellow jumpsuit (Weird I expected orange) and bent over by the weight of literal, noisy chains to view your mother's dead body and pay your final respects to the one you took more and more and more from can't change a person...Seriously, I don't know what could?
I'm praying for a miracle of fish and loaves proportion!
But back to Breleigh... Mother would always say, "If anything was to ever happen to me...Y'all would take Bre?" Our response: "Stop that, Mom! But of course! We would take Bre."
|Naively unaware this was our last|
To circle back that's the immediate source of this morning's pain.
In a few short hours light is coming. Marvelous light. Morning is here. And THIS Easter morning will be the first one I face without my Mother.
My Mother that would have been here.
| Smiling because of|
about her flip flops in Easter pix.
Instead of the Easter light, if I'm brutally honest...I'm sitting alone in the blackest space somewhere in between Good Friday and the coming dawn. Dreading today and all it means...
I now have a precious 5 year old under our roof that is waiting on the Bunny to arrive. I have Easter, the pinnacle of the Christian experience, the breaking of all chains. The bursting forth of the Marvelous Light. The eternal Hallelujah Chorus echoing from generation to generation telling the greatest story ever lived...how Jesus burst forth from death, Got up and Walked out of the Grave!
And, yet, I don't feel like I have the strength to even wiggle my way free from the death cocoon that is suffocating my life and seeking to grind me into an ashen paste...
AND, YET, SOMEHOW...
Deep breath, here comes my guttural heart's cry...
But first, I better pour myself a cup of coffee and wake up Cherry...