Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Anxious Bones

That was one of the best massages ever yesterday. Cheryl is awesome. She is a healer. I felt like it was the perfect combination of muscle work and healing. It really felt like I was in the room of a healer and she was working magic. At one point I felt like she was talking to me without speaking. She was really listening to my body. She told me afterwards that she felt that at one point her third eye opened. I'm not really sure what the third eye is or if that's something that feels like my language, but we were definitely communicating about the same moment. I'm glad I went ahead and made another appointment already.

She was unthreading the tiny little weights from my bones. I was sore last night and this AM and I think it was from the release of that crap. I told her when I got there that I felt like the anxiety was knotted up in my bones. It and the grief have taken up residence there - made it their home. I hope I've caught them before they've eaten up all that I am. They are such a part of who I am that I'm not sure what will take their place or if I will just be empty. That's why it's hard to let them go.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Dear Maurice,

It's time for you to leave me alone. You died. You left me alone then. I know you thought you have been protecting me by lingering over me. Your constant presence is like a weight I can't shake, like lead. I likely conjured you up when I found your obituary. I think I wanted to know you but you were dead and you scared me.

Don't get me wrong, I have wanted to know you. I have wished that someday I would run into you somewhere and we would recognize each other. There would be some story about a witness protection program or something similar. My life would change in an instant. I would suddenly be happy. We would talk for hours. You would tell me how proud you are of me. You would tell me my path in life - you would tell me what to do - my life purpose. We would laugh. You would fly me somewhere. You would hold me in your arms and sing something only I could hear. You would be young. You would be liberal.

You would say that I could be anything because I am your daughter. Just like that I would know what I want to be and would become it. Seeing you, meeting you, would solve all my problems.

Maybe it is these thoughts that have kept you lingering around me. Maybe you think of them too. Maybe you believe you might will yourself into my presence and do those things for me.

We need to accept this isn't going to happen. I want to call you dad, but I can't do it. I hope you understand. Larry is dad, you are Maurice.

Having you around has been painful too. Being introduced as Maurice's daughter was painful. Having my mom, my grandparents and my brothers think of you each time they looked at me, that made me feel invisible. It was painful. I've felt as if I have no personality of my own. No presence of my own. Wherever I went, you were right there with me. It made me something painful for everyone who knew you.

I think your energy sucks life from people around me. Mourning has followed me. It's a vacuum that sucks away joy and energy and I desperately try to fill that void.

I know you and mom think your presence protects me. She's convinced you are the reason I lived through that car accident. Maybe it's true, but at the time I wished I hadn't lived through it. Maybe the reason I didn't want to was because of you.

I don't say these things to hurt you or the people who loved you. I don't know how else to convince you to leave. You need to. I know this now. It's not good for me for you to linger. Yes, I would love to see you, to be more convinced of your presence. That hope keeps me in the past and the "what could have been" instead of the now and real.

I need to start living in the now. We were not meant to walk here together. I would have liked that. Really. Please take that with you. I would have liked to know your touch, to remember what it felt like to be in your arms, to smell you, to know your voice.

You didn't take care of yourself though. I've been angry about that too.  You knew you shouldn't have smoked and should have slept more. You didn't and that left us alone.

Your regrets are like a million tiny fishing weights tied to me. My whole life I've worn them and thought them armor. I want to shed them now. This means you have to move on. Forgive yourself. Know that I'm strong. Know that my mom did her best

I think the only way for me to know you now is to know myself. I will always carry who you are with me. I have things you've given me such as lanky arms, my grandpa's ears and brown eyes, my grandma's cheeks and curly hair.

If I can have the weight of you gone though, I can breathe better. I can move better. I can look at myself and see you through me.

You can go now. You can go to whatever it is that you need now.

Maria Christine

Tuesday, July 20, 2010


That breeze feels more like fall than summer. No sunny tree reflections on my curtains. The way they are billowing reminds me of a sail and the air filling them feels crisp. Thinking about therapy. Thinking about connections that seem so obvious and yet have eluded me for 30 some years until now. Thinking about connections pointed out to me that I don't actually get yet. That makes me anxious. If I don't understand something, it seems that much more important.