Things I Would Like to Say

If I could tell you anything right now it would be that I love you still
And
Always
Forever until I come to my end and
Still even then, I will be in love.

In this darkness this love is a beacon,
It is a drumbeat,
It is a call to the dawn
And it echoes in my head, competing with all the chaos.

If I could tell you anything right now it would be how much I treasure you
For constantly forgiving,
Trusting,
Loving me
Through.

In this darkness this forgiveness is a blessing,
It is a balm,
It is a respite from my own self
And it echoes in my soul, competing with all the stillness.

If I could tell you anything right now it would be that I am so afraid of losing my way,
Of being lost in this waiting place,
And that I do not think I can give you what you need.

In this darkness this fear is crippling.

We've walked a  long journey together and each step has been an adventure
Feeling heartbreak over joy, sensing loss among the gains, seeing an end at every beginning
And all those things in the small spaces between all the big buildings.
So many things change and so many stay the same and the only true constant above it all is how deeply in love I am.

Mom's Obituary, redone

It's been sixteen years since Mom died. Today I was reading her obituary and found I wanted to update it to reflect these last years. Since there really isn't any other place to appropriately share this, I figured I'd throw it here. 

Deborah Lynne Mennemeyer
March 11, 1952 - July 16, 1997
Beloved wife of Larry E., dear mother of Mary, Elizabeth, Linda and Thomas, mother in law of John, Marc, and Matthew, grandmother of Arianna, William, Xavier, Oliver, Nora and Lucas, dear daughter of the late Charles and the late Zelda Jenkins Crider (nee Woodham). Our wife, mother, grandmother, sister in law, daugher in law, neice aunt, cousin and friend. She loved and was loved immensely and the loss is profound.

Sixteen years. 

Storms

My mind is filled with all the things I've yet to do
And all the things that need to be done
And the chaos of it all surrounds me
Until the level of noise drives me to distraction
So I burst out with some small accomplishment,
Like bailing my boat with a thimble
I am tossed around the storms of my own thoughts
Lost.

There are so many words damned up inside
My thoughts have become incomprehensible
And when I tell you that I'm struggling a bit right now,
I mean that I am
Drowning.

I've become so certain that I am screaming
And so sure this is a broken whisper
And I don't know where to go with this anymore
I mean that I am almost
Gone.

Lost. Hidden. Missing.
While walking around and
Folding the laundry
Mowing the lawn
Cooking dinner
Pouring milk
Weeping dye eyed
Screaming and whispering and holding on
For all that this is worth it
Or will be, if I can find the way out.

In my heart I believe there is a way
I've seen it before when the skies were clear
And the storms forgiving
And I don't know how long
All of you can wait for me
But I pray that it is forever
Or that you'll go on without me
Finding your own way so that I am free and bound.

A Proper Order to Things

I started taking some words and moving them around in my head, and found something I wanted to say.
The silence has been echoing loudly for awhile now and the noise was such a welcome balm to this chaotic mind.
I trusted all those words to a page, spinning it out as I rode the wave of purpose, taking the words out of my head as quickly as they formed into thoughts, shouting to the world outside myself that somewhere, I still exist.
I was in the middle of this experience when the page caught fire and burned away to ash faster than I could comprehend, fast enough to burn my fingers and scorch my heart.
I had forgotten, again, what a relief it is to let go of all those words,
How soothing it is to say a momentary goodbye to the clutter caught up inside.
But then it was gone forever and I've lost a piece of myself.
I've scattered bits all over my time, pages covered in strings of thoughts hidden in books, the bottom of drawers, behind important things.
To gather them up would be an insurmountable task - once I've put them down they are no longer mine.
When things go as planned, and the words are finished, and the papers are lovingly set aside and all those pieces become an echo of a moment in my time.
But then it was gone forever and I'm overwhelmed by the loss.

Bridges

     He was a streamer. The whole thing started as a parlor trick; though he never performed for free. He was fairly sure that his discreet glances at her weren't noticed their fellow party goers, or by her. It was something of a joke, and she was supposed to bear the brunt of it. He had seen it in her, the lifetime of bearing up. She hadn't been born to the this position, but raised into it and left abandoned so that the others could have a bit of entertainment with an outsider. He could see in her that any life was better than death and the potential for changing her mind about that idea. And so for those reasons, he agreed to be the party's entertainment, collected his fee, and turned his attention to her in full.
     She was someone different. She had never been important enough to meet a streamer though she saw them across the room at all the parties. She had never really desired a meeting; streamers walked a path so different from everyone else. She suspected that these others should be afraid of the streamers and their strange power but knew they were too convinced of their own standings to feel threatened. She submitted to the stream because she knew that her participation had been requested and her position didn't allow refusal. Having seen things unthinkable she entered every situation cautious, carefully controlling her fear.
     He spoke to her gently. She had no expectations and found no relief; sometimes the most gentle beginning came a violent end. Her iron control kept her body still as he began his work.
He had hoped to reassure her, that she would understand his agreement was born of his own desire to see her and not at all a desire to entertain. As he began, he admired the iron strength within her. He began to build.
     Every streamer has a different, unique gateway. They are quite varied. The best paid streamers required a gateway that suggested perversion; nude full body contact was too often used to hide a much more innocent gateway just to increase the fee. He wasn't one of the best paid, which is why the party goers assumed he would preform for them. He knew he would never rise above his current rank but he didn't care, the work sustained him.  Streaming was his gift and his drug; without it he would waste away.
     He knew that his gateway wasn't all that impressive and he ignored the impatient whispers of his clients. She didn't know anything about him or even much about gateways and so maintained her air of indifference.
     And still he was building.
     The burst color pattern of her shirt was a perfect complement to her hair and skin. He didn't need to touch her physically but make a connection and so he began to assemble objects along the pattern. Small stones and beads in a wide variety of color; the party host had obviously been prepared for this event in advance of the participants. He didn't care where the objects had come from, it was a thought he had learned to ignore. He focused on the pattern of her, bringing everything together, loosely held, as he prepared the both of them for his work.
     Her iron control presented a problem that was offset by her complete submission. It made him work more carefully that usual, seeing the delicate nature of her being.
     She was mesmerizing.
     He knew the risks. He wasn't in the first line of streamers in part because he refused to do everything that was asked of him. He and his mentor alone knew how hypnotized he could become, seeing the fractures. He knew he should have refused this stream; he could see her beauty from across the party and feel it calling to him. The circumstances were less than ideal all the way around and a part of him, the quiet detached part, reminded him this was why he needed a keeper. All of this quickly faded under the strength of his build. The gateway was ready.
     She felt heavy and tired. Her control slipped and she yearned to give in and close her eyes. Instead she looked at him. What kind of man walks in the soul of another human being? How much was it going to hurt? She knew of women like her, elevated but not equal, who had been damaged. A streamer could do more damage than anyone else - he was viewing the only thing she had for herself. Her body was just a broken  housing for her soul. At this moment, she knew she would rather die than have him expose her this way. She tried to get up from the couch, take a mad run for the balcony before the stream came together. But she had waited too long and he had gathered too much of her to him, they were tied now.
     Her life became a dream. She couldn't say what she dreamed, exactly. She began to know the beauty of appreciation,  understanding, value. All knowledge of the present escaped her as she was moved through her past. But tied to him she saw things from outside without reliving the torments or cruelties of her life.
He knew how to hold her and keep his audience. Through him, his clients could see into this woman's soul. Her beauty was breathtaking. He had to fight to keep himself in both worlds as he tenderly traced her soul's fractures. His gentleness brought a healing. He didn't wish for it, knowing that she wouldn't be served by it when she was released from him, but he couldn't stop himself. She was so much more than he ever expected. He found himself becoming lost in this woman's soul.
     As he continued the stream, the audience became bored. They were accustomed to far more shocking revelations. While he tried to anchor his soul where it belonged the clients drifted away. They were disappointed but not outraged, they knew his reputation as a second rate streamer and assumed he had failed. They saw more promise in the musicians' ability to entertain them.
     He fought with himself.
     She felt free. Knowing another human being could understand her brought a comfort she had never experienced. She knew that luxury could be lost and so she didn't covet it but just relaxed into it. Let the cost come later. He moved so tenderly through her it brought tears to her eyes and beauty to her heart.
     Finally, calling on every bit of his training, he gathered himself where he belonged and began to let go of her.
     She felt his loss keenly.
     As he separated himself from her they both realized how thoroughly they were entwined.
     He left part of the gateway.
     With his eyes and his soul he told her what it was. He told her how to find him. He asked her to endure, just a little bit longer, to give him time to take her from this place.
     She asked him to stay.
     When he left her side, giving an elegant shrug to his party host and beginning to make excuses to leave, he left a part of himself tied to her. Like a life saving blanket in winter, or rain in the midst of a drought, but simply hope in the darkness.

words...

Growing

I'm expanding my efforts to become invisible.
This sort of process is very frightening, however, and so
I'm dropping little bits of myself behind as I go
A shimmering trail of breadcrumbs I hope the birds will make disappear.

I can't remember your name anymore. I almost wish I could
The almost hurts more than it should.
Some details are important but my perspective is gone.

I still breathe in and out deliberately.
I still think irrationally helplessly.
I still long for breathtaking creation.
I still need as much as ever.

I'm giving up all these things that are bad for me.
Or, at least, I'm trying with every bit of will power I have
Admitting a significant weakness.
So instead I'm making those things invisible along with me
Hoping to make it go away with a graceful gesture.

I can't remember your voice anymore. I almost wish I could
The almost hurts more than it should.
The details are important but my perspective is gone.

I don't bleed the way I used too, bright red.
I don't beg for release violently.
I don't believe in my own romanticism.
I still need as much as ever.

Dreaming Something Else

I often dream of the end of the world.
Sometimes it's the whole world as we know it. I lose the people I love,
The conveniences of life, the casual acceptance of existence.
Natural disasters, military armaments, leadership failures - dreams are haunted with such things at the end of the world.

Sometimes it's just my own world that I know. The losses are the same.
The people I love. The convenience of life, the acceptance of my existence.
My mind implodes. I give in to the drop off the edge. I let go.

I've embraced a lifestyle of practicality while seeking a romantic dream. The convoluted and comprehensive ties between the two keep me engaged.
I think I'd rather be a romantic in everything I do, but I suspect I couldn't let go of the tragedy.