Healing Hugs

I hugged shame

I loved disgrace

I encouraged peace

To the weeping face

I heard confession

I felt mercy

I held his hand

Told him he’s worthy

Removed the prison

Of spoken word

Showed him value

By actions served

He sobbed for relief

From a god he doubted

Regret his badge

His sight; sin clouded

Visible pain

ached his soul

But his words dictated

Desperate control

Will he surrender?

Forgive his heart?

Remember his humanity,

That is tearing him apart?

I can’t fix him

Or make things better,

Just let him feel loved

Releasing the debtor

Who knew?

I have a client whom I’ve been with for over 8 months. I companion care he and his wife three times a week. He is extroverted, claims he hates people while socializing, laughs with his entire body, and is charmingly impish. She is quiet, speaks when spoken to, defers to her husband, but is sweet and expressive when she feels it.

I was doing a normal Thursday visit. He was in rare form. He declared himself indomitable then laughed when myself and his other visitor cheered his word choice. It was a grand celebration of friendship and excellent conversation.

The following morning I received a text that said things had taken a turn for the worse and he was in dire straits. Could I go visit? Absolutely.

Dire straits is an understatement. Although no fever, he was having a health crisis not experienced before. The secondary visitor of Thursday was informed of the situation and they also arrived. It was crushing to know that what we experienced the day before had done a 180. His stats were critically low, but being on hospice, comfort was key.

We prayed.

Okay, I confess, I thought prayer, like funerals, were for the comfort of the person attending to their love. Positive vibes and all that. I prayed to the Universe that peace would prevail, that the highest good would be met, and that his children would arrive in time to attend the final hours. He was put on several prayer chains, of which, I’ve also been skeptical.

For four days he knocked on death’s door. He wasn’t eating or drinking. He couldn’t swallow. He was doing a version of Cheyne-Stokes breathing (It’s kind of like a fish out of water. Because they can’t swallow, the mucus that normally goes down remains in the throat causing a “rattling” sound) He knocked hard, but…nobody was home?

Tuesday he was awake and aware of visitors; even speaking.

By Thursday he was sitting up in his chair, conversing, demanding, agitated that he couldn’t exercise “to stay fit.” He ate more than he had all week. He drank hot tea. He was cranky, but alert and responding to input.

Okay, so let me explain why this struck me as unusual. I honestly believed, as did the nursing staff, that he was going to die. His body showed all the signs of that coming up quickly. The children (my age and better), were told to prepare. But, what changed?

I’m sure there is a scientific reason for his sudden turn-around. I’ve seen and experienced people doing a “rally” (That’s when the dying person suddenly has a burst of energy that can make them seem competely “normal” again. They may want to eat their favorite foods, or drink, or talk with their loved ones. It happens surprisingly often.) Four days of awareness is unusual.

This particular set of events has really forced me to confront my views on prayer, on my own experience, and honestly, I feel like a bit of imposter. However, I’ll take the guidance of my fellow guest and roll with the grace that has been granted with this incredible occurance. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be wrong, yet I want so badly to understand.

The next few days, other family members will be attending to him in conjunction with his children.

I will continue to pray. I am baffled, feel awkward in my Unitarian Universalist faith, curious as all get out, and willing to laugh at myself for thinking I knew enough. Do we ever?

Big Emotions

I eat big emotions with a ravenous hunger

gnawing on skeleton bones from my closet

just in case I missed a bit of sinew or gristle

making sure the osteology does not reassemble

into overwhelming feasts of horror

which must be returned with a clean plate

Where tears get sopped up with the bread of life

blood gets drained from the cups of my history

Scars and scabs are filleted into thin slices

childhood terrors served with wooden-spoon whipping

cream gone sour, bitter, painful to swallow.

I dig through my closet of deconstructed moral injury

dab my satiated lips with a crisp linen serviette

closing the door behind me.

TAMP: Honorarium

From the forest comes the howl

Loam of earth’s dead rise

Ascending lift of sacred fowl

Imminent his demise

The snort of buck calls to a doe

A blue jay alarms the wood

Hastened river onward flows

The frigid dusk holds good.

A witness to the story

He is silent in the still

Accolades and glory

Abandoned from his will

His legacy is found abiding

In maple, in walnut, or oak

His spirit freely residing

Among his beloved folk.

From the forest comes the howl

Loam of nature’s rise

Ascending lift of sacred fowl

The undertaking of goodbyes.

The Heir

You were a human being

With a life as precious as my own

But, I’m alive and you are not

To me a path was shown

I’ve inherited your voices

I’m heir to your bright beacon

I will not turn away

My resolve will never weaken

I spend my inheritance freely

With loud pride from your source

I magnify it ideally

Your oppression no longer enforced

The lynching tree will bear no fruit

The crucifixion of branches

Will decay, not take root

It’s time to play with matches

Vacillation

Sometimes when I’m alone

feeling sorry for myself

Lonely for the company of another,

I think of you.

I look around and see artifacts

gathered around me like ghosts.

I remember how much we laughed.

But I also remember how much I cried.

I feel the warmth of your hand.

I feel a longing for what was; not what is.

I miss you terribly

but not enough to give up the happiness I’ve built.

I refocus on my own company

I think of everything I’ve accomplished since “we”

And yes, I still miss you, but you’ve become

a fond memory of abandoned dreams

Liberation TW

What you see before you

are the skin and clothes of the living

and my dead.
A result of generations of love

or hate

or boredom on a Tuesday night

and a potluck of chromosomes
The gene pool of my ancestors

drying up in my shallow end
Distilled into hereditary faults

that I forgive them for because they resulted in me.
I observe through my mother’s eyes
They show me that inaction causes stagnation
That stagnation causes resentment
That resentment causes a paralyzing fear
THAT fear festered rudely in my cradle

visited by vacationing cockroaches from upstairs
Unlike my one-eyed father, blindness is not mine.
My eyes are opened

when my mother reads me lies from a book of fairy tales

because I know that imaginary monsters aren’t real
That the real monsters look like people

they tend not to hide under my bed
instead, they sneak into my bed

a candy-colored catastrophic cruelty
Thieving my innocence,
Shackling me in guilt and shame
reinforcing that there is nowhere to hide
No closet is deep enough,
no blanket is tightly wrapped enough
No pillow will help my breath
Swaddling complacency
Nurturing tar black secrets

Forbidden by death
To verbally vomit
My truth abandoned in cobwebs

Chronological milestones

Amalgamated rubble

Duct taped together

Glued with lies, rejection,

Abandonment, and

A visceral faith that I was the broken one.

denunciation was not implanted

on those who blighted me.

Conversely, desperately

I believed.

I once had the courage to tell a student teacher

When I was 9 years old that I didn’t want to be a girl

I didn’t want to feel the way I was feeling anymore

I wanted to have the power of being something else

Because even then I knew that what I was,

WHO I was

Wasn’t like the other kids.

I had no lighthouse to guide my loose sailing

I had no anchor to throw over the side

To halt the rocking, storm-battered ship

That I’d been given to captain with no skills.

That teacher gently corrected me

to crash on the rocks instead

There was no safe harbor in which to moor

But…

There was something inside of me

A luminosity that crusaded for freedom

A light so obscured to me

by external destruction that I was blind to it

But I could feel it, warm in the darkness.

Growing exponentially with each fear abated

With each discovery excavated from shame

With each box opened, musty and dusty

The contents returned to owners

Who gave me their rejected anger,

shame and guilt disintegrated with antique fragility

I piled them up in the middle of the room

And I burned every bit of that judgement.

The fire rampaged uncontrolled

Scorching anyone who stood too close

Its flames reached unprecedented heights

With a destruction as violent as my life

Every step a new fire ignited

Every truth a testament

Every act defiant

No obstacle an impediment.

My raised fist declared my power

My resurrection burst forth from within

I am no longer defined by what was taken from me

But by what I bring with me to this world

What I create, nurture, give and receive

Is a reflection of that glorious light

I was destined to be.

Departure

The vivid light of the dawning day

brought warmth, unexpected,

in an unusual way.

Relinquished labor past

silence in the brightness

among the spirits now cast

Peace found in the holy hour

grief intensifies exponentially

revealing its raw power

The request has been distilled

Absent heartbeat in the once vital body

The dash has now been fulfilled

EOL Doula

With trepidation I wait

Better too soon

than way too late

Asking answers of unskilled sight

Maybe so

Maybe tonight

Indecision holds me fast

Supportive heart

as he breathes his last

But will my service be enough

to smooth the edges

of the emotional rough?

Will I be able to be a guide

through the darkness

with my brilliant light?

Will it be enough to attend

the final hour

the welcomed end?

Liminality

I am, but I’m not.

I’ve evolved from the broken baby-steps

No more a child but rather child-like

in wonder and awe which astounds my senses

in a warm bath of spiritual baptism

that cleanses recklessness from my history

within acts of love, compassion, and kindness.

A comprehension of seeing the unseen

breathing in unison in emotional repose

Setting down the burdens haunted

at the threshold of forgiveness

where retribution crumbles bitterly

into the dust from which it was born