After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of a woman,
not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
you really are strong
you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn
-Veronica A. Shoftstall, 1971

The TRUTH.

The truth is, time doesn't heal all wounds. The truth is the scars will always remain and they are, on occasion scraped off leaving the wound open to bleed, once again. Not in the way that it was in the beginning, and not as often... but painful, still painful. The truth is, this life IS like a grain of sand in the eternal perspective of things. But it is also true that the small, tiny, minute grain of sand which is my earth life has often times found itself embedded in my eye causing pain, tears, turmoil, hurt and heartache. The truth is time really does fly. It goes by quickly without permission or care taking up all the memories with it. Yet at the same time it seems to crawl at a snails pace when my heart hurts my soul misses the physical presence of my love. The little moments of joking and teasing in the stillness of the night as we are drifting off to sleep. The terms of endearment. The physical and casual ways he would show me affection. It's his presence in all things, big and small, that I miss. For now we wait. We wait happily. We are definitely more happy on some days than others. But we do our best to endure cheerfully. It is a learning experience. Every time. My old friend Grief is a contradiction in himself. To have him near is comforting, it reassures me that we loved. We loved deeply. It reassures me that there is still love. That I haven't forgotten. Yet it is exhausting to feel it, and I am sometimes angry with his untimely visits. Yet he whispers "when would you have me come? have you made time for me? for healing?" So, I listen. And I learn. As I reflect on those visits I realize that with his parting and at the conclusion of each visit, I am left with a gift. Understanding. Compassion. Humility. Hope. Love. Unconditional love. Sacrifice. Memories. Connection. Belonging. Belonging... Isn't that what this is all about, anyway? All of that? And for that I am always grateful.