I stopped writing when my divorce process officially began. We had been falling away from one another for years, ...an ocean of difficulties
for us that we were unable to bridge. It was a time when (as a first) I felt maybe I shouldn't write from my most authentic places. There were people involved in the fabric of my heart and its torn apart pieces.
I was responsible for other people's pain, ...regardless of my own. I knew, that no matter how broken I had found myself to have become, I needed to refrain from writing about the realities of how I had gotten there, ..how WE had gotten there. It was a necessity to refrain.
What I have found is, I need my writing. Some of you may need my writing. I know God would want me to write,....about it all. I wish I could say I began to journal on my own, but I did not. I just put the pencil down. My tears, and sorrow and anger were the only traces of writing from my heart.
...I have been on my knees.
Broken into teensy teensy pieces...just no cure in sight.. time, ... maybe.
But no amount of time will erase my loss of the man I sought for twenty-five years. My eventual, utter brokeness, from years of disfunction serve me no better as as a separated woman...the pain still remains,...but my movement around it and through it has been forced to the forefront. The bandaids were ripped away... wounds were agape. And we could only truly watch the other bleed.
I have seen us so clearly here, where we could have chosen differently, how we could have been better spouses, friends, ... where I could have been better. How I was difficult. I can see these fragments in the shattered glass. It has all been such a profound loss. Profound, profound Loss. My prayer is that we both grow, ..that we both see how we could have served one aother better, that we both see our part in it. We have both suffered. We have both, through the years, caused wounds & have been wounded. We both .... have responsibility in it.
Another conversation with no destination,
...another battle; never won And each side is a loser... So what matters who fired the gun? And I'm learning, so I'm leaving And even though I'm grieving .... I'm trying to find the meaning .Let loss reveal it ...Let loss reveal it St. Jude,
the patron saint of lost causes St. Jude, ....we were lost before we started St. Jude, .... we lay in bed as she whipped around us St. Jude, ..... maybe I've always been more comfortable in chaos And I was on the island ... and you were there too But somehow through the storm,... I couldn't get to you St. Jude; .... somehow she knew And she came to give her blessing while causing devastation And I couldn't keep my mouth shut, ... I just had to mention,... Grabbing your attention ...St. Jude