Hammocks and Rocking Chairs

The loss of a loved one is a something that we must all deal with at some point or another in our lifetime.  For some, the loss can be unexpected and devastating; for others, it's a welcome release from a life filled with pain.  Whatever the case, the sudden gap is felt.  

All we are left with is the memory of them.  But it's only once they're gone that you try to grasp onto them for the last time, trying to remember every detail.  The way they laughed and smiled, their sense of humor.  The way your hand fit so perfectly inside theirs and how soft their skin was.  The warmth of their embrace and how loved you felt.  They are memories we learn to cherish and be thankful for.  

The love of and for a grandparent is something so unique and profound.  It is something truly special and not to be taken for granted.  Each individual will have their own set of memories, perhaps special moments that you shared with them.  I personally remember a visit back home where my grandma called me over to her room and sneakily handed me some cash and said, "don't tell your grandpa or parents, this is just for you.  Go buy something nice."  I hugged her and gave her a kiss knowing refusal was not an option.  Ironically, later that same day, my grandpa called me over and handed me some cash and said the exact same thing.  I couldn't help but laugh at just how alike these two were.  I did in fact later tell my parents about it and they simply chuckled at their cheekiness.  

Walking through my grandparents house, you could always tell where my grand mother was.  She was forever singing church hymns while going about her daily business.  Her beautiful voice would echo off the high ceilings and always bring a smile to my face and fill my heart with love.  When she wasn't busy, you could find her sitting in her rocking chair, reading the bible (which I'm sure she knew by heart).  Her feet in her slippers, gently pushing back to rock, back and forth, back and forth.  I don't think she ever knew, but I used to watch her sitting there peacefully while she read.  

Her passing brings back many memories of my grandfather, who also passed nearly 4 years ago.  It seems so strange that so much time has gone by since in many ways, it feels like just yesterday I was there visiting them both.  Grandpa and I both had a love for hammocks.  It was usually a race to see who got to it first when we would visit.  My favourite memories are of the two of us cuddling on his hammock when I was a child.  On one particular visit, I had a terrible ear infection.  He put me on the hammock and put the drops in my ears then we sat together and talked.  He had me laughing in no time.  Before I knew it, my ears didn't hurt so much anymore. 

There are too many wonderful memories of these two it's amazing my heart can hold them all.  But I choose to remember them as they were not how they came to end, for their ending was not befitting of the life and love these two had for their children and grandchildren.  To all who have loved and lost wonderful grandparents, hold their memories close to your heart and they will never be forgotten.    

When Darkness Falls

I am a prisoner of my own pessimistic thoughts.  No light can penetrate, no optimism can affect my views.  No amount of logic can alter what I feel or know to be true.  Words of encouragement are interpreted as white noise falling on deaf ears  My views are felt by many, understood by few.  Why try to change that which you cannot possibly begin to understand?  Do you honestly believe you hold some sort of wisdom that I do not?  I am a pessimist, this I know, of this, I am aware.  I exist this way for a reason and it is my experiences that have molded me into the person you see standing before you.  Dark, distant, wary and always analyzing.  In my life, I have found that naivety feeds optimism.  What is there to be pessimistic about when all you've known is success?  How can the world hold doom when all you see is the light?

I do not hate optimism, quite the contrary.  I am intrigued by it.  Intrigued because it is something that I seem to lack and be incapable of doing despite how hard I may try.  I am fully aware of positive outcomes and the likelihood of it occurring, however, it's just easier to see and accept the negative for it is the negative that usually occurs for me.  This way, should a positive outcome result, it comes as a pleasant surprise, uplifting in a way, whilst when expecting the doom, it arrives much like an anticipated and unwelcome enemy at your door; you saw it coming all along.

"Esperanza"... a word I have tattooed on my left wrist and I sometimes wonder why.  Its purpose was to serve as a reminder to have "hope" in a world that seems void of it.  To not give up even when things are looking down.  At my worst, I'll look at it and try to hold on to that faint promise of optimism it seems to imply it will give me.  Never lasts long.  In fact, more often than not, when I look at it, I want to scratch it off my wrist, feeling this word, now permanently inked into my flesh. has failed its intended purpose.  So what hope is there then, for a gloom and doom thinker like myself?  Perhaps that is my burden to carry; I am forever destined to live a life in darkness, isolated from the smiles and laughs that come so naturally to most.

The Invisible Person

     I reach out and it's as if my voice is not heard.  I stand before you crying for help yet you turn and walk away.  My pain is obvious yet you seem blind to it.  Perhaps it is only I who can hear my voice screaming in agony and it is the world who hears but a whisper come from my lips.  A gentle sob carried by the wind.  I seek not sympathy nor pity, simply an ear to which my sorrows can be removed from my body, making them no longer mine.  But also an ear which understands my pain and is willing to listen without offering hollow words of advice or encouragement. 

     What do you see when you look at me?  A "genuine" smile or the truth; that the smile is in fact a superficial facade put up to hide my real suffering.  But even this protective wall is crumbling, the agony showing behind the phony grin.  Surely if I can see it when I look in the mirror, it should be apparent to those who look at me? 
    
     You laugh at me, chuckle at my comments as if what I have just said is funny when it was meant to be taken seriously.  You dismiss my words as mindless drivel, the exhaustive ramblings of a woman who knows not what she speaks, perhaps overreacting as though others somehow know her better than herself. 
   
      I sometimes wonder if my scream will only become apparent once I'm gone.  If all of the past revelations will come together in a moment of grand epiphany.  If suddenly my voice will be heard and understood for the warning signal it was meant to be.  If the seriousness of the situation will finally be deduced as someone who was crying for help all along only nobody was able to correctly interpret what was being said.  The pain of living with this question is almost unbearable.  Only one possible outcome hurts more than this: What if even in death, the world remained oblivious?

Empty Messages

"Stay strong."  Two words that when put one behind the other have no meaning.  Sort of like "I'm sorry", another phrase that is so overused that it no longer carries any real sentiment, just a set of words spoken out of habit in an empty attempt to comfort the listener.  The words become vestigial over time, degenerating to the point where the original meaning is lost.  What is it even supposed to mean?  "Stay strong."  As if a suitable alternative is available other than its opposite, "give up."  The irony of course is that when this phrase is spoken, it is when the receiver is at a low point in their life, perhaps even suicidal; strength is what is lacking so the advice comes across as condescending.  It is the missing component to their well being so how is it possible to remain in a state that you are not currently in?  It would seem that the overuse of such phrases which are meant to make us feel better and imply a brighter future may be around the corner actually make little to no sense at all.  Words that once brought hope and comfort now bring resentment and confusion when one sits down to think about what the words really mean.

Advice is something that is meant to make you feel better however these days so much of it sounds like recycled impersonal nonsense that not even the most desperate of people can take seriously.  What ever happened to listening, what ever happened to actually giving a damn about someone other than yourself?  What ever happened to giving advice to suit the individual instead of advice that comes out in short two to four word phrases which fail to accomplish anything other than a feeling of complete isolation?  No one is ever taken seriously until they're gone.  Then that over recycled advice you gave turns into the most putrid few words to have ever come out of your mouth. 

Words of "Wisdom"

So many times in life, words are lost on those we say them to.  Advice given but never heeded, opinions said but never taken into consideration.  What good then does the ability to speak serve if one is never heard?  Why care enough to speak, to use ones vocal chords, when the sound emitted falls on deaf ears?  So often thoughts are expressed to subjects who are unwilling to allow the words to penetrate them enough to cause a conscious thought.  The words of experience and the wise have no purpose to the young and reckless who seek only to gain immediate pleasure with complete disregard for future implications. 

But perhaps the fault lies with me.  Perhaps it is I who have the disease of over-thought and lack the gene of immediate gratification, a sense of living in the moment without caring about what happens or could happen.  Just to take that moment for what it is not what it could be. 

My experiences in life have forced me to mature faster than most, to see the world and its possibilities from a different perspective.  I analyze things deeper, feel things more passionately and try to tread as carefully as possible.  I cannot be as carefree as others, I feel this is a luxury I cannot afford.  As much as I wish, and try as I may to break free of these shackles, I find I am still held back by my fears and previous experiences from which my knowledge of such things comes from.  To let go would be to disown that knowledge, to deny its very existence. 

The ability to see past the physical exterior of people and see into their true selves is a gift that has both its benefits and its downfalls.  These readings have isolated me in a way that is difficult to describe and for others to fully comprehend.  It's like seeing a disaster long before it occurs but not being able to tell exactly what it is or when it will occur.  Merely that it's imminent.  As of yet, my readings have not failed me.  They have helped me to keep my distance from individuals who might otherwise cause me harm in some form.  But I have been unsuccessful in my attempts to help others see the dangers these people present, as in many, if not all cases, those who are most dangerous have the most convincing of outward appearances.  It is almost impossible to convince someone that despite what they can see and think they know about that person, something sinister lurks below the surface.  The truth revealing itself later; the damage and harm almost unbearable.

I fight hard to prevent those I care about from experiencing the pain I've been through.  I feel that no other human being should be put through the emotional torment I have had to experience in my short time on this earth and I suppose it is for this same reason I take it so hard when my warnings are ignored.  What then is the purpose of older generations if we are not to learn from their mistakes?  We all make our own paths in this life and we choose our own destiny.  Mistakes will be made, scars will be left, I guess my only hope is that one day, I can help in the prevention of at least one scar on a loved one, especially if that loved one is my own creation.

Contemplating Suicide

     As I write these words, perhaps the deepest irony would be that, unlike the title suggests, I am not actually contemplating suicide.  In fact, I am contemplating the exact opposite: life.  All that has been (past), and that is (present) and all that might be (future).  Perhaps the most meaningless of these three is the past, for I can no longer change it and thus it deserves no further thought.  For when has regret ever brought anyone success or sanity? 
     The future holds within it a great sense of mystery, fear and frustration.  Obsessing over what I do now and how it may affect me in the long run has become somewhat of a preoccupation, grasping me in such a way that I can no longer function in the present.  And without warning (or invitation) the past creeps back in, reminding me of my failures and short comings and an individual.  A lurking remnant, its only purpose these days is to inflict paranoia in me, causing anxiety with every decision I make in regards to my future.  As if to say, "It didn't work then, it's not going to work now." 
     Yet, of all these, it's the present I have the most difficulty with.  Dealing with the 'now', taking things as they are, expecting nothing more and nothing less.  Perhaps it has something to do with the pace; it's too idle for my liking.  I know they've always said progress was slow but I don't think I ever realized how snail-like it really is. 
     I live my life regretting many things in my past, though not all things, dreading my future and forgetting the present.  And it may be for these reasons that the title came to mind.  I will admit, I have contemplated suicide on more than one occasion.  But I think for now, I will try to contemplate the present, for it is called this because it is a gift.