There is someone who knows my secrets, and hears me when I talk.
Her unconditional love is unmatched, no matter how challenged.
I aspire to be the mother she is.
She has saved me, more than once.
I sat, crumbled, in the middle of the floor, hugging the carpet like it was the last thing that was keeping me alive. It was wet from my tears, and I couldn’t stop the crying. The emotion poured out of me like a dam that had broken. I hadn’t found any use in getting dressed – since life, as I knew it, was over, and I was determined that I needn’t function in society. I had, decidedly, ruined my own life with my decisions, and this sadness was my punishment. I was worthy of this pain, and, if the floor opened up and swallowed me whole, well, that would be understandable- and welcome. I cried out grief, I cried out hurt, I cried out anger. Every emotion that the great Webster had defined and listed in his dictionary spewed out of me like an erupting volcano.
I saw myself there on the floor, wondering desperately who this broken girl was. Where had she come from, and how was she to survive this kind of sorrow? What choices had she made that were so detrimental as to leave her in this puddle on the floor, wishing all the world would just go away? Oh...but she knew very well. It was clear.
A light cracked into the room, a door pushed open, and a voice rang in my ears and saved my life. I would like to say that this was my defining moment with God. That his voice rang through my ears like a song, and the Holy light people speak of filled the room... but I was too angry with God, even then, to notice the gift he sent me. That voice wasn’t his at all, or not what I would have expected... “Get up!” it barked. “That’s enough...get up.” I sat up, startled really, at the interruption of my self destruction. I sat up, and stared into the bluest eyes I know. Eyes filled with love, and a necessary strictness that I know now, most likely, almost killed her... It may not have been the God...but it was my Mother.
“Get up off the floor. That’s quite enough. Look at yourself. It’s noon. You are not dressed, you look like hell, and I will not let you break. This is your life now. This is what you have chosen. It’s time to face it, and move forward. You get ONE day. One day to wallow, one day to cry. Your day is half over. Cry more if you must, but it’s not going to make the hurt stop- not right now. By the time I get back, you will be showered and dressed – and you will not be on the floor. You may crawl up in a blanket on the couch and lay there feeling sorry for yourself until the day is over. But when that sun rises tomorrow morning, that’s it....one foot in front of the other, and move forward."
And then... I got up off the floor.
I am grateful for my momma.
I sat, crumbled, in the middle of the floor, hugging the carpet like it was the last thing that was keeping me alive. It was wet from my tears, and I couldn’t stop the crying. The emotion poured out of me like a dam that had broken. I hadn’t found any use in getting dressed – since life, as I knew it, was over, and I was determined that I needn’t function in society. I had, decidedly, ruined my own life with my decisions, and this sadness was my punishment. I was worthy of this pain, and, if the floor opened up and swallowed me whole, well, that would be understandable- and welcome. I cried out grief, I cried out hurt, I cried out anger. Every emotion that the great Webster had defined and listed in his dictionary spewed out of me like an erupting volcano.
I saw myself there on the floor, wondering desperately who this broken girl was. Where had she come from, and how was she to survive this kind of sorrow? What choices had she made that were so detrimental as to leave her in this puddle on the floor, wishing all the world would just go away? Oh...but she knew very well. It was clear.
A light cracked into the room, a door pushed open, and a voice rang in my ears and saved my life. I would like to say that this was my defining moment with God. That his voice rang through my ears like a song, and the Holy light people speak of filled the room... but I was too angry with God, even then, to notice the gift he sent me. That voice wasn’t his at all, or not what I would have expected... “Get up!” it barked. “That’s enough...get up.” I sat up, startled really, at the interruption of my self destruction. I sat up, and stared into the bluest eyes I know. Eyes filled with love, and a necessary strictness that I know now, most likely, almost killed her... It may not have been the God...but it was my Mother.
“Get up off the floor. That’s quite enough. Look at yourself. It’s noon. You are not dressed, you look like hell, and I will not let you break. This is your life now. This is what you have chosen. It’s time to face it, and move forward. You get ONE day. One day to wallow, one day to cry. Your day is half over. Cry more if you must, but it’s not going to make the hurt stop- not right now. By the time I get back, you will be showered and dressed – and you will not be on the floor. You may crawl up in a blanket on the couch and lay there feeling sorry for yourself until the day is over. But when that sun rises tomorrow morning, that’s it....one foot in front of the other, and move forward."
And then... I got up off the floor.
I am grateful for my momma.
