Disbelief ~ Homer

~ written for BlogFriday come on over and check it out
Fiction

Before she even woke up Gwen felt the sadness in her chest. She had spent a week preparing for this day and yet as she slowly opened her eyes she felt the overwhelming urge to cry come over her. Homer, being Homer, jumped onto the bed and began pressing his wet nose against her face as he did every morning - getting antsy for his morning walk. She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow and began to sob without restraint. Almost as if understanding something was different, Homer burrowed under the covers next to her, making her sobs come even harder.

After five years of wet noses every morning and long walks before work, today there would be no walk. Homer had terminal cancer before he was barely out of puppyhood. Homer had been a present from her husband Elliot nine months after Gwen found our she was infertile. She was a strong woman but finding out she would never be able to have children tossed her into a depression. Together she and Elliot had talked through it all. The both agreed that they did not want to adopt and that they would find other ways to share their love with children and animals through nieces and nephews and her volunteer work at the animal rescue.

~

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon that Elliot had brought home this awkward, gangly very wet puppy. As they stumbled in the door, Gwen thought, "I wonder how long this one will be staying with us." As they often took in dogs from the shelter on a temporary basis for various reasons. Elliot let go of the leash and ran back out to the car. He returned with enough dog gear for a year. "What?!? What is going on?" Gwen asked, then she looked up at Elliot and knew this was not just another temporary resident and her heart melted.

~

You'd never know that Homer had a thing wrong with him judging by his behavior this morning, which made getting out of bed and starting the day all that much harder. The vet had assured her that he was not going to get better and that the medication was the driver of his renewed energy but cautioned her that it was only temporary. Only temporary bought her another 2 weeks with Homer but every day was sadder, heavier. Today was the day she would have to say goodbye to her best friend and confidant. To the one creature in the world who had listened to all her grief, even that which she couldn't share with her husband. Where she was going to find the strength to get through today she did not know. But it had to start with a cup of coffee and a shower.

Driving to the vet's office she had to pull over twice from nausea and she even threw up once from the disbelief of the reality of her day today. She had not felt this lousy since the days following the news that she was infertile. She had felt like this ever since she had gotten the news that Homer's time was limited. Pulling herself together she walked into the vet's office and immediately started to cry. Everyone was very compassionate and she was walking out the door, tissues in hand an hour later when she passed out.

Waking up in the emergency room with the vet assistant by her side, the sadness overwhelmed her again before she even wondered why she was at the hospital. A few moments later her husband walked in and rushed to her side, "I am so sorry I didn't go with you this morning, you kept telling me it was something you wanted to do on your own and I shouldn't have listened, this whole ordeal with the dog has taken it's toll on you and I am sorry, he said".

"I am sorry to hear about Homer" the doctor said entering the room, "but that is not the reason you passed out." Puzzled and immediately scared for her own health she looked at her husband and grabbed his hands as she waited for the doctors next words.

I see that your record indicates that you are infertile. "Yes, yes" Gwen said. I have been for about 6 years. Well then this might come as a surprise but, "You're pregnant, with twins." Gwen almost threw up for the second time that day from disbelief. Her husband had to sit down. Six years ago Gwen was told she was infertile and could not not have children. She had been told this with "100% certainty" although thinking back she never was really told why, or maybe she had been and just did not remember through her depression. She had stopped taking the pill and had a healthy sex life with her husband. No babies for 6 years...she was infertile. But wait, now here was this man telling her she was pregnant with twins, and showing her an ultrasound that showed her two, twelve week old images of what were to be her boys.

"Everything looks fine the doctor said, but I suggest you get some rest, you at least 18 busy years ahead of you..." As the doctor walked out of the door and her husband went to bring the car around she sat in the dimly lit room and couldn't help but wonder what to believe about the power of death and life and the intertwined relationship that existed. On a day that one of the saddest things happened with Homer's passing, she couldn't help but wonder about the wonder in the world. She sat sitting in utter disbelief at the day and wondered how she might get away with naming one of the twin boys Homer.

(c)Michelle S. 2007.

All Rights Reserved

**I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.

Writer's Island - Message in a Bottle

~ poetry
~ written for Writer's Island

Message in a bottle, take me away;
Float me to an island and another day.

A day where I can find sunshine and ocean sounds;
A day where I don't have to make 100 technology rounds.

Peace, and slowness I seek to survive;
All of this frenzy, it's a wonder I am alive.

Message in a bottle take me where you might.
Follow the ocean's waves let our destination take flight.

I am open to change whatever it may be.
It's from the rigors of life that I wish to be free.

Free to explore what possibilities might be there
Message in a bottle please take me anywhere.

I will follow you blindly, safe inside your core
Message in a bottle please offer me something more.

(c)Michelle S. 2007.

All Rights Reserved ~

Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!

* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. I know there are several areas. All constructive feedback is welcome.

Blog Friday - Achievement

~ written for BlogFriday

Achievement

She sat in her bosses office wondering how she got here. How it was that as a grown woman her job could reduce her to tears and panic attacks.

How?

She learned, and then admitted years ago that she had a problem with work, and setting boundaries. She would rather work till she dropped, or ended up here in a heap of tears, barely able to breath, than admit that she could not handle it. She worked at creating a better balance in her life and for about 2 years she succeeded. That is she succeeded until "the next great project came along."

Achievement was too tied up in the opposing concepts of success OR failure. As it has been quoted, "failure is not an option." What then was where she sat now Crying and trying to explain why she "just can't work 12+ hour days for another day". Was admitting she couldn't do it succees; she was asking for help, or was asking for help a failure?

It was a failure on two levels, one she had asked before and before and before and the light at the end of the tunnel always lost it's glow within days of her asking, and two it was a failure because, well, she should be able to handle it.

She should? Says who? Says her that's who.

Her own worst critic, she didn't fear letting herself down, hell she was still figuring out what she wanted in the way of happiness nevermind achievement. She just knew she didn't want to, couldn't, fail, but most importanly she couldn't let others down or let others think she had failed. She would go down trying. The thing is, no one other than her ever said they were anything but proud of her. What the hell is she trying to prove and how could she get over trying to prove it?

Slowly, I have started to realize that "The Jones'" don't matter. Choosing to be child free is my choice. Owning my own home will come at the right time for me. It is an ongoing process. When it comes to work I still get sucked in. Can't say no, will work late until I practically collapse and then almost stop completely. Another pattern I am working on changing. It's strange this thing called "Achievement" which to me equals "Success". I don't have a great ending for this one. I have to ponder it more. It is almost a philosopical question for me. Are Achievements little things along the way and Success the overall accumulation of the smaller Achievements? Even more important - how do we get the perceptions of the importance of Achievement that we do?

Thoughts are very welcome.

(c)Michelle S. 2007.

All Rights Reserved

**I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.

Spider Story in 100

A big, creepy, crawly, icky, sticky, leggy bug loomed over our bed, freaking me out majorly, leaving breathing air not an option. Loud shrillness started screaming inside wanting to be heard but neither sound nor air, could force beyond my lips.

Husband sits quietly half asleep in the dark, cozy den watching sports television, specifically baseball and I was frozen still.

Brooms, mops, newspapers, even clothes, all mentally meandered about as options of escape. Insurance plans' coverage won't cover death from spider phobia. Finally it retreated away from any nearness.

Running, leaving fears behind, one bathtub provided safe retreat.


~ this piece was written at the challenge of a fellow blogger who asked that we write a 100 word piece on something scary or Halloween-ish. We had to use 100 words exactly and not repeat a single word. It certainly does not flow like I would like it too - but it was an interesting exercise. Thanks to Janet for her word counting and word duplication checking skills.

Crayons and Leaves

Abby always loved crayons. They were here favorite "toy" growing up. Even now at 37 years old she always made sure there was a box in the house, with a coloring book and sketch pad. It didn't matter that she did not have any children, nor that she chose not to have any, in her mind coloring was not a juvenile activity. Instead coloring was her way to escape anxiety on any given day. All you really have to do is stay within the lines. An activity that is much simpler than most things in life.

Today Abby walked her dog Cody through the fall leaves, stopping every few feet so that he could take a good sniff of the crisp air or some other scent that was probably only pleasant to a dog. She relished these walks as they gave her time to think. Today her thoughts were on fall and the new box of crayons she had purchased earlier in the day. What used to be a simple venture - one box of 64 Crayola crayons in a box with a sharpener in the back had become more complex over the years; as had most everything else. It took her 20 minutes looking at the array of washable crayons, twistable crayons, special crayons and even erasable crayons before she settled on a box of 96 crayons with a sharpener in the back. As she made her purchase she sighed, even crayons had become complicated.

Coming out of her thoughts and back to her surroundings Abby realized she was further from home than she thought. She turned Cody around and headed for home. Now, paying more attention to the nature around her, she could hear the newly fallen leaves crunch under her feet. She was happy for the crispness in the air and sound of the town football game off in the distance. This was her home. She grew up in this town and felt comfortable here.

Nearing home now, Abby wondered if she felt a connection to fall because that was when she was born. "Who knows," she thought, "I just like it". As she started up her walkway she noticed the slightly frostbitten summer flowers she had yet to take out of the garden, and the patio chairs that needed to be put away.

"Not now" she thought, "now I am going to go inside, make a cup of tea, and color"

As she walked, she stated thinking about the seasons and how fall was her favorite time of year. It always seemed to be a time of gathering for her and renewal for her -- a time to get back to things of the home and the heart after a summer of frivolity and dashing around. She needed to make sure that she was prepared for the winter ahead. Just last week she was pulling out her winter clothes, making sure her crafts were lined up for the winter and that she had a long list of books waiting to be read. For Abby fall was like spring was for many, a time of renewal. It was a starting place, and why not? For so many years something new started every September. The ends always came in June when school let out. The beginnings were always in the fall.

Why then did all of this feel in such opposition to the world around her Abby wondered? Just when everything seemed to be scattering; summer friends heading home; leaves falling, gardens being dismantled, she was feeling more gathered together than any other time of the year? Even more than springtime, fall was the time for newness in her life. Abby always bought her new box of crayons in the fall.

A lot of thoughts - only a little development

I have had a lot of thoughts since I started actively writing again. A lot of one liners that sound great, a lot of quotes that I could write about, and many drafts of blurbs of things that are good but need globs of development.

I guess right now I am doing writing superficially. I am exploring it all over again. I think I need to give myself time and space to sit and breathe with that. I have to accept that I will have many undeveloped pieces - that's OK.

But I wonder when I should flip the switch, start thinking about revising some of what I have written. When should I take it beyond a blog prompt response and into a short memoir/narrative. I am not sure of what my goal is with my writing. I don't see myself writing a full novel - but one never knows. I think I prefer the short story route. Some memoir or memoir like columns.

All food for thought for now I am just writing.

Difference

~ written for BlogFriday

Different

What is different between then and now?
How do I know I have come so far?

I know I am older, wiser I hope,
but how do I know I am different now?

Different physically the world can see,
I am doing OK the outside of me.

The inside, my mind, takes more work.
Growth has evolved - the difference is there,
but only after hours in a therapist's chair!

My strength is my beauty, my desire for serenity abounds.
The strength of the ocean, the peace of the bay,
all remind me how I have grown into today.

The then and the now always will be.
Self-acceptance and self are the forces I've found.
The difference is now. The difference is me.

(c)Michelle S. 2007.

All Rights Reserved

* Poetry is not my strong genre for me at all. Aside from never knowing the best way to punctuate it I always feel as if it is sophomoric and too sing song-y.

**I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.

The Journey

- personal reflection
~ written for Writer's Island & BlogFriday (Both had the same prompt this week)

I never knew holding my Nana's hand as she took her last breath would lead me where it has. Somehow during the last 2 hours of her life I found a serenity and Grace. I had been looking for serenity for a long time. Learning Grace was just a bonus. It was as if a peacefulness enveloped me. I knew it was going to be OK. Even now 8 months later when I see a bird fly by I know it is going to be OK.

She was a mother, a daughter, a sister, a grandmother and a great grandmother. She was a friend, a believer in God, a member of the parish, she was a Podiatrist. She loved to swim in the icy waters of Cape Cod well into late October, she was the most positive and most stoic person I have even known. Strength is silence, power in presence. All of these things describe by grandmother. She was many things to many people and multi faceted in her own being, but nothing describes her more than this one word. Grace.

She was Grace. Grace under pressure. She had the grace of eternal beauty. She had the gracefulness of a blue bird on the thinnest of branches. Grace in her words, and in the purity of her thoughts. She never said a negative word about anyone.

My Nana taught me more than I could ever clearly articulate in words while she was alive but it is what she taught me in the final hours of her death that will stay with me forever. She taught me that it is OK to let go. When the time is right and all of the details have been taken care of, when you have said goodbye, and set your sights on the future it is OK to let go.

For her, at 93, 2 weeks after falling and breaking her hip, she waited until her family was around her and she said goodbye. Two hours later with just me by her side, she gracefully said goodbye to this world and moved onto her her next journey. Being the religious person that she was I have no doubt that her next journey has just begun.

Life is a journey, a trip filled with hellos and goodbyes, all too often we say hello too readily and goodbye not readily enough. We are always looking for more, yet often never discarding what we are done with. As I held my Nana's hand at 9:14 on January 31, 2007 I realized that I need to say goodbye not only to my Nana but to my own internal struggles with myself, accept more, fight less, be graceful about it - all the way my Nana did with death.

This one's for you Nana. Thank you for giving me the strength to accept grace.

(c)Michelle S. 2007.

All Rights Reserved

Come check out other writers on Writer's Island or better yet, come on over and join the island!

* I consider this and most all of work here works in progress. All constructive feedback is welcome.