The Year of Death

It's been almost a year since my last post. Things have been a little dark around here. We survived, by God's grace, Lost Girls suicide attempt. Our relationship, however, did not. Remember, the broken are BROKEN and cannot be fixed without a driving inner force to do so. It's been nearly a year since I've laid eyes on her. She spent several days this spring in a mental health ward. I heard she may have a job. We leave her alone because her rejection is so harsh, so brutal, that we have no desire to stick our hand back into the mouth of that lion. 

 My therapist tells me that kids like Lost Girl and KK, often circle back around in their mid twenties, early thirties. This appears to be true for KK. Second daughter has dealt with her own emotional and physcial issues this year. She allowed us into her life again and we carefully walk on the glass and eggshells that surround her. 

 It would be enough for me to say that I've given up and that the years of 2020 and 2021 has left my scarred and bruised. True. It might also be more than enough for me to say that I'm tired of people's opinions, fragile emotions and cheap shots. Also true. I titled this post, The Year of Death, but maybe it's the year of hardening. The year of growing. The year of letting it go. 

My brother died. Writing these words... hard. He died in June and I'll probably write about him later. His death is a little too fresh, too hard. His death brought me full force back into the family circle, such as it is. THAT has been both glorious and satisfying in a very unhealthy way. 

My mother yet lives... 

 My friend, Mel, also died. She passed very unexpectedly in August, the week before her 55th birthday. I can't believe she's gone. 

 I suppose the best way to sum up how I feel about all the above would be: I fucking hate it.

 I hate that my girls went from trauma childhood to tragic adulthood with death around every.damn.corner.

 I hate that my brother died and no one could stop it. No one could stop the demons that haunted him. I hate all the things I have learned about him since his passing. Word to the wise, no one wants to hear all the crappy things their loved one did when they were alive. Seriously. 

 I hate that my friend died and that her service was weird and completely lacking in the one thing that made her who she was: Her FAITH. 

 I do not hate my mother. If you've been around, you know all about my Mommy Dearest. I'm no longer hurt by her, no longer manipulated and no longer willing to stand by and take her little jabs.

 I AM in therapy. I am strong and secure and healthy. 

 The Year of Death is about more than the physical death of those that I have loved. It's also about the death pleasing others (so they'll like me). Death to tamping down opinions. Death to being quiet in order to keep the peace.

 (I still really, really love peace though). 

 So, this is me, laying it down, pouring lighter fluid on it and BURNING it down.