And I sewed and sewed-
Until my finger bled; but still-
One promise I kept.
So my counselor has a new theory-
discovered only on our final visit.
I’m a “RAD” adult- you know…
the anxious-ambivalent kind.
I love you!
I hate you!
(But please don’t leave me.)
I don’t think it’s that.
I think you’ve grown accustomed to the me I’ve tried to be.
I wear the suit and say the words-
But ad-libbing is not considered kosher-
And I must be a racist cause I said that.
And you know what the score is-
cause you said that.
Why am I alone when I’m around you?
They tore down my childhood home;
but I’m without you.
You’re sitting right there-
but I don’t hear you.
I guess I can never go home.
You’re not calling me to sing-
Now I hate this phone.
A useless distraction throughout my day;
And I found my ring-
I’ve been wearing it since you’re gone.
It sits right where the lines began to fade;
I did all the dishes in the sink-
I’ve been avoiding them all week.
I don’t see the point for it anymore;
You texted me just to say g’night-
The text went no further than it might.
But I wish it had.
My seemingly loving efforts appear to have been~
regardless of my good intentions.
That stupid fucking realization:
“The grass only grew when we left it alone.”
And I then-
Well, I looked at my hands;
each rubbing the other like it would somehow bring the other- comfort…
and I flashed upon a memory…
a memory of my father~
wringing his hands…
Because there’s nothing else you can do when “rainy days and Mondays always bring you down…”
I wished that it was all gaslighting-
I cannot deny my own part in the fire-
that fire that burnt everything.
Everything we loved-
Everything we planned-
All the things we planted-
I am the common denominator who just…
Just brought it to it’s knees and then to a-
To a bitter fucking end.
And everything I thought I knew
and everything I was meant to do-
Was smoldering… kindling~
Left to mildew:
Mildew like forgotten laundry in the wash~
The kind you forget because you think you’re happy;
you are busy;
you feel content.
Then and only then-
do you realize:
you left it;
left it TOO long~
in the rain… and also;
On the line-
and now it’s sour;
That smell can not be washed out.
Sometimes I’m not really sure what the fuck I’m getting out of this.
I spend a lot of time- up in my head- trying to determine the motives why I stay here:
How much I put in vs
How much they take out;
What I’m learning vs
What’s becoming bad habits.
What’s mine to own?
What’s theirs to own up to?
Sigh. I’ve stopped the cycle by putting lipstick on a pig.
Bob Marley once said:
“You may not be her first,
her last, or her only.
She loved before
she may love again.
But if she loves you now,
what else matters?
She’s not perfect—you aren’t either,
and the two of you may never be perfect together
but if she can make you laugh,
cause you to think twice,
and admit to being human and making mistakes,
hold onto her and give her the most you can.
She may not be thinking about you every second of the day,
but she will give you a part of her
that she knows you can break—her heart.
So don’t hurt her,
don’t change her,
don’t analyze and
don’t expect more than she can give.
Smile when she makes you happy,
let her know when she makes you mad,
and miss her when she’s not there.
Love with your whole being when you receive love.
Because there are no perfect girls, but there will always be a girl who is perfect for you..”
I see it now-
Why you couldn’t love me:
The things I overdid.
The things I should not have done.
Like the pie-
What I saw as a romantic gesture:
A few weeks too soon.
Questioning my motives.
Strange continued reflections-
That at this point should be moot:
Strawberry Rhubarb learnin.
I never should have made you a pie
Working in hospice is a trip. Some days are really hard and I’m thankful to have coworkers and some friends who get it.
Death is an ever looming presence in this job and sometimes when a patient dies it hits like a gut punch.
Most people don’t get it, the typical response is “well they were on hospice so it wasn’t unexpected so why are you feeling ___________?”
Well yes, they WERE on hospice.
But also, NO….
I’m one of these lucky social workers who have quite a vivid imagination and this works to my advantage and disadvantage. While I can empathize with the patients or their families because I can try to imagine what they’re going thru (to the best of my ability) but unfortunately when they pass, I can also rabbit hole on that experience as well. We don’t always KNOW and when someone is alone at that moment, we never know. Was it quick? Was it painful? Were they scared? Particularly right now when it is hard to see patients in homes and facilities, as a social worker or a chaplain. Sure- there’s some ways around it if things are “imminent” but you don’t always know. Sometimes it’s more rapid than anticipated or a complete surprise. I think about it too much for my own good, probably. It goes downhill from there and snowballs, but I personally take solace in the fact that I still care this much. But not with all patients. Not that I don’t care for them all, but I’m sure there’s some projection, transference, something that makes some harder than others. Maybe it has to do with how long you work with someone. Maybe they remind you of someone: consciously or subconsciously, or they represent something or someone we fear or worry about. Lots of possibilities. Maybe it simply has to do with my control issues. My version of denial of my own mortality. I’m not sure really. But regardless, some days, some patients, some deaths, hit harder and last longer than others.
Keep doing the good work. That’s all we can do.