Tuesday, May 4, 2010

A Tiny Yellow Blossom

a. ) wasn't a very pleasant day in terms of marking things off my list.

b. ) I didn't get out of my pajamas until 4:00PM, and the only reason I showered was just because Blake was coming home.

c. ) was a gorgeous day weather-wise in Houston, and I managed to spend a good amount of the day outside on my sweet, little patio (in my pajamas).

Let's go with answer c. 

Like I said, yesterday was gorgeous here in Houston. 
It was sunny and warm, but unlike the normal, unbearable summer weather, the air was pretty dry and crisp.   

The dogs wasted away the boring afternoon by basking in the warm sunshine, lying on the concrete and moving into the cool grass when it got a little too hot to bare. 
They watched, with darting eyes and nodding heads as mockingbirds flitted across the yard.

I inspected my geraniums, marigolds, lemon tree blooms, and the short tomato plants, which were gifts from my neighbors across the street. Today, there is a tiny yellow blossom, which hopefully will hold a promise of one day bringing me a vine-ripen tomato.

The humming of lawn mowers in the distance provided a serene setting for reflection and thought. 

There is something curious about the desperate moments in your life.
You are surrounded by a dark void that doesn't seem to allow happiness or joy.
There is no exception.
I need to become that strong shoulder for my family, to put on a brave face.
I need to continue to move toward the goals that Blake and I have set for ourselves.

I do not need to remain in this state of ceased movement.
As I run my fingers over the silky fabric of my life, I want to appreciate all of the colors and textures of my existence.
I do not want to linger on these sad events that seem to have bombarded me in the last few months         

In talking with a friend in the afternoon, and with Blake in the evening, there is one part of all of this that is necessary in order for me to move forward.

I should be able to grieve the news and reality of my mother's cancer treatment.
I should be able to grieve the inability for me to conceive without fertility treatments as well as the possibility of not being able to conceive children at all. 

I should be able to grieve in my own time and way before moving forward. 
When I am ready to move forward, I will be able to make clear, more rational decisions about what the next step should be. 

In considering grief, I felt a whoosh of relief. 
I have a plan. 
I have an immediate goal. 
I know what my next step is. 

It's funny how well those two words fit together.


  1. I am sorry to hear about your mum's cancer, but I will praying for strength and peace and recovery.

  2. I'm so sorry you are going through this, taking on so much and trying to work through the emotions with something so difficult. I pray that your mom's treatments bring progress for her, I wish there was more that could be done, that it was possible to fix it. *Hugs*