These Words

The things I wrote while my sister was dying are true. And also hard to post here in their unedited form. Yet my desire is to remain true to my experience, my voice; to not hold back even though there’s great pain here, along with great vulnerability.

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Oh, my alarm clock did it’s job
yet I stay
craving the deep sleep of forgetfulness that is so rare to me.
It does not come.
My brain is set on Continuous Repeat of her words, THESE WORDS

“I just want to be somebody different”

“I’m so stupid, stupid, stupid!!!”

(why are THESE WORDS, the hardest words, the ones most clearly spoken?)

I try -because I am stubborn this way- to blow THESE WORDS away

with the soft speech of comfort and reassurance.

But THESE WORDS are at once sharp and viscous sitting heavy on the air.

And we stand in THESE WORDS considering our familiar faces

shared lives

the pain in both.

A daughter of mountains and forest and a logger,
I’ve had the privilege of being on many a precarious logging road. Let me be clear- these roads are not for the faint of heart!
Many of them, my father had a hand in building and I never felt afraid as long as he was driving.
Too frequently the roads in my life bear an eerie similarity-
narrow, winding, and a few, perhaps more than a few,
with sharp drop-offs at their edge, beckoning me to swerve ever so slightly and be embraced by empty air. To be done.
I didn’t swerve. Not once.
And here I am
on yet another unexpected winding road,
a logging road perhaps-
this one surrounded by
a clear cut of her mind-
leaving no life there,
as far as my eye can see.
Oh sis! The tears come thick and burning.
I want to take your hand,
swerve you into peace.
(Jesus Christ, Son of God have mercy…)

There I said it: THESE WORDS of mine
perhaps the hardest to hear but I don’t care.
They are at once sharp and viscous
sitting heavy on the air.
I’m just trying to breathe

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