Strawberries


“Fear less, hope more; Eat less, chew more; Whine less, breathe more; Talk less, say more; Love more, and all good things will be yours” – Swedish Proverb

Sharing my anger, confusion, fear, and sadness has been so easy. In many ways it is expected. It is all very natural, I think, that I would feel these things – and you have all been very good to me, to read them. To commiserate with me. To rage with me. To cry with me. To fear with me.

I have spent days, more like weeks, staring at a blank page titled “Add New Post” with a single cursor mark blinking at me, dumbly.

Have I truly had no words? Have all my feelings been felt?

No.

I have been afraid to write. Afraid to share. Afraid to say:

I love her

The woman who is a stranger but shares my face and speaks my words.

The woman who did not discard me to live a carefree life.

The woman who picked herself up after her children were taken from her.

The woman I lived a lifetime hating for not wanting me.

The woman who lived the same lifetime I did in a hell of her own.

The woman who has sparkles in her eyes when she smiles at me, her daughter.

I do. I really love her.

I don’t want to make anyone else feel badly because I love her and I’m really sorry if I do but I won’t help it. I won’t be angry. I won’t be mistrustful. I won’t be suspicious.

I just…will love her…

I deserve the chance to put my fears, insecurities, and self-hatreds away forever (or as long as I can manage)…

My friend Cara just awakened me to a Buddhist parable about a tiger and a strawberry :

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.

Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted

Painting by Jason Brown

I can neither escape the past nor the future but I can face the present head-on and appreciate the beauty it offers me. My mama and my time with her is my strawberry. Please let me have it.

Words of A Stranger


I speak my mind,

I cuss like a sailor,

I am open as a book,

if you ask a question be prepared to hear the answer,

hell…make sure you want to hear the answer…

Life is a combination of experiences. Some are happy and beautiful and some are sad and painful. But, the journey is awesome and worth the trip!

I understand depression and the darkness more than most.

I am mostly nice, but I can be rude and snarky, too.  And my humor is sometimes a bit dark.

I think that everyone makes choices, I care about my friends and family, and support them, even if I don’t agree with them. I love unconditionally, there are no strings, I have learn to take to good with the bad.

After living my life I always thought that I must have done something very terrible, that my mom didn’t love me… so for years it feed into my own insecurities. Never feeling lovable, pretty, or yes even sexy.  Now, well most of the time I keep a positive mental image of myself. It isn’t easy, doesn’t come naturally, I work hard at it to keep the old fears from creeping up on me and taking over.

~*~*~*~

Think you know the woman who wrote these words?

I met her only recently, I call her mama.

In the past weeks we’ve spoken, often, and just as often I read her words on the page and try to remember when I wrote those words to her and if she sent it back to me as a joke to poke fun. Then I read it again, slowly, and I realize the words that are mine are also hers. This woman who is a stranger. This woman who is my mama.