I understand that my website is giving some people the warning that it has “malware”. I’m looking into that and working on getting it fixed as soon as possible. I apologize for any inconvenience or if your computer unexpectedly blew up when all you were trying to do was get a dose of Sarah.
I’ve been writing a lot in my head lately but none of it has been making it to print. There’s been so much going on that I can barely keep up with it all. Don’t worry, it will all come out eventually, but for now it’s living in my cranial cavity with the stock-boy I’ve lovingly named “Steve”.
I’ve often said that my brain does its own thing – that we merely co-exist – and over the years I’ve come to accept the fact that I have no control over how my brain works. I’ve lived with this knowledge for a long time and was fine with it – up until just recently. I had to give it a name. That’s where Steve came into play. See, Steve lives in my head. He “rents the space” if you will. I guess it’s more like a co-op. He not only works there, but he partially owns it, too. So, whenever I’m out of ideas, Steve stocks it with something new. If something gets knocked off the shelf, Steve picks it up. If it appears to be too cluttered, well, honestly, Steve doesn’t do a damn thing about that. He just kicks back in his hammock and takes a nap. I’ve considered firing Steve over this but I’m not quite sure if I’ll find anyone else who will apply to be my brain manager. It’s a tough job and the benefits suck. Since Steve hasn’t filed any grievances over his position, it looks like Steve is here to stay. Honestly, I need him. I cannot manage my life AND my brain. Something has to give.
Okay, Steve. You’ve hogged enough blog space. Back off.
Yesterday was a super poopy day. It came after a day of GREAT news – the news that Ben remains to be CANCER FREE (YAY!). So, in the delicate balance of the world known as yin and yang, there had to be some baloney to even out the YAY factor and yesterday was quite a dump. First, I got my feelings hurt. Now, this would have been tolerable but it just happened to be the start of a shit-ball that rolled into gigantic proportions. I’ll spare you the details of just HOW my feelings got hurt but know that it knocked me on my butt and held me down until the next bit came, which happened to be the news of a little friend relapsing.
I hate this sort of news. My friend reached out to ask how I delivered the news of Ben’s relapse to him. Just thinking of this time-warped me back to how I held him on my lap as I told him the devastating news that the beast had returned. The tears. The fear. The unknown of what my friend and her daughter are facing is heartbreaking. And trying to encourage her to be cautiously optimistic. To have HOPE.
Hope is tricky. We’re supposed to have this unending supply of Hope. It’s supposed to come to the rescue and banish all yucky thoughts into oblivion. Hey! We can overcome this obstacle! We have HOPE! Can that ant really move that rubber tree plant all by himself? YES! He has High HOPES (please refer to the song “High Hopes” made famous by Frank Sinatra and Shirley Feeny from Lavern and Shirley). Supposedly, our determination takes over and we can overcome ridiculous feats all due to the beauty of HOPE. Honestly, I’m having trouble with Hope. I want to state why, but then this post would turn into a missive proportional to the epic War and Peace. And ain’t nobody got time for that.
It’s what I get for not writing regularly. My brain is swirling with activity and up until recently I could feel Steve scrambling to make right of the chaos. No, wait. I feel that swinging sensation of a hammock rocking back and forth. Dag nabbit, STEVE! I’m docking your pay.
Seriously, though, yesterday was heartbreaking. On top of everything else, a very sweet woman died yesterday. Her name was Kelly. She was a dear friend of my sister, Cassi. They were buddies in high school and Kelly would often come over to our house. I was enamored with her. She was so funny and seemed to embody joy. Her laugh was infectious. I would sit outside of my sister’s room listening to them chatting with each other about high school stuff. Being six-and-a-half years younger than they, I found it to be quite fascinating banter. Kelly was sweet. Her heart was bigger than Texas. She came and sat with my sister and me at the hospital the day our mother passed away. Her genuine tears mourning the passing of a sweet childhood memory. I felt like I was 10 again whenever I was in her presence. I sincerely enjoyed her. The last thing she posted about on her facebook page was something to do with how crazy the show “Toddlers and Tiaras” was. The last thing I ever wrote to her was a couple of weeks ago. I told her that she was my hero and that I had my very own pair of “Kelly Underoos”. Her reply back to me was “I love that!”.
Kelly had been sick for quite a long time. Doctors couldn’t find what was truly wrong with her. She had been treated for multiple heart issues but with no relief. I think – and Steve concurs – that maybe her heart was simply just too big for this world.
My sister told me yesterday that Kelly was afraid she was going to die alone. Unfortunately, this is what happened. A friend went to pick her up yesterday for a doctor’s appointment. When Kelly didn’t answer her door, her friend gained access from the landlord and found Kelly dead on her bed. Her earthly life over. The pain now ceased. A beautiful light in this world extinguished.
But she was alone. And lonely is a word that has been sneaking around my life over the past few months. While I PROMISE I will divulge more about this as soon as Steve permits, I can state briefly that the changes I’ve experienced this past year have left me very lonely. I’ve realized that relationships that are critical to me haven’t been taken seriously. I haven’t fully appreciated them. I’ve had my head so far up my own ass and wallowing in the doldrums of “how can this be happening?” that I haven’t stopped to appreciate everyone who has so lovingly been there for me throughout all of my turmoil. I’m sorry for that.
I’m sorry for a lot. I’m sorry for hurting those I do truly love. I’m sorry for hurting those I don’t really know. I’m sorry for not furthering relationships with my family after losing my mother. I’m sorry that I’ve been so consumed with my lack of Hope that I’ve failed to see all the beautiful things in my life. I’m sorry for not giving Steve more free time to enjoy the wonderful world that is my brain. I’ve been keeping him too busy and overworking him with the pain and strife and fear I’ve allowed to sneak in to every crevice I have.
I’ve forgotten who I am and have allowed the events in my life to carve me into something else. Instead of taking the events that have occurred and allowed them to ADD to who I am, I’ve allowed them to take over. I’ve shrunken like a cold, wet puppy that can’t find its’ way home and allowed life to alter negatively instead of grabbing it by the beautiful horns and letting ‘er rip.
But no more. I fully understand what’s important and there my focus shall lie. And, with Steve’s help, we’ll find our lost Hope.
Rest well, my dear Kelly. I got your message.