I sat here several times yesterday to write, but the words just wouldn't come.
I thought about writing earlier this morning, and I couldn't face the page.
So here I am now.
Struggling with the emotions, with the words.
Day after tomorrow will be 38 years since I became Mrs. Ricky Lee McCoy.
The greatest joy of my life.
I stood in the shower yesterday morning with more tears flowing than the water that washed them down the drain.
Crying from the heart, "I want to go home. I don't want to do this life alone anymore. I miss too much. Dammit."
I struggle greatly with the tears as I sit here now.
My eyes are already so weak and swollen from the tears cried thru the night as I slept.
I know I did, my eyelashes are sticky and there is a dryness around my eyes.
I miss Ricky Lee.
Everything about him.
His morning breath.
His stumbling thru the kitchen.
His hair sticking up in all the adorable places.
The way he would wrap me in his arms and just hold my head against his chest.
I can still hear his heart beat, and feel his breath on the top of my head.
His mumbling as he said, "I love you. Good morning me Lady."
I could continue to write about all that I miss - Ricky Lee, our home, our life.
What good will that do?
It will not bring all that back to me.
Those days are past.
That life is gone.
I am focusing my heart and my mind on the life I have been given now to live.
I will remember with love and adoration the man I married 38 years ago.
The life we lived together for 34 years, 7 months, 17 days and 11 hours.
The love we shared - that we lived out loud and that we showed to one another.
But no matter how much I miss him, or our life ...
nothing is going to change that he is gone forever from my eyes,
and life as I knew it is a chapter in my book that has ended.
So life goes on.
Even in those quiet moments when I don't want it to anymore.
Life goes on.
I choose to go on with it.
Moment by moment.
Breathing in and breathing out.
I do not care what others think of me.
I've never overly cared.
I care less today than ever before.
There comes a point in life, I suppose, that one just says, "No longer does it matter what anyone thinks, says, or does. This is MY life and I will live it to the best of my ability."
I realize that I will never please all the people all the time, and now?
I don't give a rat's ass whether I please any of the people any of the time.
The song that Ricky Van Shelton sang years ago comes to mind: "Life Turned Her That Way".
Just weary of having my heart stepped on at the whims of others.
Tired of being a mental, emotional or verbal punching bag where others can take out their frustrations, irritabilities, and disappointments.
*Just this week I have heard that I share too much about grief and loss.
Use that amazing feature on Facebook called "SCROLL THE HELL ON BY".
I am not asking one person to read what I write on Facebook, Twitter, or here.
Writing for me is my therapy.
It is my window for the past and for the future.
It is the whisper of hope for today.
So, if you don't like what you read - simple ... DON'T READ IT!
Oh, and for all the naysayers that feel they must criticize what I share, what I write ...
a well known author and public speaker sent me a message this week about the last blog post I wrote:
"Hi Margaret. Thanks for this post! And about writing - go for it. Hemingway said, "Write stuff that matters." When we do that, it inevitably upsets some people." Another writer said, "When I tick someone off, I'm encouraged. It means I got to their heart." Just a few thoughts..."
So, I bask, yes I bask, in his encouraging words this week.
*This week I have also heard that I was writing angry.
My answer to this?
There is a part of me that is angry.
And I damn well deserve to be angry.
I had my childhood stolen by a dad who molested and raped me.
The man who was supposed to be my guardian and protector, abused me.
Stole my childhood innocence.
So, yes, I am angry about that - I will always be angry.
But I have allowed that anger to work good within me.
Allowed it to create within me a 6th sense about people, and I have allowed the advocate for children to come from deep within my heart.
I had my "golden years" stolen by disease and death that claimed the life of the one that loved me without question, without judgement, without criticism.
He loved me just as I was.
No, I am not the only widow or widower who had their golden years stolen, but I am one!
So, yes, I am angry about that.
But I refuse to be defined by that anger.
Let that anger make the warrior in me rise up!
I am a widow, and I will wear that mantle proudly - because I was loved and cherished, because I love him still (and I will always love him).
Angry with doctors who don't care about the person and life they have to live - they only care about padding their own pocketbook with money from the pharmaceutical companies.
Which is why they prescribe medicines that have more death effects than life giving qualities.
Which is exactly what happened to my husband.
Long story that perhaps it is getting close to sharing, perhaps when I do it will help someone not make the same mistakes.
Frustrated, even angry at times, that so much was taken away from me when Rick died.
My home (and I still don't have a home, I have a suitcase.)
My car (the only car I have now sits in the yard of a friend, broke down for over a year, weeds growing around it almost to the point of hiding it completely, being used only as a storage compartment for a few personal items).
99% of our / my possessions. What few things I have left are at my kids' homes, tucked away in a tote sitting in a garage or storage building.
The definition of Angry: Inflamed, sore, exhibiting inflammation.
Yes, my heart is angry.
My mind is angry.
Sometimes, my words are angry as I talk about life - past, present, future.
But there is a difference in being angry ... and in acting angry.
I refuse to allow myself those temper tantrums.
If ever I act angry?
You can be damn sure there is a good reason beyond myself for the anger!
*And this week I have been accused, more than once, of being grouchy and in a foul mood.
In a text message.
Thru a Facebook chat window.
Via a phone call.
Even face to face.
What did I say?
What did I do?
I haven't raised my voice.
I haven't made any disparaging remarks.
I haven't even used an over abundance of "by-words".
No threats of what I should do, nor open regrets of what I should not have done.
I haven't slammed a door.
Nor have I thrown anything - except for throwing a hateful shirt away this morning.
I haven't even stomped across the floor.
I haven't spoken sharply to anyone on the phone.
So many things I haven't done that are indicative of a foul mood, or a grouchiness.
I was quiet.
I admit that.
There is a lot going on in my heart and mind, without time to write them out.
There has been a lot going on in my body this week as well.
But none of that seems to matter.
Nor does it matter that others are allowed, tolerated, and even expected, to be either quiet or grouchy if they have a lot going on in their minds/hearts/lives/bodies.
I learned long ago to breathe in and breathe out when things don't go well for the day.
As Rick would say, "We don't sweat the small stuff ... and most of it all is small stuff."
I also learned long ago to be careful of words when emotions are running high.
Words HURT LIKE HELL.
Words cannot be unheard.
"Sticks and stones may break the bones, but words can never hurt me."
A cute child's rhyme that I have said a jillion times to myself, and even repeated to my children and grandchildren trying to ease their pains of cruel kids.
And now, I apologize to my children and grandchildren for ever having used those hateful words.
Oh, and just to be clear - - Adults use words to cut like a knife into a caring heart.
So, it isn't just cruel kids.
Such is life.
Life goes on - remember?
Even when we don't want it to.
So this day, and the rest of my life, is a blank page that I stare at.
Wondering what to write.