Silence after a very hard time.

 The last time I posted, my Son died of an accidental overdose. It is coming, the  second anniversary of his passing. May 9th. I am attempting to kick my ass and live every day! Mourning is a way of life. Living is a blessing!

 My Son died five months ago. I am really sad. The last time I mourned the loss of a loved one, I filled this blog with thoughtful things. I reflected on both the good and the bad. This time I feel betrayed by my source of therapy, writing. This place, like many others,

is now abandoned. Friends must social distance. Loved ones are afraid of Covid 19. Mourning mostly alone. Mourning, with a smile on my face, so that I keep my job as an essential worker. 

The greening desert.

PINK FLOYD - Comfortably Numb (HQ Sound, HD, Lyrics) Amber's

This is an interesting time, to be living. Will my survival skills be enough to have helped  make the decision to leave this life? Will I have no choice? Being a cancer survivor, who needs vital, expensive medication, to live, I am sincere. I realize that I am not vital. I am in fact, just another "Brick in the Wall."

Desert living, 2017

The trouble with being accountable.

Early Saturday morning, I got a phone call, from my Son, Zack. He has a broken pelvis, and perhaps a broken back. Of course my anxiety spun out of control. My instinct was to run towards my Son, and fix what was broken.

Alas, my conscience held me away. My Son was in my arms, last week. He was in the hospital, at this time, Sunday, a week ago. On Monday, he checked out, against medical orders. He is not well! He is dying, and he checked himself out. I drove him to a neighboring city, as he requested. I did not offer my home as a shelter. His choice? Hospital or the streets? He chose. and I shattered.

It's Sunday night, and my Son is in pain. I am in pain. It sucks! I have no control of my Adult son's destiny. It is in his hands, and Gods. I can not enable. I can not rescue. It is his life, and the moment he left my womb, I respected that. I wanted to be the best Mom I could be, and I did that. Not perfect, not nearly what I hoped. I was as scared, as you were, my Sons. I was imperfect.

Life is fragile. Nobody is innocent. Love is infinite. I am praying for your life, and your sobriety. It is sadly not my decision.

Moving on

                                         I have spread my dreams under your feet.
                                     Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

                                                             W.B. Yeats