Colors As I Go
grief (32) only child (4) Scary (2) Boiled eggs (1) Distrust (1) Don't call me Faye (1) Dying (1) I hate to be called Faye (1) I'm afraid of the dark (1) Middle age woman (1) Pain that reaches the soul.. can't be seen (1) Running (1) Where did my youth go? (1) dying in a beautiful way (1) life is fragile (1) light on my path (1) my son (1)
Thursday, April 26, 2012
WARM HONEYSUCKLE BUBBLES...
WARM HONEYSUCKLE BUBBLES...
BY GLORIA FAYE BROWN BATES/ aka GRANNY GEE
Soft colors of yellow, orange, red.... golden sunshine kissed my skin. The scent of fresh-cut honeysuckles with vines of lush green... comfort, comfort it brings to my mind, soul, body.
I keep my eyes closed tightly, I smell the scent of honeysuckle... I breathe deeply. I love that scent, it reminds me of my Grandma Alma... running, playing in the late evening with my cousins.
Grandma Alma told us to pick honeysuckles and pull the stem out of the middle, and lick the drop of honey off that comes out on the stem. That one little drop of honey tasted so 'golden' good.
I open my eyes... I sit in a deep tub of honeysuckle bubbles. The water is bubbly-white, the scent rising up from the warm water. I squeeze some water out of my pretty blue washcloth, place it lightly over my face, breathe the honeysuckle scent in... it's so heavenly.
I do this repeatedly, it feels wonderful. I am finding much-needed comfort as I do this... comfort words can't provide. The combination of warmth and the honeysuckle scent help me go to a happier place in my mind... one that is special to me... when I found joy as a child pulling out the stem in the middle of a honeysuckle flower to find one drop of honey to taste. In today's time, I don't know if a child could find pleasure in just one drop of honey on a honeysuckle stem.
I have felt such gray color in my soul today... it has been a day that grief has overwhelmed my heart. As I sat in my ocean of bubbles, I held the warm washcloth to my face. As the water dripped down through my fingers... so did my tears.
My tears mixed in with the warm honeysuckle bubbles... I kept putting my washcloth into the warm water to bring it back to my face. Comfort me, comfort me.............. help me to quit hurting so badly in my soul. Help me to stop crying... just please help me... my heart's in pain, I hurt.
It's been an hour since I sat in the warm ocean of honeysuckle bubbles... I do feel better now. I'm still sad but... I can make it now. I have to help myself get to a better place in my mind... climb the mental ladder to another floor where I can get far enough from 'that pain' again. Somehow... I slipped down to that floor without noticing... it really hurt. Just as my brother Rick-Rick looked at me with such pain in his eyes when he got the chest tube inserted... I can say just as he said... 'that really hurt so bad'. I 'knew'.... I 'understood' the pain... I 'know' pain so well.
I know many kinds of pain... I live with different kinds every moment of my life. Don't feel bad for me... I'm glad to feel it all. That means I'm doing something I really want to do... I want to live, I want to live life to the fullest. Everything will be alright. I don't ever feel sorry for myself... please don't ever feel sorry for me... everything gets alright in time.
Lately, I've been experiencing alot of grief ... again. May 19th... several years ago my brother, Rick-Rick... died..... and May 29th... you all know that my only child, Tommy, died. They are on my mind alot lately. I see their eyes, I see their faces, hear their voices in my mind.
I knew my son, my brother so well. I miss them. They are still so real to me... just like if one of them just appeared... I could accept that. If somehow... they could come back. I haven't forgotten their voices, their laughs at all.
You are seeing a mother who just misses her child... you are reading her very real words of how it feels, how it hurts when her child is gone. It'll be 2 years in May... the pain is still there. It doesn't matter that people say or think... some say 'it's time 'to get over it'... it doesn't matter at all what people think. My pain is my pain... I share it with ones who care, who want to know. Also, this is 'my place' to do that... and I will for as long as I live. That's 'why' I write... the pain is my drive, the fuel that pushes me on... it'll never go away.
I write here, I don't expect anything of anyone... no one has to say anything. It just means alot to 'know you are there'. Sometimes... words aren't needed, aren't wanted.... sometimes, just 'being there' is most important. I haven't told Skip today how I've hurt, how sad I've been... because I don't want to make him sad, or to worry about me. It would make me sad for him, I would worry about him.... :))) So... I come here to ... write in words my pain... my pain in words... I know there are people who experience what I'm experiencing.
I loved sitting in my warm honeysuckle bubbles... it was like sitting in the midst of honeysuckles... I could smell the fresh 'green' scent along with the floral scent... special. I could close my eyes and feel the golden sunshine warm on my skin.........
I was trying to go 'back' to find comfort... there's not alot to find... but, I try so hard. My Grandma Alma and George were the 'softest comfort' in those very hard days... they tried to buffer me as much as possible... they just couldn't control anything in their lives.
My Grandma Alma would try to make me 'forget' the cold, harsh world outside her sitting room by twinkling her eyes at me, smiling as she'd tell me funny, happy things of 'when she was young and could walk, run'... when she stopped, I looked around... that 'bad' world was still there. For so long, I couldn't escape it.....
Sometimes though... Grandma Alma's words could weave magic... all I would hear was her special 'grandma' voice full of love, laughter... see her blue eyes twinkle, wink at me, see her one hand move as she talked to me, weaving her story so, I could really 'see'. How I miss my Grandma Alma, she was mother to me, just as my mama was. It's just another sadness in my heart.
Grandma Alma told me about that special little golden drop of honey that would be there on the honeysuckle stem... if I would just take time to slowly pull it out. How many times did I stand at honeysuckle vines as a little girl... slowly pulling stems out of a honeysuckle flower? Many times... that one tiny golden drop would mesmerize me, taste extra-special... I would do that when I was sad, had no one to play with. I would think as I stood there... I would dream, wish..... I would 'forget the pain' for a time....
Slowly pulling those delicate stems from the center of the honeysuckle, to get to taste that little drop of honey. For a time it was magic.... I wouldn't be feeling 'bad' things around me. My bath of warm honeysuckle bubbles ... worked its magic for me... pulling me back from the 'bad' pain .....long enough for me not to give completely in to it... to be able to gather strength to move back from it... so, I could be alright.