Maryreunited

what you think,what does this remind you of?

Memory at its finest lacks corroboration
—no photographs, no diaries—
nothing to pin the past on the present with, to make it stick.
Just because you've got this idea
of red fields stretching along the tertiary roads
of Saskatchewan, like blazing, contained fires —
just because somewhere in your memory
there's a rust-coloured pulse
taking its place among canola yellow
and flax fields the huddled blue of morning azures—
just because you want to
doesn't mean you can
build a home for that old, peculiar ghost.

Someone tells you you've imagined it,
that gash across the ripe belly of summer,
and for a year, maybe two, you believe them.
Maybe you did invent it, maybe as you leaned,
to escape the heat, out the Pontiac's backseat window
you just remembered it that way
because you preferred the better version.

Someone tells you this.
But what can they know of faith?
To ask you to leave behind this insignificance.
This innocence that can't be proved: what the child saw
of the fields as she passed by, expecting nothing.

You have to go there while there's still time.
Back to the red flag of that field, blazing in the wind.
While you're still young enough to remember
a flame planted along a road. While you're still
seeing more than there is to see.


"Durum wheat" by Lisa Martin-Demoor, from One Crow Sorrow. © Brindle & Glass, 2008.

There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain —
'Tis Pain's Successor — When the Soul
Has suffered all it can —

A Drowsiness — diffuses —
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness —
As Mists — obliterate a Crag.

The Surgeon — does not blanch — at pain
His Habit — is severe —
But tell him that it ceased to feel —
The Creature lying there —

And he will tell you — skill is late —
A Mightier than He —
Has ministered before Him —
There's no Vitality.



You may question why I have posted this, but if you knew me, really knew me, you would not question, you would nod, and know I have moved beyond this. That the anger and pain I once felt has changed and morphed with time. If you really knew me, you would know that this blog is not about me blathering on about what I don't have, or about what I have lost, it's about me educating others. It's about me getting on with my life, and loving those I am fortunate enough to have in that life. It's about doing the best I can to truly live.

When I started this so long ago, there were many reasons for doing so. Anger and pain were among those reasons I won't lie and say they weren't. But, this was also a place to explore how I felt, to work out those things and to learn. And, yes, I have learned, a mountain of things. Good things, not so good, and downright bad. But all things that needed to be learned.

If you were to ask me today about the state of my reunion, I could tell you honestly that it's good, it's not the be all and end of life these days. But, that is as it should be. I love my daughter, she loves me, we have a good relationship. That's all I ever wanted for us. It's all that matters to me. I don't spend time obsessing over every little thing that happened to us anymore. Why would I? Will it change any of it? Of course not, nothing can change it. Do I still think about it all some days? Of course I do, what mother wouldn't? (Well ok, there are some, but I am not one of them)Do I still hate adoption and what it did to my life, and what it does to others lives? You bet, hate it, want it all to end- and that is why I still write about it.

These days I am far too busy with school, trying to find steady work and dealing with what I have here at home to obsess over all the little stuff. I just don't have time for it. I have enough to do without spending my time worrying about some fool who left an anonymous comment saying horrible things that are not only untrue, but unfair. Why would I waste my time on it? Not that I can't tell who said it, or where they were, and all that jazz. I just will not waste my time over it. It is not worth it.

Tonight it is very quiet here, there is rain on my roof, and once in awhile I hear a distant boom of thunder (or closer) and see the sky light up. I listen to my son playing Mario. My others are not here, and there is no one else to make noise here. So I contemplate things like the poem I posted. I first heard a snippet of it on BSG, and loved it so much that I had to look it up. I did not realize what it was about until I read it entire. Then I knew it could have been me writing when my pain was at it's worst. When I felt there was nothing more that could be done to me, that I had suffered all that a person could. It's odd how clearly you can see that once you have clawed your way back to some semblence of normalcy and balance. I know that there are things I could do better, certainly there are. There is always something, you can do better, As a parent, as a person- but we don't always do things in the best way. We can always improve, it's a thing we all work on.

I have said it before, I am a work in progress, flawed, feeling, and all too human. Like some of you who read here. We are all works in progress, let's try to remember that shall we?

I Do Not Publish Anonymous comments, whether they are kind or hurtful-

Also, so we are clear, this is my place to write my thoughts out, to talk about my feelings, my life, and my experiences. I am not going to stop writing, so once more I will say this. If you don't like what I have to say, don't read it.

That is all~