For those of you who don’t know who Doris Day is…here. She was a singer and actress from the 50’s & 60’s eras. Fresh faced, blonde, ‘All American Girl Next Door’ type. I was raised watching all of these old movies from the 50’s and Doris Day was the peppiest of peppy. (Besides Debbie Reynolds. This subject might just be another blog…) Just watch this. Que Sera Sera. You’ll see. Now that I hear that song…it does actually work. ‘Whatever will be will be” indeed. Just keep moving along. (That or its just about people who won’t commit to anything.) As a kid, she was always the example to me of putting on a happy face, looking up, moving on.
“To write is to create something that will have its own life, Audre Lorde thought. A writer needs to hold her nerve, conquer her fears and speak out. Her great mantra – and the title of this Lorde reader, which collects for the first time in a single volume a selection of her poetry and essays – was: “Your silence will not protect you.” (Article found here.)
‘Silence will not protect you’. Hmmmm. True. I made my last post private anyway. As much as I am so angry and so hurt…I don’t want to hurt other people. (I do want the horrible, vindictive person who made sure the priest called me the ‘biological mother’ at my daughter’s funeral that she orchestrated to go to hell tho.)(God I wish I would have stood up and just quietly left.)(Stop ruminating Judy.)
On the other hand, I also get very tired of being vague, and taking the high road. I never learned ‘tact’ in my life. I pretty much just stomp through everything verbally after ruminating over it in my head and KILLING it there. Or I just blurt shit out.
Part of me would like to believe that my writing helps other people. Other people who are angry and sad and hurt and in pain. And that seeing my story, my words, or anyone’s, on the subject, lets them know they are ok. That we all have a right to be fed up. We are not being ‘rude’ or uncaring or mean. Just being female disallows us so many feelings. I know men feel that too. A man can go write a blog about that if he’d like, I’m writing this one.
So I felt like my son would be uncomfortable if he read the blog. How do we write about ourselves? Here is where the battle lies I suppose. My self involves others. My grief and pain involves others. Savannah kept me silent for years from talking about her or my experience I was having as a mother via her. I am lost on this. The more I get out of my head the more I write. So maybe I’ll just keep doing that. Getting out of my head that is.
Today was a good day. I played 80’s jams at work. The day I wrote the last blog I was very, very down, and the grief train seems to be getting worse btw. I am coming out from under the shock and seeing the horror of everything that has taken place in a much clearer light unfortunately. My Aunt called me later that day and invited me over or to go do something fun with her. In my state of mind at the time I could not even make a decision about driving, parking, being in front of any people, the word fun…so she called my boyfriend to come and get me. That man drove over 120 miles to take me out and bring me back home. When I arrived at my Aunt’s, she had birthday cupcakes, a little present, and she made dinner. It was wonderful. I am learning how to be a supportive, amazing person who does little touches like that for other people…cupcakes and champagne? How perfect and easy to give to someone!! I am taking what I learn from the people around me right now who are being so selfless and trying to pass that on. I do have family and I am loved. Welcome to the ride of life that so many of us disallow.
Focus on the positives. They do exist. I tend to blast them all out of my life and brain with a sand blaster…but I do come around. Que Sera Sera y’alls.
The only thing that keeps us from reaching out, going beyond, doing something for others, is FEAR. Fear that we aren’t enough. I know I can say I am afraid I will be embarrassed or that I will put myself out there for someone who will take advantage of me or hurt me in some way. I was taught this. To not trust. I learned it by being vulnerable and getting my heart and ass handed to me on the reg. So I am going to unlearn it.
This is MY LIFE.
I get to choose.
I can choose to be in my cave or I can choose to come out. I can choose my words. I can release all of my emotions all over the place and smear my heart like jelly all over the world. I can walk with my head up, or I can cry in the car with Ugly Distorted Face, so much so, that if people see me driving like this they are worried that I am behind the wheel.
“How can she even see?”
I can do this how I need to do it.
It’s only been 5 months.
It’s only been 53 years.
It’s only today.
Death… might be coming quickly,
now, without regard for whether
I had ever spoken what needed to
be said, or had only betrayed myself
into small silences… I was going to die,
if not sooner then later, whether or not
I had ever spoken myself. My silences
had not protected me. Your silence
will not protect you.
– Audre Lorde