Humble Crumble

(background photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com)
(or listen here)

‘Bouts to get my apple crumble on, yo (the peoples like it with the creams which have been whipped). It’s been a bit cooler and rainy here = enter crumble stage left, no spotlight, just silvery greenie bluish moon light, please and thank you.

Something is feeling off at the moment. Are you feeling it as well? Not a pushy frenetic feeling for transformation or resolution, but rather a s-l-o-w movement of something.

Paraphrased, but I read something like this the other day, “If you cannot understand why someone is grieving so deeply for such a long time, then consider yourself fortunate that you do not understand,” and, “you don’t ever learn to forget your heartbreaks, you just learn how to live with them better.”

I’m not sure if I am the one putting the most pressure on myself about grief and life – I probably am.

I wonder how many of you are as well?

A sweet friend recently asked me what I am seeking. The only thing I could think of was that I’d like to have a pool. I know this isn’t what she meant, but it’s all my heart would allow to come out of my mouth. I am thinking that I cannot seek anymore. This might be why I have not followed up with finding a therapist. I do not want to introduce myself or explain myself. I do not want to talk about anything I am interested in or have ever been interested in. No hopes or dreams, please and thank you – it is just too painful. If there was a therapy where I could go and not be asked to speak but the other person would just know some things to say to me, that’s where I would sign up. Maybe we don’t even have to make eye contact. Maybe I could walk in and they could just hand me a note with some suggestions on it and we wouldn’t, either one of us, have to speak at all. Perhaps I am seeking to not seek. Seeking might seem hopeful or optimistic and my body brain cannot handle that anymore – it is too disappointing and my time is almost up.

I belong to a local single parents group on facebook (blerg, but necessary community connections) where the moderator asked us to re-introduce ourselves and what we are looking for by joining the group. I answered as honestly as my brain would allow in that moment. I joined the group because all of my local friends are either married or partnered up and I thought that joining the single parents group would connect me to people with similar parenting experiences to mine. I am not an active participant, so I have no idea if there are connections in that group for me. From the little I have seen, it seems there are not (reasons).

Pre-COVID someone mentioned to me that a DV or even a grief support group might work better for me to find connection. But, I don’t feel like I am seeking that anymore either. Fundamentally, I am not thrilled with being me, but there I always am, still being myself. Wait a hawt minute – one extraordinary exception – I love being mommy to SonHerisme. Is this too much of a burden to place on a sweet giant bear?

My grief is like groundhog day grief. It cycles through me multiple times a day every day. Some days more painful than others. Like a permanent bruise on the reverse side of my heart that will never heal, is always uncomfortable and then even more so when it gets pushed on. It is what it is and I have always made due.

What are you seeking? Are you seeking anything?

I wonder why you are reading this sometimes and I hope that your heart is not broken or that you are not feeling pain. Then I do worry that you’re reading something here that might make your heart sad and how I can help you. I cannot help, I know that I do not know you. Anyway, I hope that you are okay.

I am humbled by the wave of vaccinations we are all privileged to receive, and are receiving. SonHerisme has jab#1 with a sore arm for a day and mine are complete – jab #1 and jab #2 plus two weeks.

I am humbled that anyone chooses to read anything that I write.

I am humbled by the way the moon smiles halfway through it’s moonie cycle.

I am humbled by the rhythm of a cicada brood emerging every 17 years to do their cicada thing.

I am humbled by having had the ability to birth a life into being.

I am humbled by SonHerisme’s resilience, compassion and curiosity for knowledge and life.

I am humbled by knowing that far away (by distance and time) people are being themselves doing the things of life.

I am humbled by the person who thought to plant an apple tree, wait for the apples to be delicious, pick the apples and then send them to my co-op where I could buy them and bring them home for my crumble. Same for the oats, brown sugar, butter (which involved a mommy cow too, who probably had to sacrifice her nursing newborn), cinnamon, and vanilla people.

I am humbled by @geologistonboard ‘s Instagram post of migmatic rock exposures from an area of exhumed kohistan volcanic arc.

I am humbled by dandelion magic.

I will continue to try to be ground and crumbled, to surrender to what is and to let it be. I don’t have the strength to fight anymore and anyway I like wildflowers.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. I got new glasses for my eyeballs and I like them better than the ones I’ve been wearing since MrH times. Larger, black, hint of tortise-shell frames going around my invisible eyelashed greenie eyeballs. Anywho, I can see much better now – you’re welcome, local fellow drivers!