We saw Phil (counsellor) last night. It was nice to be able to talk to him. He is such a gentle soul. I love that in a counsellor. Sometimes I wonder, though, if I don't give "counsellors" something to hold onto. I am so concerned about "being right" and saying the right things. Am I living them as well? And to that I have no answer. I don't know.
I spoke a bit about Mum last night, and how I used to look at my phone and wonder if I would ever get the time back after talking to her. Horrible thoughts, and things that I regret doing and saying now. It's sad the amount of regret that is present when someone goes. Especially so suddenly.
Sometimes I wonder about the benefit of writing like this. I mean, it's like a trail of bread crumbs that is never followed again. For something like this to work, I would think that it has to be somewhat circular. There has to be a "coming back" to things written, to contemplate and possibly to measure. I don't know. It's times like these that I am aware that I don't know what I am doing. I feel a bit "rudderless" I guess. I don't have any clear direction. And I am a little worried that I might take the wrong direction. Perhaps that's where faith comes into it. Would God seriously let me travel down the wrong path? Good question!
I like the idea of community. I am not sure how long exactly I have liked this idea, but something about it just really resonates within me. Having said that, community is rare. That is my experience. Things about our lives bring us together, and pull us apart. That seems inevitable. What do I like about the concept of community? I think I like the safety that it provides. I like me my safety! Perhaps that is truly a flow-on from me being transexual. I am sure that has something to do with it. Having a condition like that, makes it hard to feel safe. Well, safe and known. I mean I do have some control over being safe ... I just don't be myself. But when I am myself, I am not safe. Not completely safe. And I don't mean that there are physical threats to my well-being at my doorstep. I know I could go looking for it, though. It's out there. I am reminded just this week of the attack that the McDonalds in Baltimore where a TG girl was attacked. It's not safe.
Community somehow means safety for me. Safety in being me. I need to be me. I can't be anyone else. And that's not a preference so much as it is an observation. It is my experience. I know that I can't be someone that I am not. I have tried it, but it never ends well. And the older that I get, the more I realize that. The energy and strength that it takes for me to resist being me is continually rising it would seem. Either that or I am just getting tired.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Mum is gone, but not forgotten
So it's Wednesday, and it's about 10 days since Mum's service, and over 2 weeks since she passed away. I really don't know what to think to be honest, or how to feel. I feel like I want to "get a better hold" of my thoughts and feelings. My thoughts ramble ... I wish that I could capture them better. Maybe this might work.
Hebrews 11:13 All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth.
I wish I knew what to think. Mum's passing was so sudden. My mind is struggling with the idea that this was her time, and also thinking that she was too young to go, and should still be here.
The night after her service, or actually early the next morning, I awoke and found that a part of my pillow was damp. I felt my face and wondered had I been crying, or dribbling. There was no moisture on my face at all. I got up and went to the toilet. As I was returning to my bed, I glanced at the clock on the microwave and the time was 4:12am. April 12 was the day that Mum had passed from this world. I returned to bed and thought about this, and wondered had Mum somehow come to me in my sleep? Was she crying for me, knowing and possibly finally getting who I am?
Am I lacking peace about this, about Mum's death? I have cried for her, and I get that I am sure there will be more tears for her. How could there not be? And that thought doesn't worry me. I expect that to be the case. That said, I don't understand what has happened. I can't find peace about it. I know that she is with God, and that makes sense. I know that she is truly in a better place, and that also makes sense. It just hurts. And I feel sad. I feel loss. My heart is heavy. That is what I am feeling.
Hebrews 11:13 All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth.
I wish I knew what to think. Mum's passing was so sudden. My mind is struggling with the idea that this was her time, and also thinking that she was too young to go, and should still be here.
The night after her service, or actually early the next morning, I awoke and found that a part of my pillow was damp. I felt my face and wondered had I been crying, or dribbling. There was no moisture on my face at all. I got up and went to the toilet. As I was returning to my bed, I glanced at the clock on the microwave and the time was 4:12am. April 12 was the day that Mum had passed from this world. I returned to bed and thought about this, and wondered had Mum somehow come to me in my sleep? Was she crying for me, knowing and possibly finally getting who I am?
Am I lacking peace about this, about Mum's death? I have cried for her, and I get that I am sure there will be more tears for her. How could there not be? And that thought doesn't worry me. I expect that to be the case. That said, I don't understand what has happened. I can't find peace about it. I know that she is with God, and that makes sense. I know that she is truly in a better place, and that also makes sense. It just hurts. And I feel sad. I feel loss. My heart is heavy. That is what I am feeling.
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