Just Let Go

Note to self: Always care, never let it bother you...and the hurt will go away.

Been thinkin'. Stupid brain of mine just won't stop. I still haven't found that switch yet, but when I do, oh boy...I'll be flippin' and switchin'. I've been thinkin' about how far to let things go that bother me. In light of the recent crap that put me on edge, words that hurt to the heart of me, stuff that probably didn't mean a thing but still cut me deeply...I've got to let it go.

Letting go of things is hard. Letting go of people is harder. Letting go of feelings is about damn near impossible. I've always said I care too much. I care about others. I care about those I love and even those I don't even know. I care about what others feel. I care about what others think about me, maybe even too much. That's just me, that's the way I am.

My grandma just celebrated her 86th birthday. I can't believe that she is 86! This is the woman who raised me, my brother and sister, and two of my cousins after she had already raised her three children! She lovingly and graciously took on this task. She took me and my siblings in when my father's second wife was abusive to us. My dad's wife's father called my grandmother and said that if she wanted her grandchildren to have a life at all, that she needed to take us away from his daughter. So, she asked for and was granted custody of us. I don't remember the abuse, but my brother and sister did remember. Life wasn't easy for us, but it also wasn't that hard either. Our local church made sure that we had everything that we needed...clothes on our bodies, shoes on our feet, and funds to enable us to attend private school. She taught us how to work. There were chickens to feed, fruit trees to tend to, grass to mow (nearly 2 acres of it!), and weeds and brush to clear. I never really appreciated how much she cared for us. I do now, and I really care for her. I know that she probably doesn't have much time left on this planet, but she sure has done a lot in the time spent up to now. She still drives a car, takes care of my brother, and even does yard work. I know that I will miss her and a piece of me will go with her when she passes on. I don't even want to think about it. I know it will be hard to let her go.

My sister died in 1994 at the age of 27. She developed uterine cancer that quickly spread through her entire body. Everything that could be done was done...uterus removed, chemo, radiation, you name it. Her body became so ravaged by cancer that she was nothing more than a skeleton with skin towards the end. I saw her in January of '94. It was at her wedding. I saw her again in July of '94 on my honeymoon. I saw her for the last time in September of '94 in her casket. I had never been really close to her. We were always living so far away from each other that I guess time and distance widened the gap between us. But I never stopped caring for her. I suppose it was easier to let her go because I knew that with her going, the pain that was coursing through her body was finally at an end.

I had and still have a hard time in letting my wife go. I never wanted this to happen. We were supposed to grow old together. We were supposed to watch our children grow up and have kids of their own together. Our love was supposed to grow and keep us happy and healthy way into our golden years. Letting go of her is hard...letting go of my feelings for her is even harder. But I have to. I have to let go in order to move on. If I am to heal from this wound that has been inflicted on my heart and have peace in my soul, I have to let go of these feelings that cling to me for dear life.

Not that I am a big fan or anything like that, but this song by Terence Trent D'arby called Letting Go says there is a "peaceful feeling when we surrender" and "healing power" in letting go. Just what I need...

The knife's edge pierces Autumn
And stabs the wind we fear
But we must find ourselves
Before we disappear

By knowing when to move on
We keep the peace with our pride
We seldom live our moments
Before the leaves have dried

But it's a peaceful feeling when
We surrender
And there is healing power in
Letting go

Alone, confused, and naked
Is when we are most sacred
Fear is the enemy
That strikes out at our sanity

By keeping faith in our promise
We drink from Eros fountains
We confirm that we are here
Moving up on higher mountains...

And it's a peaceful feeling when...
We surrender
And there is healing power in...
Letting go

And it's a peaceful feeling when...
We surrender
There is healing power in...
Letting go Letting go

Hush, hush I hear music
Falling down like rain
Hush, I feel mercy
And forgiveness
I see Golden Light...
Shining ever-bright
Into the light I'll go...

And it's a peaceful feeling when
We surrender
And there is healing power in
Letting go

And it's a peaceful feeling when
We surrender
There is healing power in...
In letting go

Letting go...

Let go now...let go later. It is going to have to happen.

Ghost in the Machine

There's a buzzing at my hip, and I can't find my cell phone. It isn't at my hip, that's for sure...so why do I feel a vibration? Like something is there, but really isn't?

I read something online the other day about "phantom buzzing". Supposedly people who are used to carrying around a cell phone or pager, and even more prevalent with Blackberries (or, "Crackberries", alluding to the addictive nature of the beast) with a vibrate function feel a phantom buzzing at their waist when they are not even carrying the device at all. This phenomenon, aptly called "ringxiety" or "fauxcellarm", has been reported in increasing numbers. Some users compare the feeling to a phantom limb, which Merriam-Webster's medical dictionary defines as "an often painful sensation of the presence of a limb that has been amputated." I've heard about that stuff. Someone feels an itch on a foot that is no longer a part of them. That would drive me crazy.

Found a quote about this phantom buzzing thing:

"People feel the phone is part of them and they're not whole without their phones, since the phones connect them to the world. As human beings, we're so tapped into our community, responsiveness to what's going on, we're so attuned to the threat of isolation and rejection, we'd rather make a mistake than miss a call. Our brain is going to be scanning and scanning and scanning to see if we have to respond socially to someone."

I was talking about something like this to someone just yesterday. Only it wasn't about a phantom buzzing at my hip or an anticipatory feeling like my phone should be ringing. It was about my phantom wedding ring. I wore my wedding ring for over 13 years, only taking it off for my eight-hour work shift at the bakery. While working there, I would slip it on Linda's thumb while she slept, give her a good-bye kiss, and promptly remove it from her thumb and put it back on when I got home. For the past nearly 5 years, I don't think I ever took it off. I've got a fading indention on my finger that is the same width as my ring...how long till it is gone? I used to "thumb" my ring with my thumb, rubbing it lovingly just to make sure it was still on my finger. I find myself still doing that. When I do, and I don't feel it there, I almost freak out, thinking that I have lost it, forgot to put it on this morning, it has slipped off and is on the ground somewhere...then I remember that I don't wear it anymore. There is no reason to wear it.

I am not big on wearing jewelry. Besides the hand-made (by me, of course) hemp necklace, and the sometimes worn, hand-made hemp (by me again!) anklet, and the singular non-hemp silver hoop earring (not made by me), my wedding band was the only "ornate" piece I ever wore. White gold on yellow gold with six little diamonds. Made me feel a little bit like Liberace, but without the rest of his jewelry, minus the glitz and glamor and all the other (no offense here, but...) gay shit.

Phantom buzzing. I feel it sometimes. I feel the phantom wedding ring on my finger often.

Back to the phantom limb thing...I suppose you could feel a phantom feeling for a person who isn't a part of your day-to-day life anymore. I know that feeling. From the "his side/her side" bathroom sink drawers to the same separated sides of the bed, I feel it. The empty slots in the toothbrush holder, the missing alarm clock from the other bedside table, the smaller number of coffee mugs. The lone towel hanging from the towel rack, the missing number of pillows on the bed, the open spot in the driveway. Just samples of phantom objects that remind me of what is gone, what is missing from my life. I hate them.

I could say the same thing for some friends that are now ghosts. I say ghosts because I can't see them anymore. Not that they don't exist...I just don't see them. They wander about near here, they see people I know and love, yet are invisible to me. They spend time with my other friends and even have dinner and hang out with my "ex" and children, yet pass on by me as if I were the ghost. Maybe I am. I know that I haven't been myself for quite some time. Maybe I have become a little transparent myself.

I hear things as well. Phantom things like creaking floors that tell you someone is walking down the hallway...but no one is there. Gravel crunching in the driveway as if a car is pulling up to park...yet no vehicle. I hear other things too, things that seem to be phantoms, but do exist. Yesterday, I heard something about one friend of mine that disturbed me, yet at the same time, I wasn't too concerned about too much either. What I heard came from a third party who heard it from a friend who heard it firsthand. How do I know who to believe? I don't know. People say things, maybe not meaning it, maybe do, but sometimes they say things without thinking. These things have a way of getting back to places where they were not meant to get to. Or maybe they were meant to get to where they end up. Maybe. What I heard was that he calls "dibs" on my wife. Damn. That hurts. If this is true, and he did say this, then as a friend, or at least the way I feel a friend should be, the least he could do is keep those kind of comments to himself, or at least not say them in front of people who he knows will tell me what has been said. Even better yet, wait until the divorce is final, then swoop in like a vulture to the rotting meat. I know I haven't been a saint on this "waiting" subject, but I don't go around telling people things that I know would hurt the one(s) I love. I don't even allow people to bad mouth my wife. I tell them to keep it to themselves, or at least keep it out of earshot of myself and my kids. To my kids, mommy is the best person alive, and that is how it should be and will be forever.

Phantom buzzing. Phantom rings. Phantom limbs. Phantom friends. Too many ghosts for me. I don't think too much about the buzzing at my hip. Like Scott Adams (Dilbert creator) says about the phantom buzzing, "Ooh, it's an e-mail with good news! So far, the only good news is that my pocket is vibrating, and that's OK because it gives me hope that the condition might spread to the rest of my pants." That would be OK by me...bring on the vibrating pants! Even the phantom ring on my finger I can handle. The indention will go away, my thumb will eventually stop rubbing what is not there, and I will one day stop worrying that I lost my wedding ring. I don't even worry about phantom limbs...if I ever lose an arm or leg or other appendage, I will worry about it then.

But phantom friends...I don't know. An exorcism might be in order.

An Open Letter to Love

Dear Love,
How have you been lately? It seems just like yesterday that we were walking hand in hand down the Path of Happiness, stepping ever so lightly over the paved stones on Contentment Street, and running at a horse's pace on The Fast Track. I can't believe that we have been apart for so long. I hope that this time alone has found you the things you were looking for. I don't know what those things were, for you never told me, but as long as your wishes come true, I am happy for you. Although for the life of me, I can't remember where it is you moved to. I want you to know that I miss you dearly.

Do you remember the times we had together? The details are a little hazy from my perspective...but I do remember feeling as if I was full of helium. I felt so light and weightless. Nothing could keep my feet on the ground, no heavy weight could pull me down. I had the feeling you felt the same way. After all, you and those feelings go hand in hand. I'm sure you could remember if you try. Even toward the end, when you started to question whether or not we should be together, I wanted to be with you. Your leaving hurt me and quite actually, surprised me.

Why has it been so long since we talked? Things haven't been so great for me lately. Maybe it is both of our faults that this space is between us. You know, I have missed you so much, so much that I have begun to see you in all sorts of places. It seems that every time I come close to finding your whereabouts, my search turns out fruitless. Oh, I swear I see you all the time. I thought I saw you in my neighborhood the other day. I was driving in my bus...I think I was going to the grocery store (of all places to have thought I saw you...on the road to the grocery store?) and I swear I saw you passing by in a new car (and a spiffy new car, at that!). I waved frantically at you, but your eyes were held steadfast on the road ahead of you and we just passed each other without you even glancing my way. Good job, watching the road like that, but I just wished you would have looked my way.

I thought I saw you last month downtown. It looked like you, and from where I was situated, I could have sworn it was you. You acted the same, you smelled the same, and you had the same way of making me feel as if you were right next to me. Were you downtown last month? I thought you had moved further away than that...and I suppose you did, for it surely wasn't you. I wanted it to be you...I really did. But I was given a solid reminder that no, it wasn't you.

Most recently, I thought I saw you from afar in a book store. You had your back to me and was standing a ways from me in the "Romance" section of the store. I saw your long flowing hair and I got excited. I knew it was you. But something was different...did you do something with your hair? Have you lost weight? What was different about you? I couldn't tell. I couldn't tell if it was even you. I kept my distance, not wanting to approach you if it wasn't you standing there, armful of books and looking familiar enough to me. Was it you? I'm not sure I knew.

What happened to us? Who is to blame for our distance? Me? You? I don't blame you one bit. Well, maybe just a little. If you would have announced to me that you were moving away, I would have done something sooner to prepare for your departure. I would have made sure that you were certain that you wanted to leave. I would have made the proper preparations for your return, if that was to be. I should have done that anyway. I should have sensed that you were tired of the same old scenery, that you needed change to be happy, that you wanted me to be the way I was when we first started hanging out together. I am sorry...truly I am. I do want you to come back, but only when you are ready. I need to make sure that who I think is you actually is you.

Well, I am still at the same location if you ever want to look me up. I haven't gone anywhere. You know me...scared of change. My biggest fear is that you will come looking for me and I will not be around. An even bigger fear of mine is that I will never find you again. I hope that I do. I will keep looking for you everywhere I go. I won't give up and I won't let go the hope that you are still out there, somewhere out there, finding your way back to me. What was it that Tom Bodett says in the Motel 6 commercials? "We'll leave the light on for you." Yeah, that's it.

I'll leave the light on for you.
With you,
Me

Only a Reflection

(I started this on Wednesday, but fell asleep while trying to write it. So, the "todays" have been changed to "yesterdays")

Yesterday. What a day it was. Left somebody's side to put time in for "the man" in exchange for some money. I wouldn't say that it isn't a fair exchange. I just think that the exchange rate is somewhat skewed to say the least. More should be coming to me because, damn it, I think I do a great job. More money would compensate for the awesomeness that is what I do. Yeah. That's it, gimme mo' money.

I would much rather have been under some warm, comfy and cozy sheets next to a warm, comfy and cozy someone. Having the sun beaming through curtain-less windows, a feline or two balled up at my feet to keep them warm, to have just one morning where I didn't have to hump my butt to get out and on the road for the LONG ass drive to work. But warm sheets and warm bodies don't put gas in my bus or food on the table for my kids. So I opted to go to work. I think they appreciate that I show up. They're lucky.

Yesterday was good for the most part. The same crazy dude at work making me laugh all day, the same tubes of titanium that needed sanding, shaping, drilling, pressing. All too familiar faces seen day in and day out. SSDD. Although it was a lot colder than the day before. While I had on two shirts and two jackets yesterday, I was hot in just my shirts and was wishing for a short sleeved shirt on the day before that. I had hoped that the warm weather would hold out for a little bit longer, but this crazy Tennessee weather can't make up its mind. I wanna be hot, now I wanna be cold...

The only snag in my day was partly my own doing. If there was a switch on my body somewhere, even a simple toggle switch for "off" and "on", that I could flip when my mind starts to think, I would definitely use it all the time. If there was set of buttons labeled "smart" and "stupid", my fingers would be pushing them like Final Jeopardy depended on it. Sometimes I wish I wasn't as smart as I seem to be. Maybe I wouldn't always be rationalizing situations and trying to find solutions to questions that, to some, aren't that important. I would push the button marked "stupid", then flip the switch to turn my mind off. Anything to get unwanted thoughts out of my head. The aforementioned snag in my day came in the form of a telephone call that partially answered questions that had been mulling about in my mind for quite some time. Questions of trust and mistrust; of whys and whens; of hurts and loves. I'm really not going to go into conversations here, I know what was said and what was not said. The things said were not as bad as the read "unsaid" things. The things not said are what hang around like a lost spirit, a spirit with nowhere to turn to but right here in my head, my heart, my home.

Mistrust. I do have a lot of it. I try not to, but it keeps hanging around like a transient in the doorway of a seedy business, hand extended out, begging for whatever hope can bring. Mistrust is only a reflection of what is there. It might be what I see, it might not be there at all. Mistrust can turn me into a person that I don't want to be. Keeping it from rearing its ugly head is a constant battle that I wage, keeping it in its lair is hard to do. But I try, really I do.

Total change up. Mentions of buses and painting of buses. Here are a few pictures of a few buses that, if I ever was in a state of mind to allow someone with the artistic abilities that would enable this person to painstakingly and lovingly paint my bus...something like this would be the only thing, besides a total factory repaint, that I would even allow.

This one reminds me of the Rockies. Not that I have ever been there, but this is what I imagine it would look like at sunset (or is it sunrise?).


















This one says Appalachia all over it.


















"C'mon, c'mon get happy!" The owner of this bus is named Snoopy. Great guy, he is.


















That's all. There were plenty more to choose from, but all the rest of them had the probable cause look to them. Not what I want.

Different looks. Different outlooks. Same story. Same ending. Mistrust. Love. Lots of different subjects. Turning the switch back to "on" and pushing the button labeled "smart". That's how I want this to end.

From Cover to Cover

I was looking at a gift today, one that is lying in an open spot in my house, a place where it will be noticed not only by me, but whoever enters my house. It was given to me by someone special who knows just what to get someone. There is no other substitute for gifts given by this person. There was no pretty wrapping or billowy ribbon on this gift, and honestly, it didn't need any. It is a book, plain and simple, but with subject matter close to my heart.

I picked up this book and opened it up. In it, there are images from other books I have on the same subject. No matter, for it is interesting to get other angles to contradict or confirm facts. This book is a collection of artwork. Not just any artwork, but masterpieces created by the most intriguing, eclectic, and mysterious surrealist to date. At least in my opinion he is. Salvador Dalí, born in 1904, died in 1989. I didn't even know who he was until after his death. Isn't that the bane of all artists? No one knows who you are until after you are dead. Then you become a god. Lot of good it does you then, huh?

I have several Dalí prints hanging in my house and already several Dalí books shelved on non-existent bookshelves. What I need is a coffee table. First impressions mean a lot. If I walk into your living room and there are conversational books laying on a coffee table, you've got my attention. If I had a coffee table, there is where my Dalí books would reside.

I like getting books as gifts. This same person has given me other books as well. I like them all, but two of these other books are special. The first one is a recipe book for outback gourmet cooking. Never thought about having White Bean and Roasted Garlic Salad with Grilled Zucchini, Mustard and Rosemary Lamb Chops, or Baked Chocolate Bananas in the woods, let alone try to imitate it at home...or afford to go to some "Chez Something in French" bistro. Why would I want to replicate that food while already being inconvenienced by not having home appliances and cookware handy? For a change of pace, that's why. Isn't what my life from now on is supposed to be about anyway? Change? I look forward to making some deep woods culinary creations.

The other book is a camping journal. I wish I had gotten one of these things years ago. It has entry spaces to fill out to remember everything about your camping experience. I probably would have had to buy another one at this point, though. The first entries were written two weekends ago. All the normal stuff was filled out...where we were, contact information, who was there, memorable events and favorite parts. But what I liked about it was on the back of each page is a section for comments. The things written there, I'm sure, are not what the writers of the book meant to be there, but it is what we did, and it is good. All weekend long, we wrote down things that hit us as funny, weird, abstract, or just downright insightful as quotes from the person who said it.

"Because bananas just don't give a damn."-Anthony
"I had a baby owl land in my lap."-Bo
"I have an ass, push on it!"-Crystal
"You gotta butterfly the bologna."-Kevin
"I'm mad at you."-Dawnia
"I know."-Me

Words of wisdom, words of lunacy...however you want to look at it. You just had to be there. I hope to fill this book with years and years of memories. I think there are lots to be made yet.

I do like books. They have a front and back cover to protect the pages inside. The pages are filled with words that make pictures, or filled with pictures beyond words. There is a beginning and an end, some about the same subject throughout, some with chapters that open and close separate stories as you read. Life can be like a book. You open up the protective cover and start reading. As you go through, reading in real-time the story that is being written, you create the words and pictures that are placed in the book. You have a beginning at birth, and an end at your death. Sometimes, life has the same familiar story to the end, sometimes you open and close each chapter, opening the next one as you finish the one before. When you are done, you close the book, put it away till you want to read it again.

I can't wait to read what's next. New characters are introduced, the plot thickens, and I am on the edge of my seat, just like any good book should inspire me to be. I have not finished writing this book. There has been a lot written to date, but much more is missing. What happens next? I really don't know. The next chapter is unwritten as of yet. But just like the rest of the book, it ought to be interesting.

I'm turning the page...

My Little Girl

The revelry of the night brought hundreds of loved ones together in a convention room that was part photo lab, part dining room, and mostly dance floor. The mingling couples clung close during the love songs, and flung about wildly during the more upbeat ones. One night of dining and dancing and drinking (punch, that is). One night of togetherness and tenderness. One night that promised little girls the rapt attention of the one man that they look up to more than any other male in the world. Their Daddy. Their Father. Their Protector.

My daughter looked beautiful tonight. I had picked her up from her mother's apartment earlier in the evening to go to a Father/Daughter dance at the Marriott Convention Center in downtown Chattanooga. When I pulled up, they were doing a photo shoot on some rocks jutting out of the ground. She was wearing her bright red dancing dress and was beaming with self pride, her eyes almost fluttering in a "come hither" fashion. She was really posing for the camera. Silly, she is. I joined in for some precious pictures to treasure forever.

I almost didn't buy the tickets for this dance. Well, I should say that I almost didn't have the money to buy the tickets. I knew they were being sold a week before the dance and really cut it close with knowing when I would have the money for tickets. When I discovered I would be able to do so, I drove down to the Riverpark where they were being sold and promptly plopped down the $40 to ensure a spot. I had to. It was for my daughter. It was a chance for it to be just us...just her and her daddy. That doesn't happen often enough.

We arrived at the dance shortly after dropping off my son with my sister in-law's house. I found out then that her husband would be there as one of the photographers for the event. Pretty neat. I've always liked Andrew. He is a very good photo artist and has had several pieces displayed in art galleries around the area. Since we had already had a photo shoot earlier, we opted out of the minimum $25 package at the dance, so Andrew didn't take our picture, but I did get to talk to him a bit. Andrew...photo artist by hobby...Lifetouch employee to pay the bills. He has two daughters himself...too bad he couldn't be there with them.

They actually had a pretty nice spread of finger food. Chicken planks, pizza, chesses, fruits and veggies, and desserts. All washed down with punch, lemonade, or water. We piled our favorites on plates and found a table to sit down and eat. On each table, there were several stemmed "roses" with buds that were solid chocolate. After eating, it was time for dancing. Having my little girl looking up at me while slow dancing felt good. Here was my little girl, who just yesterday was in this little cocoon-like blanket and boggin, and today is starting to wear a training bra. That's just not right. She isn't supposed to grow up. She is supposed to remain a little girl.

While dancing, I felt really emotional and close to her. It didn't help that the DJ was playing the top ten songs about fathers and daughters. I came close to tears during some songs. Just the words that were being said, words about seeing them grow up too fast, infants one minute and small adults the next, leaving daddy for some other male one day. I am not a fan of country music. In fact, it could be banned from radio and I wouldn't even miss it (but being where we are geographically located, country music being banned is just about as likely to happen as NASCAR switching to bumper cars). I don't like it, but I heard one song tonight that, if every country song was like this one, I could develop an ear for it. The taste in my mouth might take a while to get used to, my eyes would be constantly wet, but my ears would be happy. The song that really moved me is called My Little Girl by Tim McGraw. To put myself in the place of the father in the song really brought visions of my daughter's future.


"Gotta hold on easy as I let you go.
Gonna tell you how much I love you,
though you think you already know.
I remember I thought you looked like an angel wrapped in pink so soft and warm.
You've had me wrapped around your finger since the day you were born.

You're a beautiful baby from the outside in.
Chase your dreams but always know the road that'll lead you home again.
Go on, take on this old world.
But to me you know you'll always be, my little girl.

When you were in trouble that crooked little smile could melt my heart of stone.
Now look at you, I've turned around and you've almost grown.
Sometimes you're asleep I whisper "I Love You!" in the moonlight at your door.
As I walk away, I hear you say, "Daddy Love You More!".

You're a beautiful baby from the outside in.
Chase your dreams but always know the road that'll lead you home again.
Go on, take on this old world.
But to me you know you'll always be, my little girl.

Someday, some boy will come and ask me for your hand.
But I won't say "yes" to him unless I know, he's the half
that makes you whole, he has a poet's soul, and the heart of a man's man.
I know he'll say that he's in love.
But between you and me. He won't be good enough!

You're a beautiful baby from the outside in.
Chase your dreams but always know the road that'll lead you home again.
Go on, take on this old world.
But to me you know you'll always be, my little girl."


Man, that makes me think of things that I don't even want to think about, yet look forward to at the same time. High school graduation, college, (gasp) wedding day, birth of grandchildren, and all the little ceremonies of life hidden in between. I don't like to think of my little girl growing up, but it is something that I cannot stop. I can no more stop time any more than I can stop loving her. I have to accept the passage of time and know that I can never go back. I can look back with love and affection and nostalgia, but time travel is not an option. I will see her grow and eventually leave me for a smaller, younger version of me, one who will continue the job of protector of my little girl in my absence from her day-to-day life.

She will forever be my little girl. And I will forever be her daddy.

The Other Side of Happiness

"Happiness is as a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you." - Nathaniel Hawthorne

I've been thinking a lot lately about happiness. What can make you happy? A pay raise at work? Seeing your kids ride a bike without training wheels? Winning the lottery? Love? Many things make me happy, but it seems like it is the little things that do the trick. Big things have too many things hidden "between the lines".

I consider myself a happy person. It doesn't take much to do it to me. Today, I felt down about my financial future. I'm not happy about it, but I'm sure I will be someday. This evening, while on the phone with my soon-to-be ex wife (who was asking me why I was so pissy lately...hmmm...losing my house, wife, time with children, facing an uncertain future might have something to do with it) I saw clouds marching across the sky at sunset. They were bright red. In the middle of laying blame with each other, I blurted out, "The clouds are a beautiful shade of red right now, can you see them from where you are?". Not that our argument stopped because of it, but in the middle of something I consider just downright hateful, I noticed beauty in nature, and it made me happy, if only for a second. I wished it would have lasted a bit longer...

Little things like hearing my daughter say "I love you, Daddy" make me happy. Seeing my son actually ride a bicycle (never mind the training wheels, he's on a bike!) makes me happy. Even something that's taken for granted, such as getting my paycheck handed to me, makes me happy. Although today, when my boss gave me mine, I was in the middle of a self-pity party and the meager earnings did little to crash that party. He even asked me if I was OK. I told him that I will be someday, but no, I am not OK right now, thanks anyway. Getting a little pick-me-up from a friend in the form of a text message makes me happy. Taking my daughter to a Father/Daughter dance and dancing the night away with the only close female relative to me who won't look at me and judge me as a failure makes me happy.

I was happy as a married man. I loved my wife (still do) and that made me happy. We will never agree as to who is at fault for our failed marriage. To her, I am at fault for not doing more to stave off the impossibly mountainous pile of debt that WE had created, not being a more attentive father to my children, not caring that she was working overtime to keep our lifestyle we were accustomed to. To me, she was at fault for not telling me that she was unhappy for so long, and for...well, really there was nothing else. Just a lack of communication on her part, or should I say, both our parts.

Back before we got married, we took some pre-marriage counseling from the pastor who performed the ceremony. We filled in the blanks in a book called Before You Say "I Do" telling what we would do to save our marriage if at any point we felt it was in peril. Maybe we were just young, dumb and naive (I'm still two of those...guess which two), looking back at it now, some of the things we said seem like kindergarten work. Communication was one of the answers. We know how that worked out. Being a writer, I said that I would write a poem. Feeling like our marriage was in peril, that's just what I did. I felt that she showed no appreciation for it, so I don't feel like I am wrong for posting it here. (And if you are one of those people that don't like poetry, ahem, feel free to skip it...)

You Are Why I Love You

You are the reason I wake up each day.
I anticipate the very moment you say
I love you.
You are the sun that shines on my head.
You are the moonbeam across my bed.
I love you.
You are the breath that sustains my life.
I am oh, so proud to call you my wife.
I love you.
You are the bandage that heals my hurts.
You keep the pain from getting worse.
I love you.
You are the wind that blows through the trees.
I look up to you as if on my knees.
I love you.
You are the tears seeping from my eyes.
You are thoughtful, caring, beautiful and wise.
I love you.
You are my lover, my partner, a mother.
I will never, ever want another.
I love you.
You are the one who makes me feel love.
You fit in my life like a hand in a glove.
I love you.
You are the reminder for why I am here.
I want to be reminded year after year.
I love you.
You are my angel with wings so soft.
I want you to hold me and keep me aloft.
I love you.
You are my being, my force, my essence.
I never want to be out of your presence.
I love you.
You make me quiver with a touch of your skin.
I need to tell you again and again
I love you.
You are the dewy grass under my feet.
I can’t wait until again we meet.
I love you.
You are the loved one that I miss.
You make me happy with just one kiss.
I love you.
You are the memory of times we’ve had.
I want to make more, the good (and the bad).
I love you.
You are the sweet, soft song of a bird.
I hang on to your every word.
I love you.
You are the very beat of my heart.
I never, ever want to be apart.
I love you.
You are the morning, the noon and night.
You soothe my soul when it’s full of fright.
I love you.
You keep me afloat in a sea of despair.
I want to know you’ll always be there.
I love you.
You make the cold go away with a touch.
I need you to know just how very much
I love you.
You are the one with the key to my door.
You know how the use it as no one before.
I love you.
You keep my warm under the covers.
We make love like ultimate lovers.
I love you.
You keep me safe in a haven of trust.
I need to tell you again or I’ll bust…
I love you.
You make me feel like a schoolhouse boy.
You fill my every day with joy.
I love you.
And if I haven’t said it too many times
Too bad, I’ve said it again in these rhymes.
I love you,
I love you,
I love you.

And that is how I felt. But it wasn't enough. Silly old me wrote another one, even though it seemed to be a waste of time.

Waiting for You

I can’t wait for the time when you say
that things are back to the way they should be
and the time of love is here to stay
for the rest of our lives, for you and me.

I can’t wait to be again in your mind
as the man you loved when we were younger
when we knew that all it took was some time
to make our love grow stronger and stronger.

I can’t wait to again feel your touch
as a feeling of skin on skin, a breath in your ear
my fingers through your hair, I yearn so much
to feel the feeling of having you near.

I can’t wait to taste your taste, to smell the air
coming from your body as we are entwined in love.
The feel of your fingers on my back and in my hair
makes me feel as a spirit in the clouds above.

I can’t wait to be alone in the dark or in the light
with you doing the things that we wish for.
Whatever we’re doing it will feel, oh, so right
before the entire world or behind our closed door.

I can’t wait for the next time we kiss, a kiss so deep
that we can hardly take a breath, or say a word.
This kiss is one that would make the angels weep
and we will be so entranced, their cries won’t be heard.

I can’t wait for any of this, but I know that things take time.
I’ll just keep holding on to the hope of love regained
and know that a promise made with rings of yours and mine
will allow me to wait, with your love in my mind engrained.

And until that time…I won’t give up and I won’t let go.
I’ll hold onto the memories and wait in every way.
When again we both, in our hearts, feel and know
our love will last…for forever and a day.

Cheesy. Love makes you do silly things. I didn't think it was silly at the time. Poetry had worked before, so it was worth a shot. I knew it wouldn't fix everything, but it told her exactly how I felt about her and our love...a love that was withering away.

OK. None of this is making me happy. But my daughter just came into my room and showed me something she was making for her little "crush" at school for Valentine's Day. It is a little heart shaped pillow with a ladybug sitting on it, and a cutout heart with drawings and "Be My Valentine" written on it. She likes this little boy a lot. She is only 8 years old. Should I be worried? I don't think so. I think I should be happy. And I am.

Happiness just found me.