Covid round 3 - fucker!

I feel so alone. Today was so hard feeling sick with this fucking covid the 3rd damn time I’ve gotten it! My chest has been hurting and my fever returns. I’m using my inhaler now because my cough got so bad. I am scared to go to sleep but I’m so tired. This is the worst part of not having a person who cares, one who wants to care for you when you need it. I am tired of having so many things happen and I have to fight fight fight! Fight for myself by myself. Fight to be heard and fight to right the wrongs. And I know the wrongs will never be heard. There’s no correction. It all falls on me taking care of my own self. I’ve trusted so many in my life who turned on me. When I felt safe, the flood gates would open and hurt upon hurt would break me. I walk amongst the living as a broken being. One who’s attempted to seal the breaks with temporary invisible glue. It all eventually falls apart and I once again am not worth being put back together. One day the pieces will scatter and my soul will float away. And I will no longer simply be. And that is most likely the best gift I can give, to simply not ‘be’. Until then I fight. With each battle I fight. And when I get brave, I will move away. Reinvent myself. Back to Oregon? That’s a possibility. That PNW land was where the creation of my happy boat came to be. I was asked to jump and take a chance, that it was safe, that I would be caught and held and loved. But time and age ruined things. Menopause was brutal. Anxiety and depression roared. I learned later what had happened but too much happened and I had to leave. After 13 years I may go back. Just the thought has given me rest and softened my heart and chest. I think I can sleep now. Thank you for letting me speak and for listening 

Is he really gone?

My younger son disappeared. There was no amber alert or police report. No searches for my missing boy, nothing on the news and no posters hung with his photo. If I had and an award was offered, I can’t help to think that I would gladly offer all my money and possessions I had to get him back, just to have a place back into my son’s life. It has been 8 years almost to the day when I last spoke to my son. I never ever dreamed that he would’ve just walked out of my life. He was given everything any child would have desired. We weren’t rich but we had much love. He was in sports, had bikes, skateboards, video game systems. Camping trips, fishing and beach events, guitars, drums and a safe home. His father and I saw him thru boot camp then helped pay for his wedding. Then in 2016 he just left. I’ve had 8 years of the most extreme case of depression and anxiety. Wanted to end it all many times. I searched the background reports to see if he was still alive. In my online searches I discovered he moved to the opposite side of the US and bought a home. I’ve never sent a letter, a card or any gift there since after all my attempts of calling, texting, emails were never returned. Silence. Then when his email address came back closed I realized I lost him. He shut the door and I have no key to him or his life. He has an extremely manipulative wife, where there were obvious issues in her life so I try to pretend she is behind this all. He now has two children I’ve never seen. My grandson will be 8 in December (learned that he was born only by an accidental phone call he made, ending the call with I didn’t mean to call you - click). I learned thru an unexpected source that he had a daughter sometime around mid May to early June 2019. I know their names. My life line to my youngest boy was snuffed out. And I have holes in my heart and through my mind. I’ve read comments and posts about what we “should do”. For me even this long afterwards, I feel most of the time I’m just a being among the living. I have an amazing first born son, but he is married with demanding work and my precious 13 year old grandgirl. I do cherish every second when I’m with them. But just as a mother who loves her children the same, I’m missing my boy with a deep ache. For what we had. For the memories we shared. For all we’ve missed. Today like yesterday and most of the days before that, I still feel shattered and broken to my core. God didn’t take my boy home to Heaven. No, my boy simply removed himself from all that is me. As if I or his brother ever existed. I pretend that ‘one day’ the madness will end. I’ll hear his cries of I’m sorries.  I’ll once again see his beautiful big blue eyes. And I’ll hear his laugh and boy oh boy, I’ll see that smile! But now I’ve lost the tiny bit of hope. 8 years of nothing; no Mother’s Day cards or birthday phone call. No hugs or having a conversation over coffee. His beautiful singing voice is fading from my memory. Will tomorrow be the day I say enough? Or will I always have a speck of sand dust of hope? Tonight I’m just tired. Like I have been for 2,918 days