It’s been one hundred nineteen days since our final stroll with our forever favorite GSP and I’m barely three weeks into my grief.
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March 20, 2025
I’ll move back into my bedroom, sometime, one day, soon, maybe by the end of the week. For now, I remain nestled in the pile of blankets, pillows, and essence of your presence for our final night with you, our beloved Ruby, who we will forever cherish as our bright, quirky, ADHD, escape-artist, loving German Shorthaired Pointer. It’s 1:35pm now, the exact time you departed on Monday, a blurred three days ago. One plus three plus five equals nine, which in numerology represents endings and closures. “Everything in its time” will always remind me of you, nine, and life’s divine timing.
I liked it better when you were a bitch. Hearing your weakened voice showcase the cruel deterioration of your once sharp mind, I feel a deep and bothersome sadness. Damn this tenderness and compassion that I needed from you as a child, teen, and young woman for coming through me now on your behalf.
If I were a bridge, let it be a bascule bridge. Let my existence be one of connectivity and movement, uniting and releasing in all directions, in every possible configuration. Let my trauma be the counterweight that lifts the span, creating multiple paths for access, movement, reunions, and bygones.
"It was so real!" I told my daughter. Less than an hour awake, part of me was still in the dream, and I was grateful. I remained open to hear the message.
Many times in the past, the message moved through, gently blowing beyond the reach of my consciousness. My analytical, psychological approach, "thinking cap," and need to hold onto the storyline created more static than clarity. While racing to grasp my inner motion picture, my energetic vibration became more high-speed wobble than stealth. Thus, I'd unintentionally disperse the dream vibrations, sending them back into the ether.
She stood at the sink, washing her hands and checking her hair in the mirror. The frizz was back, frizzing without forgiveness, showing her true origins, giving zero fucks for all efforts otherwise. The natural-born kinks were more significant than the hundreds of dollars spent straightening her locks into whiteness and conformity — no amount of water on her hands could smooth or remove the traits of her lineage. Cue the self-loathing and the forced sense of belonging she'd spent two decades creating.
Triggers as catalysts for reclaiming stolen worth.
Beady-eyed, he smirks, his lips curling back from his bleachy-keen teeth; he is adorned in his vulgarity and crimes like the victor’s laurel wreath. Like a rat on the run with food, the state representative scurries away with pieces of women’s sanctuary. His words reflect utter indifference to decency, “it’s not my fault she was blackout-drunk and didn’t say no.” Criminal and bully, he’s a carbon copy of the boys-will-be-boys club of mediocre men who use their privilege to violate others.
Mothering a high school senior is a restless wrestle between joy and grief. Timelines tread across my heart steadfast to the shores of tomorrow where my child belongs.
In the mirror are all the women I am walking home.
I see my heroine's journey and the journeys of my ancestors. On this noble matriarch's migration, I am the captain entrusted to chart the course of totality. Our collective wholeness brings revelations, reclamations, and renewal. In the mirror, I see home.
I wasn't ready to receive the three zip-sealed bags you gave to me.
Your eyes reflecting intention and heartfelt affinity that your long-saved collection was essential for me to see. They held photos and artifacts of our story—not all, but mostly the best not the wounds, simply the rest.
Giving into a powerful emotion or influence is defined as surrendering. There's another word that fits this description, one that encompasses this release. Motherhood.
It’s been one hundred nineteen days since our final stroll with our forever favorite GSP and I’m barely three weeks into my grief.
*************************
March 20, 2025
I’ll move back into my bedroom, sometime, one day, soon, maybe by the end of the week. For now, I remain nestled in the pile of blankets, pillows, and essence of your presence for our final night with you, our beloved Ruby, who we will forever cherish as our bright, quirky, ADHD, escape-artist, loving German Shorthaired Pointer. It’s 1:35pm now, the exact time you departed on Monday, a blurred three days ago. One plus three plus five equals nine, which in numerology represents endings and closures. “Everything in its time” will always remind me of you, nine, and life’s divine timing.