Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Evening Comes

I don't really know how to end this. There is so much that follows that I've already written about. If I think of it, I'll post a list of links.

I need to take a breath or two, now. Thinking about what I (we) just wrote, what happened, and about you. I have felt so alone. Even with you here with me. Writing this made me realize just what we went through. It has made me realize that no one, except C and perhaps my sister and father, knew the whole story. The Whole story. I have censored and edited, and really, most of what happened does not fit into casual conversation. Into any conversation. And really, I don't know that it's a story I could tell anyone but you. Not like this.

So now I may take a moment to breathe, a day, or a few days. I'm struggling hard again. School begins next week and I still don't have a plan. But Stella begins school, too and I'm hoping that the routine of day to day will help me ease my way out of this pit again.

Thank you for reading, and for abiding with me. I felt every hand on mine, every arm around my shoulder. I'm not sure why, but I'll leave you with this poem by Jane Keny.on, one of my favorite poets. It leaves me feeling something I cannot name.

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through the chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in the long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to the air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.


The Turtle and the Monkey said...

We are here. Take all of the time you need. Please know even when you feel you are walking alone, we are silently at your side ready to support you whenever you need it.

You will be in my thoughts.

Hope's Mama said...

I'm new here and have been reading along for a while now. Your story is breaking my already shattered heart. Love to you and your husband.

CLC said...

Sue- I totally relate to this post. I feel like alone most times as well because of my story. Everyone knows the gist, but all of the details are too brutal to share, sometimes even here. And because people won't ever know the full story, I feel like people won't ever really know me. Except my husband, because he was there.

Thinking of you and C.

Mrs. Spit said...

I'm sorry. The feeling of aloneness is so hard.

The poem was wonderful.

Still with you.

k@lakly said...

So ture, we are alone in our experience, as each of us has a different story to tell. But this I have also learned, we are not alone in our grief. Not as long as we have each other.
Take all the time you need to breathe. We will always be here.

luna said...

sue, take as many breaths as you need. the re-living is so very hard. so few people know my whole story, and it does make you feel even more alone. something about that first year, then it all sinks in again, after the re-telling. we are here, when you want. sending you lots of love.

Anonymous said...

Writing all of this out must have been so incredibly difficult. I hope that through doing this, you will be brought some peace, if not now, eventually. Thinking of you, C, and the boys.

niobe said...

What a beautiful poem.

Tash said...

Breathe through evening. Know we're here ready to bunker down with you. Please know, if you must, you can always share the grim side of the story right here. Because we'll listen.

Thinking of you all.

loribeth said...

What a beautiful poem -- thank you for sharing it. Very few people know our whole story too (how could they?). Even in our support group, where we regularly tell our stories to each other, you will often hear people say, "You never mentioned that before," or "I didn't know that!" or "That's the first time you've ever told us that."

You can always tell your story to us. We're here to listen (well, read!). (((hugs)))

Amy said...

Always here with you. Hoping you find comfort soon, with your daily routine, with Stella, with what life still has to offer you.

Thinking of you all sending you big cyber hugs and wishing I could hold your hand as you walk this path.

Ya Chun said...

Sometimes I think about the difference between lonely and alone. I ave Triple S, but sometimes we are just alone. I have my dbmamas, which have been a pillar. But I am still lonely, because I miss Serenity.

You are not alone.

Julia said...

Take your time. It must be hard to even think of trusting people outside of DBL with this story. But thank you for trusting us. I wish this wasn't a story that brought you here, but I am glad we were here to listen, for as brutal as the telling is, I am glad you were able to tell. There is profound sadness and incredible sorrow in it, but there is also incomparable beauty, in the love.

Carrie said...

It is strange when it dawns on you that really no one knows exactly what happened and how you felt. Not even others who were actually there, there experience is similar but different. Too weird.

We will all be here with you if it helps in any way at all x

Anonymous said...

To be able to put your story into words, and then to share that with others shows an amazing strength and resilience. But words still can't convey everything, and very few people will truly understand. There will always be the ones who act like grief and loss are a disease they can catch. The loneliness, isolation and grief, everyone reading here understands all too well. And we'll all read your story as long as you care to tell it.

Beautiful poem - life does seem to go on no matter what, doesn't it? Thank you for sharing that.

Wishing you peace.

Michele said...

My husband and I live in a world similar to yours. I'm thinking of you and praying for you.

Betty M said...

I am so sorry. It feels such an inadequate response. Thinking of you.