I struggle so much with keeping children alive who have no say in the matter who have no parents at the bedside to watch their suffering.  Who literally say that it is too painful to see their child the way they are, and yes, they know they have a terminal illness, but we must (the hospital) give them a trach and G tube so that the suffering (the child's) is further prolonged.  All I can do is be as gentle as possible, provide as much dignity and compassion as I can, be as liberal with pain medications as feasible, and apologize all shift long to a child I pray finds heaven soon.  The things these children endure.  If you could see these wounds, these sores, these physical things.  It is like oh my good Lord, please take them home.  Please.  Please free them.  Because if anyone deserves heaven it is these little angels.  It breaks my heart.  And if I am being forced to watch, it really angers me that the parents aren't by his or her side along the way.  I will always hold a hand.  I will always wipe a face.  I will always tell them I love them.  But it isn't the love of a parent, the hand of a parent.  And that is the biggest indecency that I really struggle with.  I am so truly sorry for these parents--I cannot fathom it.  But goddamn it.  Be there if you are taking the choice away from the child (who in some cases is an 18, 19, 2o year old with that parent making medical decisions on his or her behalf).  

I love all my babies in heaven.  I only wish there weren't so very many of them.  They are more courageous, stronger, and more loving than I can ever hope to be.  

thunder-heart

This is beautiful.  I learned some new words, and I had to read and re-read it to appreciate it.  It's really something:

Oh Wonder

Traci Brimhall

It's the garden spider who eats her mistakesat the end of day so she can billow in the lungof night, dangling from an insecure branchor caught on the coral spur of a dove's foot,and sleep, her spinnerets trailing radials likeungathered hair. It's a million-pound cumulus.It's the troposphere, holding it, miraculous. It'sa mammatus rolling her weight through duskwaiting to unhook and shake free the hail.Sometimes it's so ordinary it escapes your notice—pothos reaching for windows, ease of an avocadoslipping its skin. A porcelain boy with lampblackeyes told me most mammals have the same averagenumber of heartbeats in a lifetime. It is the mouseengine that hums too hot to last. It is the blue whale'sslow electricity—six pumps per minute is the wayto live centuries. I think it's also the hummingbirdI saw in a video, lifted off a cement floor by firefightersand fed sugar water until she was again a tempest.It wasn't when my mother lay on the garage floorand my brother lifted her while I tried to shout louderthan her sobs. But it was her heart, a washable ink.It was her dark's genius, how it moaned slow enoughto outlive her. It is the orca who pushes her dead calfa thousand miles before she drops it or it falls apart.And it is also when she plays with her pod the dayafter. It is the night my son tugs at his pajamacollar and cries: The sad is so big I can't get it all out,and I behold him, astonished, his sadness as cleanand abundant as spring. His thunder-heart, a marvelI refuse to invade with empathy. And outside, cloudsgroan like gods, a garden spider consumes her home.It's knowing she can weave it tomorrow betweencitrus leaves and earth. It's her chamberless heartcleaving the length of her body. It is lifting my soninto my lap to witness the birth of his grieving.

I am utterly heartbroken with all of it. The whole world. 

I've been off for almost a week.  Which is awful for my mind.  I've thrown away a bunch of shit, I've groomed my dog, I've cleaned.  But my mind always comes around to you.  

As I near 35 I wish more than anything you'd talk to me, that you secretly feel the same way.  I know it's a lost cause.  

Forward march.  I have to keep it moving.  Keep pointing north.  I've overcome so much.  I know eventually, with enough time, this will feel smaller, duller.  I will be better for it, I have grown.  I will keep growing.  

I am grateful for all of this, even though it is hard.  I am grateful for the ups and downs, and highs and lows.  Because the sun is that much brighter when it comes back around.  

And I'm so very grateful for my dog, Samson.  I love him so very much.  His love is everything.

Being heartbroken in the times of quarantine is shitty. I'd rather be working, I'd rather be distracted. Nothing makes me happy. Not even TV or movies, which I used to find comfort in. Sammie does, of course. But food, no. I'm not ordering out much at all. I make soup or sandwiches and drink my shakes and eat string cheese. 

Mostly I think about you. And apologize to God for wasting the previous life I've been given by doing this. But how do I stop. That happiness I felt was like a drug. Going out with you, being with you just made me feel good. Being in the car with you, going places. 

But I have to stop torturing myself. I have to move forward and keep working on myself. Keep squatting, keep up with my skin care regimen, keep taking care of myself. I want to be happy for me. Be good enough for me.

But a little piece of me wants to come out on the other side with you looking for me.  Is that so wrong? 

feelings.

I had this bipolar patient back in acute psych.  She was 18 and very sick already, her medical record included an exceptional number of hospitalizations from a very young age and it made for a bad prognosis.  But I won't ever forget her looking at me in the eye and explaining her sentiments (and yes, this is from memory from years ago, so I'm paraphrasing here--in reality it was all the more beautiful and hauntingly sad):

"I would not trade this for anything.  You see, when I'm sad, I'm sad.  More sad than anyone will ever know.  It's awful, there's no end in sight.  But when I'm happy?  I know happiness that you will never experience.  You see, I can feel things that you will never comprehend.  And for that, I will suffer these waves of depression knowing that there exists that joy like no other.  Because I can have these feelings.  I CAN feel.  And I pity the rest of you, because you will never know what this is."

And even though it sucks, I guess it is something to know that I can experience these feelings.  I'm not a brick.  I'm not numb.  I can let myself experience thought and feeling.  And while I'm not bipolar, I've always thought I can process emotion and feeling in a way that not many other people can relate to--and I'm trying to explain it, because I'm not trying to brag here.  It's really fucking shitty and isolating a lot of the time.  But it can also be incredibly beautiful too.

Does that make sense?

the shadow of your heart

Cosmic Love

Florence and The Machine

A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Florence Leontine Mary Welch / Isabella Janet Florentina Summers

Cosmic Love lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group