I was concerned about posting this poem, but it is a reflection of how a person can feel when their body is totally dependent but their mind is still very active.  The desire to really LIVE is still there, but the ability to do so is not.  Here is the poem:


If only
I could be
What you want me to be
If only
i could cry
If only
I could tell you how I really feel
If only
My pain was acceptable to you
If only
I didn’t have to
Keep up the false front
If only I could say
“I want to die
Because I cannot live
But really
I want to live
But my body will not let me”
My mind is still there
Alert as ever
I am aware
Aware of everything
I want to taste of everything
But all that I can taste
Is the bitter pill
Of pain
And dependency

MUSINGS – Who am I Now?

I spent yesterday trying to come to terms with so much in my life. Since I had cancer and became totally dependent upon someone else for everything in my life (NOT a situation that I want) I have struggled so much. I am not who I was, and don’t know who I can be any more. Who CAN you be when you have to ask someone else for permission to do something? Even putting a CD on is beyond me. I can put my hands out and TRY to find the buttons that do certain things on the CD player, but with having no feeling in my hands and being blind, I cannot find the buttons. So I have to ask for help. There is SO MUCH that I cannot do, and that I need help with. I cannot put the television on. Often, I need help with my iPad because a pop up comes up and I don’t know what it is and cannot deal with it.

I lost my mother the other day. So that has added to my not quite knowing who I am. Yes, she was not a good mother. She was highly abusive. But she was my mother. The one I grew up with.

And so, I went and sat, yet again, in the village where I was born, trying to connect with something.

I thought a lot about my childhood, and of how I was moved right away from that place where I did actually have happiness at my grandparents’ farm. I thought about the fact that all through my life I have yearned to go back there to live, and of how it can never be, now. And I wondered what happened to the past. Do those things live on in any other way than in my memory? I felt not. I felt that they must live still in some other way too. That they must still exist.

It didn’t help me to know who I an now. But strangely, the church clock, that had started going again had now stopped at the time of my birth!


I met Him while down on the ground,
We both spoke the same language,
It was the language of hearts,
Not the language of power
Where hearts have turned to stone,
It was a language of tears.

The world despises tears,
As it pushes us onto the ground,
But we are not like stone,
Pain and hurt forms our language,
Tears form their own power,
The power to heal hearts.

We all have sacred hearts,
When we can cry tears,
Not from a position of power,
But from way down on the ground,
It’s a universal language,
When our hearts are not stone.

It’s easier to be stone,
Nothing touches our hearts,
We speak our own language,
We cannot cry tears,
Unless we fall on the ground,
Losing all our power.

It’s frightening to lose our power,
To be kicked, like a stone,
Pushed further r onto the ground,
By many hardened hearts,
Come, cry with us your tears,
Come and speak our language.

For you it is a new language,
Now you’ve given up your power,
You may be frightened by your tears,
Now you haven’t a heart of stone,
Together, let’s join our hearts,
As we both lie on the ground.

When we’re on the ground we lose our power,
Our language can’t come from hearts of stone,
But from hearts empowered by tears.