Category: My Story

Life Long Yearning

dead
Image by M e l o d y via Flickr

The galactic hole in my heart

makes me tired of holding all the pieces together.

Tired of doubting.

Tired of needing.  Wishing.  Hurting.

Crying out in all the ways that speak of your neglect.

All my life, Daddy, learning

that I am incomplete.

So I gorge on all the things that don’t fill.

Wishing for love that never came.

All my life, yearning for the hurt to stop.

That I would not billow in space without

an anchor.

I want more. I need more.

I wish.  I hurt

and long

and cry

for love and finally, I find it at the Cross.

At peace I lay down my life long yearning.

I am home.

updated March 2, 2010

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You Are Not the Master of Your Life

Sometimes, when the chaos of life starts getting to me, I take my camera and walk around my garden. It’s quite a mess, speaking of chaos, but I can always find something beautiful in the mess. It’s amazing how even a strangely shaped weed can be beautiful close up with the sun shining behind it.

 

Usually, when I do this it is the LAST thing I should be doing with dishes and laundry to be washed, a psychiatrist appointment in a hour for Emma, a birthday present to be purchased for a last minute invite to a birthday sleepover, a dentist appointment for Jacob, grocery shopping for basics (which means I gotta do it), speech & language for Jacob, 50 pages to be read before Monday with Dylan, and on and on it goes.

Do you ever get the feeling you are NOT the master of your life, but rather you blow in the wind as a result of the circumstances that come at you? It is the MUSTS of life that get to me. Obligations and duties. But those things are also what get me through the hard days — when I need something to do in order to get out of bed.

What about you?

Making History — Did he really win? Yes he did!

I still cannot believe that the election has gone the way it has.  I am truly amazed and I am profoundly hopeful that Democracy has been restored just a little bit in America.  And that I am living in a day when a beautiful biracial young man can aspire to and become the President of the United States.

I am still in awe.  He is one of the best leaders that America has to offer the world and to see people around the world celebrate was a beautiful, life-changing, profound moment.

My kids woke this morning saying “Did he really win?”  Yes, he did.

On another note, as we look to the future, I am a frequent reader of Sojourner Magazine.  Something that I read on their website this morning that I loved, a letter to Obama, future President of the United States.  I don’t agree with everything on Sojourner, but this I agree with.

Priorities for our Nation:

  • Overcome poverty, both here in our rich nation and globally. Your efforts to resolve the economic crisis must include those at the bottom, the poorest among us. You pledged during the campaign to mobilize the nation to cut domestic poverty in half in ten years and to implement the Millennium Development Goals to cut extreme global poverty in half.

  • Find better ways than war to resolve the inevitable conflicts in the world. It is time to end the war in Iraq and emphasize diplomacy over military action in resolving problems in Iran and Afghanistan. We need better and smarter foreign policy that is more consistent with our best national values.

  • Promote a consistent ethic of life that addresses all threats to life and dignity. We must end genocide in Darfur, the use of torture, and the death penalty. I urge you to pursue common ground policies which can dramatically reduce abortions in America, and help bring us together on this divisive issue.

  • Reverse the effects of climate change on God’s creation. We must learn a new way of living in America to end our dangerous dependence on Middle East oil. We need a spiritual commitment to stewardship and national policies that promote safe, clean, and renewable energy. You spoke of job creation and economic renewal with a new “green economy.”

We need your presidential leadership for this type of societal transformation, but I promise also to do my part.

I will pray for you as you assume the awesome responsibility of leading our nation. To be the best president you can be, you will need both the support and the push of the faith community. I pledge to help build the movement that will keep your administration accountable and faithful.

Blessings,

Dreams.

I had the strangest dream last night.  I woke up believing that my Dad had just died. In my dream I received a phone call saying: “Your father just passed away.”  And I was so confused.  I couldn’t figure out what the woman on the other end of the phone was talking about.

I kept thinking Dad just died?  That means he’s been alone all these years. I felt so sad.  Because I didn’t know that he was still alive, somewhere, sick and alone.

I still feel sad, though I know that it isn’t true, it is like I’m losing him all over again.

What does this dream say about me?

My dad has been gone, dead, for five and a half years.  He started showing signs that something was wrong right about this time of year; my mom and dad had just paid us a visit.  It wasn’t a particularly good visit. He was on his laptop the whole time. And he was acting really strange during that trip.  Grumpy, even angry and even at times mean. (More than usual people!)

And then he was actually diagnosed with the brain tumors, Dec. 1st, 03.

It’s amazing how a dream, no matter how untrue it is, can linger with you. It sits with you like a stomach ache. All day today, I couldn’t shake this sad feeling that Dad has been alone for the last five years — sick and alone — and I didn’t know.

Weird.

I Am Destruction

I wake with the familiar headache.
Deeply tired.  My bones in protest.
Emotions already chafing; dazzling, fluorescent, raw. Ablaze.
Coffee the first panacea of the day.
Sip by sip, its power over me if not to heal, then to awaken.

Slowly flooded by familiar disappointment.
Weary, I begin to See myself.
I am Destruction.
I am Broken Promises wielding their power.
The surge of rage,  justified.
It hurts.
My body adjusting to an awareness
of this old enemy within.
Destruction’s impact yet unknown.
Fury toward the innocent who contribute to the chaos
of my life and toward, the hell inside.

10/27/08
by Melody Harrison Hanson

My father was addicted to his rage – he admitted that to me at the end of his life. He wielded it over our family in pathological ways that nearly destroyed my Mother, and at times I feel it in me to either consume me or destroy me. I fear, more than anything, the legacy of that rage in my life.  More than alcoholism, more than depression or even debilitating insecurity. Rage is the ultimate nemesis. The curse he left for the next generation; for me.

Going Quietly Sane

How hard can it be? Some days, too hard.

As you crawl back into bed, pleading with the universe,

To make it all disappear.

You can’t drink away your fear and so,

You choose sleep. It’s the only option,

When you must make your mind stop.

Furtive thoughts, disbelieving truths, you are

Just plain scared. And of what?

Your heart races from thinking too much.

Hands shaky. Breathing in, out. Counting down, 100, 99, …

To slow down your heart,

Your head whispers lies.

You lay there for an unknowable amount of time,

Moments lost forever.

Irretrievable.

Just Gone. And at a certain point you realize that

The panic that quietly stole your day — the lies

From the pit of your heart are untrue.

After incalculable hours lost, never to be retrieved

You get up. You paint your face,

Coif your hair.

You put on pink, the happy color,

The disguise. Just imagine yourself strong.

10/23/08 MHH

My Mother’s Love

My Mother’s love is like no other.
It affirms; its power is profound.
In my mother’s arms
the child in me feels safe.

My Mother’s love is like no other.
It wounds; its hold like a vice;
The power my Mother holds,
wounds the girl in me,
and strangles
the woman I will become.

My Mother’s love
holds the child in me
in a place I want to escape.
I am safe and yet
caught,
strangled by ancient, overgrown vines.

Who am I?
My
Mother’s
Love.

by Melody Hanson, 2004

Madness! My Brain on Recession

It is also what my brain feels like today.  I’m starting to really have a pit in my stomach about the state of the economy, every day I am aware of the cost of the most basic things.  I just feel down by it all, dragged down.  It is all madness!

(These are trees really played around with in a program called Picnik. )

The Place of Nowhere

I wish I were a drinker.
My thirst is an itching wound; an irritation, a constant need. My albatross.
It will remain; a heavy calling. Uncomfortable.  I long for satiation, even as I am arguing against it.
Ice cold, tart, sublime. It will fill me up. Cradling my heart,
that beats too fast;
I want the panic to recede, and so, for a moment I submit to its tender lies, so gently disguised.
The thirst of a drinker, remains. It calls to me. But it is not my calling.
It lies and tells me it is but a moment; infrequent, even good.
It utters frantic, believable thoughts. Yes, believable. You can. You want. You deserve. Your heart is dry as a bone.
Your need is great.
Lingering, it hangs like the moon in the daytime sky.
Calling, enticing, bewitching. A constant source of light.
Beautiful, as it lures me back to that place of forgetting.
I wish I were a drinker, because I will always thirst.
But then I remember what is so easily forgotten,
The lack.
The Emptiness.
The place of Nowhere.
Even still, I long for it.It caresses me, it lures.
The seduction of a drinker is constant.
10/17/08 MHH

Five and a half years I have known that I am an alcoholic – most of five, of which I was unable to face the truth. In that time I have studied the disease and I came to face with the truth that this thing,that is my albatross, although difficult is just that ‘a thing.’  And we all have Things. Mine, yes, is tragic at least to me.  I mean how pathetic that I can’t drink. I love drinking. I really do.  It’s fun. It’s is social. It brings people together. It’s ‘normal.’ Yup, those are the more subtle lies (for me).

Anyway, I guess I just need to say that although I have felt a great deal of shame, that is no longer true. Yes, alcohol had me it its grip, but no longer. I feel freer than ever in my life. And although it does call me, whispering in my ear, seductively at times, I just tell it to shut up! Seriously I am reduced to telling the Liar in my head to shut the fuck up!

I have been sober, since July 2008, and almost daily I remind myself that my life IS worth living —  covering up is weak, feelings are important, and most of all my children and husband need me!  May it always be so that I listen to that strength inside that help me shut out the lure of being a drinker.

Phantom Love

You can’t just say you love me. Love isn’t words.
Love is time — spent over the span of a life.
Words are a phantom love.

I can’t mend your hurting heart.
I don’t even know why I should try.
Empty, adrift. You are searching for something.
Crying out, and I hear you.
But I cannot help.

You can’t just say I’m sorry.

Love is known through a lifetime of being, searching, knowing.
Love is acceptance. Endurance. Forgiveness.
Each of these is evident — if you love.

What is it that I am to you?
Do you feel you cannot provide for me the things I crave?
I am fully aware and accepting, that I am the woman you both shaped over time.
Strong. Capable. Faithful.
Afraid. Careful. Wounded.

You don’t have to heal me, that task is all mine.
All you have to do is BE,
with me,
in my life.

You can’t just say you love me – show me, you don’t regret, that I am.

Show me.
Just be.
With me.

 

 

(May 21, 2008)

Reaching

Daddy, I reach up with my whole heart and gaze at you,
eyes widened, eager; wishing for your arm hanging there happenstance.
I am filled with hope and I itch
for you to hold my hand.
I linger, waiting, with another glance up at you.
Will you look down, will you grab my hand
a sudden tenderness?

Or will life pull you on toward the rush that ‘doing’ brings?

I planted a Cherry tree in memory of my father. He died five years ago May 19th. This is the first year I’ve gotten a few blooms, because I don’t prune it correctly.  I was always emotionally “reaching” for something from my dad, that infrequently came, whether it was holding my hand or just unscheduled time.
June 4, 2008

Dreaming in Color

Dreaming in Color

Am I comfortably settled or am I stuck?  When was the last time I dreamt in full color?  Of things long forgotten  —  Of pulse pounding, scary, risky things?   Am I fully awake?   I used to love the smells, sights, and sounds of Different. Am I sure that this life right in front of me is the one I was meant to live?  I am blown by forces stronger than myself.  I am carried on the wind into a future I cannot not smell, or see or hear.

I woke up and my dreams today is are so good. I am frantic to see it, to record it and to somehow divine the world Out There.

It may become too unsettling, upsetting, and disjointed for a family to endure.  It may be selfish.  It may ignore the good places in my life  that I have forged with utilitarian sacrifice; sweat and tears given willingly yet with a price.  My past, my here – and – now is settled, sometimes stuck, but known and understood.  Am I fully alive, if I can not manage to live my Dreams alongside the steady pulse of Love that fills my life every day? Surrounding me. It protects me.  And covers me, and I lose myself.

I can breathe, so I must be alive, but I feel stifled by the collision of my Dreams and every day realities.  I am alive, but I grow cautious and ever more afraid like dreaming is dangerous.  Am I more afraid — to fly — or to fail? Am – I- settled- or- am- I- stuck?  Am I fully alive?

I breathe therefore I Am. But what then?

August 25, 2008

This is a poem about being female, and 41 and a mother. Having left my career for years of motherhood, I was still dreaming of things that I could only imagine. I fear my dreams and yet hope for, wish for and want to have it all.