You say

Beauty from ashes,

But the “from” is long

And waiting is hard

Hard when you’re

waiting cause

There is nothing else to do.

This in between time,

This long “from”

Between when the ashes

Sink

And nitrogenize the soil

And life flows

Alive in your veins

Again.

 

 

New.

What is it?

Old fit fine.

Very comfortable.

Full.

Friendly.

Purposeful.

Right.

But new?

 

It wouldn’t be so bad,

This waiting,

If it wasn’t for

This aching.

Like the muscles round my heart

Are sore,

Tender,

Reminding me

Each time it beats

of what was.

What felt

Like the end

Of us all.

When it beat

Too fast,

Filling up

My chest,

My head

With voices,

Panicked,

Strangling,

Voices,

Telling me

To fear.

Fear.

Fear.

 

Every muscle tense.

For hours.

Instincts, long in hibernation,

Alert,

On edge,

Ready,

To fly,

Adrenaline,

My animator.

 

And waiting.

I don’t like being in vehicles now,

For very long,

Cause I can’t breath

After a while.

 

I’m outside of it all

This normal life around me

With the people who love,

But don’t know

What makes me stare

For long stretches,

And what makes me

Loathe

The waiting.

I look into it,

Their normal life

And remember mine,

Like painful pricks,

Each one reminding me,

That it’s gone.

Places

On this rotating ball,

That held

Memories,

Pieces of my life,

Like patchwork,

All up in flames,

All buried

In ash.

 

And I can’t breath

Cause it gets caught,

All these things

Inside,

Caught so I can’t

Cry

Or scream

Or yell

At God

Or Satan

Or Mother Nature.

 

So I numb.

It’s easier that way.

Numb waiting.

 

There are moments

That I forget,

And I find myself

Laughing

Or

Enjoying food again,

Or

Delighting in the beauty

Of gold sun

Prancing in the new leaves

Above.

 

I am thankful.

That is true.

We, the beating hearts

Knit to mine,

We escaped,

Though places,

Places knit into

Our pasts

Did not.

And there is

A ripping.

 

But I go into a box store,

And see some of it

With price tags,

But it’s ok,

Cause some stuff

It’s still out there.

 

But I can’t find the aisle

That stores my baby photos,

Or the recipe book

Handed down from generations,

That I never got around to photocopying,

Cause I was too busy.

Always

Too busy.

The lady at customer service

Smiles sweet,

But can’t reach

Back

To get

That worn out blanky,

The only one that gets the exhausted toddler

To sleep,

Or my wedding dress

I promised I’d tailor

To fit my daughter,

One day.

Or that faded print of Grandma and Grandpa

After the war,

On their wedding day

In 1948.

Or the home video

Of my eldest son’s wobbly first step,

Or my parents final wedding anniversary,

Where they danced together

Before she died

And I can’t hear my mom’s voice

Anymore.

Ever.

And I break down

In Wal-Mart

And someone hands me a rose

And I try to breath.

This is where

Life goes on

After.

I covet

My memories

More than ever

Cause they are all I’ve got

From

Before.

And I tell my children

What’s most important

Is that we are together

Still making memories,

Their memories

Will be

This.

This running

This waiting,

This new life,

They will hear

My voice

Saying,

“We will be ok.”

 

They seem more resilient than me.

Strange.

Maybe it’s cause

Their past doesn’t stretch so far back

Their attachments

Are more temporary,

Their roots

Easily transplanted,

But I feel old.

 

Old and unsteady,

Rootless and wandering,

Having to lean

Hard,

On those who still have

Roots,

Strength,

Faith.

Faith.

Faith that a good God

Wouldn’t do this,

But didn’t stop it,

And will redeem it,

And I don’t know

Why.

Faith

That this is not the end,

That He has good,

Still

And I don’t know

If I can believe it.

 

So I don’t.
Anxiety plagues me

When the news comes on

And there is more black smoke

And I walk away

Or shut it off,

Cause I need to see

The blue sky here,

And breath.

 

But I can’t stay here.

It’s unsteady

Shifting,

Forever

On edge,

Waiting,

Afraid.

 

What is the opposite of all this?

This fear and wondering,

This constant uncertainty

And “what if” ing?

 

I long for something

Steady

And warm

And the same,

In all this change.

I long for something

To hold on to

That won’t be taken

From me

In this life, or after.

I want security,

I crave it.

“Help, Lord,”

I manage.

And it’s a step.

A teetering one,

And maybe one day

My faith will feel

More solid

Than this shifting sand

Of my now.

 

But now,

In the long in between,

In the “from”

That is stretching me sore,

And leaving its marks,

On my heart,

That is vandalizing my dreams

So fear doesn’t let me go

Awake or asleep.

In the “from”

where a stranger’s hand

is serving my family

And my husband,

is struggling,

but having to

accept it.

In this long, drawn out “from”

I inscribe

“Beauty from ashes”

as sign posts

to anchor me

for what’s ahead

and to remember

what is behind.

And I wait some more.

And I breath.

 

Written for the Brave Ones

Fort McMurray, May 2016