Jan. 15, 2022

A LIVING DEATH.

Fifty-Six years ago, on January 15, I gave birth to Rosemond, my second daughter. Fifteen months later, the local Newspaper featured a photo of the three of us—Rosemond, Myra, and me--- in a Mother's Day Photo. 

So many Mother's Days have passed since the three of us were together. So many-- I've lost count--and I no longer visit the mailbox-- expecting a card.  It’s interesting how adjusting to loss is much-like lifting weights. At first, the weight of my grief could only be measured in small increments---like minutes--then hours--and soon--- weeks. Now, I'm so strong I can “lift tall buildings” and--- my endurance is measured by-- years.

Each morning I wake up stronger than the day before because-- I survived another night. Nights are my most challenging time. Alone and in the dark--my memories gather to taunt me with thoughts of happy times; of hopeful yesterdays. I fight to stop thinking. I use my strength to restrain my emotions.  Sleep is my salvation.

Learning to survive abandonment by those you gave life and forever-love----is a living death. True-- with enough time-- acceptance becomes a pattern-- a way of life—but my great-big-loving-heart never stops asking "WHY."

Simply, Sally

 

Latest comments

17.10 | 01:42

I miss being Facebook friends with you! Hope you are well and happy.

Tammy Brookover Jay

15.10 | 01:28

Love all of this. I'm so lucky to be your neighbor,

30.08 | 16:26

Sally, my friend, I love your writings and sometimes they make me cry and then smile. I love you as if I had known you all my life. God Bless you each and every day in all you do.

29.08 | 19:19

Lol, I loved reading this story! As a female that dated a couple men with Harleys, I totally understand and met Harley Guy myself, many times over!
I hope you get your 3wheels someday soon!

Share this page