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The land of untold stories

She awakes suddenly to her heart pounding loudly in her chest. The room is pitch black except for a sliver of moon shining through the blinds. He visited her dreams again tonight.

She puts one hand on her forehead and sighs; while the other arm reaches across hoping that miraculously the vast absence beside her has been filled. And it only takes five seconds for the truth to settle in. She is alone, more alone than she’s ever been. There’s just something obvious about emptiness even when you try to convince yourself otherwise.

No matter how much you tell yourself you are over someone, your heart knows the truth. You see even if we lie to ourselves during the day the body is compelled to speak the truth at night. Maybe its because we talk so much during the day we can’t hear what the heart is saying. And if you don’t pay attention then it talks to you through a dream or a memory. And a dream is a poem the body writes. Therefore her nights were long and her dreams were endless.

They had broken every promise and vow that they made… and yet she loved him just the same. Dreams were a place her subconscious screamed loudly that it was over. He was gone, the marriage over. Left with only empty space and memories that no one, not even she, could ever erase. So it was always late at night, when everything and everyone else was quiet that those voices would rise up like ghosts, soft and haunting filling her mind until sleep finally came.

But when morning rose she’d always wake up distraught, knowing that her startling reality was much too different. That she couldn’t dive into her dreams and simply pluck them to life. They were just snapshots and short glimpses into where that life could have went had it kept on going in that direction. And she can’t help but wonder if she’ll ever be someone worth holding, someone worth keeping.

So she dreams what she’d not dare say awake. But the nights are not simply long enough to jump start her heart again. After 10 years of marriage, here she was, in a house, in a bed, that once held everything she ever needed to be happy. Left holding only her dreams, the only thing to keep her warm at night with the damned distance unbridgeable

She once heard that time heals all wounds. But she can’t totally agree. She’s come to think that there are wounds that time cannot heal and distances that simply do not make oblivion.

Each night each of us dreams of what we are less aware of during the day. But there are things you never get used to even if you have all the time in the world. You don’t get used to the empty space on the other side of the bed. You’ll never get used to not seeing their smile. Or avoid buying 2 drinks in a bar, or 2 tickets for a concert. Or to avoid smelling their perfume. Or to that feeling of heartbreak every time you look in the mirror and realize that you are the biggest fool of all for letting go the love of your life.

Outside the dawn is breaking. She only has a couple precious hours of sleep left in the night. So she closes her eyes and falls asleep to their song. The one he dedicated many years ago. The one he said reminded him of her. And like a key that unlocked their past she fell into a dream of him and her. And in the land of untold stories, in the echo of their story she losses herself in one more dream again…

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Solo un besito mas...

“Hey, you know I love you very much?” I nudge my niece. We are sitting on my bed playing some game or other like we always do when she is over.

“Yea I know” She’s always reluctant for words. Then she grabs my hands softly and asks “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That you’re really, really sick this time?”

I sigh. Here she is short of 11 years old and having to face a reality I wished to shelter her from. “Yes darling. Unfortunately it seems I’ve run out of lives. But hey! No worries! When I go you can have all my nail polish and jewelry okay?” And I smile hoping to remove the sadness out of the reality.

“Okay Mimi” she says and stays quiet for a while. “And Mimi?”

“Yes”

“I love you too” and she kisses my cheek. The most gentle and purest gesture that she could give. And in that kiss grants me all the love that she possesses.

I try not to look directly at her, because if I did I’d break right in front of her. But from the corner of my eyes I see her eyes water and she discretely wipes a tear. So I look up at the ceiling trying my best not to cry. And I remember that quote from the “Fault in our Stars” that says:

“Much of my life had been devoted to trying not to cry in front of people who loved me, so I knew what Augustus was doing. You clench your teeth. You look up. You tell yourself that if they see you cry, it will hurt them, and you will be nothing but a Sadness in their lives, and you must not become a mere sadness, so you will not cry, and you say all of this to yourself while looking up at the ceiling, and then you swallow even though your throat does not want to close and you look at the person who loves you and smile.”  ― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

I didn’t want to be a mere sadness.

Since about October of 2015 things began to take a downward spiral health wise for me. I was constantly hospitalized weeks at a time with symptoms so vague it was hard to diagnose. 2016 was spent for the most part on tests and more tests, and diagnosis after diagnosis. The doctors sure that a lot of it had to do with my anatomy because of a previous surgery didn’t really have many answers. Few people had lived past all I had. A lot of it is still uncharted territory.

So when we learned during fall that I had a rare condition we met it with mixed feelings. We could finally make sense of what had been happening. But at the same time we were diving head first into such a rare syndrome with very little medical expectations that I’d even be able to survive. It turns out my large intestine and pancreas had made the hole in my diaphragm big and climbed up to my chest. This collapsed my left lung and made it very difficult to breathe. I was extremely tired, and even a walk to the kitchen would leave me breathless. I spent the next months strapped mostly to bed. I couldn’t really handle going anywhere or even walking. With not enough oxygen even holding a conversation too long became unbearable.

I saw 3 surgeons before one decided that surgery was my only way of surviving. But this would be a majorly invasive surgery with a lot of complications in the horizon. Because of my previous surgery in 2009 I’d developed a staph infection in my blood that causes me to fight long term use of antibiotics. My body begins to fight them as viruses. This makes me very prone to infections.

Additionally, because of the previous surgery being so invasive, my body in its healing created a lot of adhesions. This would become a problem because the adhesions would hide vital veins and even position of organs. I was also highly anemic. So going in surgically was a feat. One that not just any surgeon would take on.

A Friday after a doctor’s appointment I began to be so out of breath my sister rushed me to the hospital, by Sunday my body went into total shock when my small intestine began to strangulate and my stomach began cutting blood supply to my organs. I was dying. The surgeon was rushed and within an hour I was downstairs being prepped for surgery.

Nothing prepares you to say a final goodbye to the people you love. With only a 25% chance of making it out alive off of the surgery, we were, for lack of a better word, a mess. My stats went downhill so fast we had very little time to prepare. My brother barely made it before they wheeled me away.

So on a Sunday morning we said our goodbyes, there were promises made, kisses, hugs, and a downpour of tears none of us could stop from coming. All of our hearts were aching. I made sure that my parents wouldn’t be alone during the surgery. And I shot out a goodbye text to my best friend. I made the anesthesiologist wait till my brother arrived and I was able to say goodbye to him and my niece. I realized how truly hard it was, really, to see someone you love slowly slip away right before your eyes. And worst to realize there was nothing that you could do to stop it.

There wouldn’t have been enough time in the world that morning, even if things hadn’t happened so fast. There never is when we are saying goodbye. In my last conscious moments I couldn’t help but cry uncontrollably. I feared that I was leaving a million things unaccomplished, a dozen projects unfinished, and so many words unsaid. Being deathly sick feels like getting to the end of the book and realizing 20 pages have been ripped out and you will never know how the story ends.

But that is death. It doesn’t matter if it’s sudden or it’s been a long time coming, it will always cut off life in the middle of a sentence. And no matter how prepared for it you think you are the rest of your untold life will always be the part that is the greatest loss.

My last thoughts were a memory I held close to my heart. Me at 4 or 5 at kindergarten drop off, and how every morning held the same routine. Instead of saying a short and sweet goodbye to my mom I would always drag it on never wanting to leave her side. I’d keep running back to her time and time again and burrowing my face as far into her stomach as I could. She’d stroke my hair, kneel beside me and in between the whimpering I’d whim “Solo un besito mas”.  (Just one more kiss).

Many hours later, thanks to Jehovah I was out of surgery. Everything had gone great and with no major complications the surgeons had successfully repaired the diaphragm and put almost everything back in its place. I awoke in a haze to my family hovering over me. I was incredibly happy to see them.

I spent the next weeks slowly recuperating till they finally let me go home to finish healing. Now I wish I could say this is my happy ending. That this is the ending to this heart wrenching turmoil, never having to face it again. But unfortunately that is not the case. In 5 years the syndrome will reoccur again. Once you are prone to this type of thing it will continue to occur each time getting harder and harder to fix the diaphragm.

I could look at this as a glass half empty type situation, but I refuse to. Worry doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sorrow. Its 5 whole years that I didn’t have before. And maybe that isn’t all the time in the world. Maybe in the end I will still leave a million things left undone and a thousand words left unsaid.

But it also means 5 years of being with my loved ones. 5 more years of memories, of hugs and kisses that I would have not been granted before. And maybe that’s not a lot and it may never be enough in the eyes of many. But too me it means everything. Because if being granted the chance I’d run back every time even if just for… solo un besito más.

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Things I can’t talk about

I have accepted that I will never find true love again. I have accepted that I will die alone in my old age in an empty, cold bed. I have accepted that marriage and the life that comes with it is not in the cards for me. I missed the boat. I wasted my best years with an abusive man who took something from me that I will never be able to get back. I don’t know exactly what that something was. It may have been the ability to completely trust someone with my heart. It may have been a softness in me that allowed people to penetrate through to my soul. Instead, I am hardened and cold. The desire for love and romance has been buried so deep inside me that I can ignore it… mostly. 

323 days out of every year, I am fine. I am happy and I look forward to single life, on my own after my daughter goes to college. Eating what I want, doing what I want, and living exactly how I want. Sleeping in the middle of the bed and using all the hot water. Drinking wine in a bathtub while watching Walking Dead for the nth time or exploring the world on my terms. At peace with nature or oblivious to the outside world. That life sounds blissful… mostly.

But then I watch a movie or TV show and I see the guy grab the girl and kiss her because he just cannot stand to not be hers for another moment. Or I hold a patient’s hand as she dies because she has no one else to be by her side. That’s when the emotions start to bubble up and the loneliness seeps from my pours while some dark hand squeezes around my heart making it hard to breathe. Did I miss my chance? Am I now too old to find love naturally? Have all the good guys already found their someone by the time they are my age? Am I invisible? Is there something so wrong with me that I’m untouchable? 

I fill the void with work, never stopping to think, never stopping to catch my breath for fear that I won’t find air. I’m sure I’ll be fine, at least 323 days a year. I’m sure it will work out for me… mostly.

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Walnut and stone feature throughout this penthouse apartment by Belgian practice Hans Verstuyft Architects located in a David Chipperfield-designed building in Antwerp. The residential building, one of Chipperfield’s Westkaai Towers on the waterfront in the neighbourhood of Eilandje, is made up of stacked white concrete terraces. Photos: Dorothee Dubois.

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$995,000/2 br

Oklahoma City, OK

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You’re all locked up in that little world of yours, and when I try knocking on the door, you just sort of look up for a second and go right back inside.

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via wnq-writers)

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I died. What!?!?

Kill it!! Kill it with fire !!

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http://iglovequotes.net/

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Love who you love while you have them. That’s all you can do. Let them go when you must. If you know how to love, you’ll never run out.

Ann Brashares, My Name Is Memory (via observando)

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Good Days and Bad

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Eagles Perch Treehouse. A wonderful treehouse perched 20 feet (6 metres) up in a Douglas Fir tree. There is an observation deck linked to the treehouse, from which the views to the Hood Canal and Port Gamble open up. Located in Kingston, Washington.

Keep reading

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Enjoying the game. (Source: http://ift.tt/290cS2N)

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✌️

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More quotes about life here

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me: *doesnt sleep, is tired*

me: *sleeps a bit, is tired*

me: *sleeps average amount, is tired*

me: *sleeps a lot, is tired*

me: *is tired*

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To heal a wound

So here we were, in between the four walls of my room. She sat in the chair in front of me, while I laid in bed propped up by pillows. She didn’t know this but I’d been one of my bad days where all I’d accomplish that day was to take a shower and then be depleted of all energy. As she sat there consumed by nervousness, fidgeting with her ring, all I could think about was how much actual physical pain I felt and how I couldn’t possibly take a pain killer because then I would never remember the conversation the next day. And this conversation was important.

And as awkward and uncomfortable as it all felt, there are some issues in our lives that we can’t sweep under a rug. That we cannot go around or even over, that we must cross from end to end. It’s part of the process, because as much as we want to, there are some things that we cannot assign to oblivion. Some pain demands to be felt.

We ran around the subject, talking of my health, and then her recent engagement. As much as it was needed, saying it out loud would be difficult. I explained to her that the only reason I hadn’t accepted to meet her sooner was that I wanted the conversation to be genuine. And that if I was going to offer forgiveness I didn’t want it to be fake in any way. So I had to go through the process, first, of reaching that place before I thought it appropriate to sit down with her and talk to her.

The last couple of months for me had been very difficult, it was one thing to be physically sick again, but then to also be in so much emotional turmoil. It all felt like an insidious cancer that was consuming me whole, and the worst part was not knowing if I was worth saving. So though she thought she needed this, I needed it most.

The conversation details themselves aren’t even important. It wasn’t about rehashing every detail, or over analyzing every single moment. It was about the realization of the hurt, of the aftermath created. It was about just being honest, about truly expressing remorse, and truly offering forgiveness. Because otherwise it was fictitious, unworthy, and a waste.

Betrayal will never be something easy to get over. Believe me, I’ve been wracked with both anger and an immense gradation of sadness. But forgiveness isn’t so much about relieving someone of their guilt as it is unshackling your pain. Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor, you get used to it. To how it holds you to place.

And that’s what many people in this world don’t get about forgiveness. It’s much more about the person wronged than the one that harmed. If we aren’t willing to give things their proper place in our past, we are just asking for them to spill all over our present. The truth is I can only handle one bad thing in my life and right now being physically sick is enough.

So I sat there and I listened, and she listened. I honestly didn’t know what my reaction to it all would be going forward. I prayed prior to this that I would only say what was really in my heart. And surprisingly, even to me, after it was said a calmness that I hadn’t felt in months came over me.

As I read her expressions I understood that she really did feel sorry. That it wasn’t an act. And once I was convinced it was all I ever needed to hear about the subject ever again.

The truth was that in the betrayal, she was what hurt the most. Him, I’d lost long ago, and I’d come to grips with. But she, she was someone I loved dearly, and it was hard to fathom my life without. When this all came to light someone wise said that if there was a friendship worth salvaging that with time and work it would be worth saving. At the time I thought they were idiots and that it was stupid because I could never trust someone like that again. But it is true. When you really love someone your willing to hang on even if you feel like your heart has had enough.

We all make mistakes, none of us are perfect, and truly loving and caring about someone is loving them through some of their worst of times. Because that’s when they need it the most. Because in the end that’s exactly what we hope others will do for us. I couldn’t possibly ever ask for forgiveness, for love or understanding if I wasn’t capable of granting it myself.

Elizabeth George said “The past can’t be changed can it? It can only be forgiven.” So I did. And with that we laid to rest the past. In its proper place, with its proper closure. Never to speak of it again. Because sometimes to heal a wound you simply need to stop touching it.