Dust

There’s a layer of dust on my desk. It has been there for a while. I wipe it off but it always comes back. Sometimes it’s so thick that I can write my name on it. And truth be told, that would be the only form of writing I have done in a while. My desk mocks me. I can hear it laughing every time I pass by and look at it. It calls me a failure, a fraud. How can I call myself a writer if I don’t sit down and actually write? I have no answer for that. I have no excuses. The mocking is valid.

This is probably the longest time I have gone without writing something. Sure, I’ve made some notes on my phone, jotted down some thoughts, but is it really writing without the feel of the pen in my hand, without the words written in my notebook in my own illegible handwriting? I don’t know why it has been so hard for so long. I feel like that layer of dust has gone from my desk and attached itself onto me. I feel dusty. Like that old toy that sits upon a shelf, not having been played with in so long. I feel like that toy. I’ve had the desire to write, God knows I have so many thoughts in my head that I need to get out, but the willingness to do it has been lacking. And it’s so stupid really. I know how good I feel after I write, especially if I truly like the words I have written. You would think I would want to have that feeling all of the time. Motivation has always been something I have lacked my entire life. It’s no wonder I am where I am and I feel the way I feel about myself at 47.

When my Aunt Joann died last November, it shook me to my core. I was so sad for so long after she passed. I’d go in and out of a depressive state, lose myself in a funk, but I would find my way out quick enough and be ok. Then a few weeks later I would be in that funk again. I couldn’t grasp the fact that she was gone. I was in a bad mood most of the time. And during Memorial Day weekend when we had a BBQ, I lost it completely. I took my anger out on my friend, actually screamed at him over the stupidest thing and then I had an emotional breakdown and cried so hard for her. And it hit me on that day because Memorial Day weekend 2022 was the last time that I saw her. And it killed me that she wasn’t there again. I was so mad at everything. I remember screaming ‘this is so fucking stupid’, because it was just that. It’s fucking stupid that she’s gone. Stupid and unfair. And maybe that breakdown was what I needed to come out the other side. After that I think I started to heal a little. I still missed her terribly, and still do, but I was starting to accept the fact that she was gone. That was May.

And then a freight train came in August and hit me like nothing I have ever felt before. And it knocked me so far off of my feet I’m not sure I’ve completely gotten up yet. I lost my Aunt Maryann. I don’t have the words to describe the pain I feel with this loss. I honestly feel like a piece of me is missing and I don’t know how to be whole without her. She was such an important part of my life. I would talk to her about things I didn’t share with anyone else. She understood me in a way that I’m not sure anyone else does. She never judged me for anything I did or said. She loved me for me, no questions asked, nothing needed in return. That is a priceless gift and now that gift is gone and I’m left here with a hole in my heart and my life.

And the pain I feel with this loss is immeasurable. But more than that is the anger. I’m so angry that she was taken from all of us, especially her daughter and grandchildren. I’m angry that we believed in a miracle treatment that never got to happen because her body wasn’t strong enough. I’m angry that the Gods made her suffer so much in the end. That was such bullshit. If they wanted her so bad, they could have had the decency to take her quicker and more peacefully. I will never forget the way she looked the last time I saw her. I could see the pain she was in and I could see that she was already gone. But I will also remember how, just for a second, her face lit up when she saw that my daughter was there. That’s a priceless memory I get to keep with me forever.

I always knew that when the day came that I lost my Aunt Maryann that I would be devastated. But devastated doesn’t begin to describe how I’ve been feeling. And I’ve let these feelings, this pain and sadness, cover me. I’ve worn them like the layer of dust on my desk. And the more time that has passed, the heavier the layers have gotten. I’ve surrendered to the weight of them. I’ve given in to them and let these two feelings be the only things I’ve felt in a while. And I haven’t had the strength to get out from under them.

But it’s time to find a way. I can’t live like this anymore. And I know it won’t be easy and I will still feel these things for a long time but I have to let everything else back in. If I don’t, I will be disrespecting both of my aunts who wouldn’t want me to live this way. I’m wasting my days when both of them would give anything to come back for even just one hour. I need to wipe the dust from my eyes so I can see all that I have in front of me. I need to see my blessings, I need to see a better future, I need to see the changes being made within myself.

My Aunt Maryann loved the rain, she loved thunderstorms. She would sometimes sit on her porch and just watch the rain come down. I told my daughter this recently and she said, ‘Mommy, Mare Mare has probably been sending us all of this rain because she loves it so much’. I think she was right. I think my aunt was sending me the rain to wash all of my dust off. I didn’t realize it at first, but I get it now. She once told me that when I was feeling mad or sad, I should go out in the sun and just let it shine on me for ten minutes. She promised I would feel better and she recommended doing it as much as I could. The past two days have been beautiful and I have been doing that as I wait on the corner for my daughter’s bus. And I have felt better. She always had a way of making things better. It’s nice to know that won’t change even though she’s not here physically.

I got my blog’s name from her. She once told me that I was a tough cookie, but even tough cookies crumble sometimes. And I have definitely been crumbling. Thank God I learned some things from her to help me start putting myself back together.