The window to her soul.

They say that the eyes are the window to the soul.
I’m not sure but I want to believe it.  My loved one is lost and I feel sometimes she may not come back.
In her eyes I see remnants of her.  She’s still there.  
My solace for so many years.
Hiding bravely her nightmares from young eyes and ears.  She was my rock.
She was always there when I needed her.
Now she’s not.  She is but she isn’t.  I can no longer lean on her.
She’s too fragile.  So proud.  I can’t help her.  I m here for her but
I feel as though it’s never enough.
All these tools I have, these many things I can fix.  I fix my house but a person is not the same.
I have Band-Aid and kisses for boo boos.  For my children when they get hurt. 
Yet for her it does not help.
Her scars run far too deep for Band-Aids and kisses.
I am lost in my helplessness.
How do we move forward when one is stuck?
Ruminating, ruminating on things that are gone like our breath on the wind.
Do I push her?  Do I pull her?  Do I just sit with her?
My positivity and love cannot hold off the darkness.
The darkness that settles over her envelops her, like a shroud.
Not comforting but familiar.  So familiar that she lives and breathes it.
Yet there are moments when I look in her eyes and see her.
She’s still there.  
She has help.  She has medication.  She has the tools.
But she doesn’t know how to rebuild her life.
I love her.  I see her.  I ache for her.  I wait for her.
I miss her.
She’s still there.  I walk on egg shells with her.
We talk of things that are not hard to deal with.
We talk about easy things.  We arm ourselves silently and smoothly.  Like spies, swift and deadly with words that don’t threaten to make her retreat
It’s the way to still be with her.  Sarcasm and dry humor our best friends. 
We excel at pretend.  How I wish the egg shells were sea shells.
On the sand, where the sun could chase the blues away.  The blues that seem to stay.  Day after day.
We don’t talk about serious things.  It only makes us estranged.
Funny things, light things are better.
How we relate.
I don’t see her as often as I used to.
This house is loud, chaotic, with the hum of life.
That she was part of.  Not what she is able to cope with.
It’s okay.  And sometimes it’s not.
Darkness, go away.  
I want to shine the light on you.
Banish you from her.
But I am not strong enough for it to last.
It knows her too well.  It clings to her.
So I hold out and wait for her.  I see her.  I miss her.
I love her to the depth and width of my soul.
She is my family.  She was my rock.
Now I will be hers.
 
 
 

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Comments

  1. says

    Oh dear Patty! I’m so sorry you are going through this challenging time. Hugs. I’m here for you if you need me! And once again, you write SO well! This touched my core.

  2. says

    Oh Patty…that brought tears to my eyes. My mother is in her 80′s and I’m watching her age before my eyes. She was always my rock…and these days I’m trying hard to be hers. This was a wonderful read :)

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