Okay, I am going to be the first to admit that I am not against war. I have certainly gone to war. I have called upon war at times and I have definitely needed war in my life.
I understand war as a spiritual state of being. There have been times where that has manifested in the natural realm. I will use an antibiotic in a heartbeat if it is needed. I believe it should be reserved for when it is needed and it should be understood and respected. If I am ready to call upon war I must be ready to feel it from every side. However war decides to manifest, I should be prepared.
In any case. I am really having a problem with this love affair and collective mentality that some people in our country have with going into other countries and declaring that things need to change, it is somehow our duty to change them and how we go about that is by going to war with the people.
Why is it so hard for us to accept that our way of thinking isn't the only way?
Why is it so hard to grasp that democracy is a long and patient road to travel. It takes hearing something outside of ourselves and trying to come to a genuine understanding that works for all?
When will we understand that true diversity is identifying and accepting our differences and being able to embrace the other?
No one is invading this country demanding that since people of color are habitually being treated unfairly and even inhumane at times, it is their duty to drop bombs to fix it.
What if other countries decided to stop sending goods to our borders until our minimum wages were raised or every family could afford healthy food choices and decent shelter in this nation where we have plenty of resources for everyone but money and greed dictate who gets the fortune of enjoying them?
I understand I am but a very small voice and my opinion is but a spec in the universe but I wonder if anyone who is in a position of authority is thinking about this on this very basic level.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Grandmom's Bed
Most people who know me know that I was raised by my maternal grandmother until I was ten years old and went to live with my mother.
My grandmother was raised in the south and was a natural caretaker. Anytime I was not feeling well I would climb in her bed and found it to be a place of comfort. Even as an adult, when I was feeling down, or had trouble or just felt lost or alone. I would come and fall into her lap to cry or just climb in her bed to sleep. Somehow when she told me everything was going to be okay, I knew it was.
Five years ago on this date, my grandmother was on her death bed. She was getting hospice care and dying due to complications from major heart surgery. She could have fought and traveled the long road to recovery but she chose to die instead. I was living 600 miles away at the time but when I came to visit her, she demanded I stay and would not allow me to leave her side. Her nurses were so fond of her, they allowed me to stay the night with her and I rode with her in the ambulance that transferred her home the following day. I was with her from the time I walked in her hospital room in the ICU until she took her last breath.
The morning of September 3rd my youngest son was having eye surgery. I was hundreds of miles away and worried. My grandmother insisted that I climb into bed with her. I climbed in that tiny hospital bed and I cried. I told her how much I loved her and how much I was going to miss her. I asked her to convey my love to my loved ones who has passed on. I rubbed her head. I kissed her face. I sang to her.
Later that evening she closed her eyes to sleep and took her last breath in the wee hours of the morning.
It has been five years since I have cried in her bed. Since er death, I have gone through some of the most difficult situations and I can hear her voice telling me I am strong and I can get through. Just trust in God and know that everything is going to be alright. I miss her so very much. I am happy to have inherited her strength. The life lessons she taught me are far too many to explain. They live in my heart, just as she does.
My grandmother was raised in the south and was a natural caretaker. Anytime I was not feeling well I would climb in her bed and found it to be a place of comfort. Even as an adult, when I was feeling down, or had trouble or just felt lost or alone. I would come and fall into her lap to cry or just climb in her bed to sleep. Somehow when she told me everything was going to be okay, I knew it was.
Five years ago on this date, my grandmother was on her death bed. She was getting hospice care and dying due to complications from major heart surgery. She could have fought and traveled the long road to recovery but she chose to die instead. I was living 600 miles away at the time but when I came to visit her, she demanded I stay and would not allow me to leave her side. Her nurses were so fond of her, they allowed me to stay the night with her and I rode with her in the ambulance that transferred her home the following day. I was with her from the time I walked in her hospital room in the ICU until she took her last breath.
The morning of September 3rd my youngest son was having eye surgery. I was hundreds of miles away and worried. My grandmother insisted that I climb into bed with her. I climbed in that tiny hospital bed and I cried. I told her how much I loved her and how much I was going to miss her. I asked her to convey my love to my loved ones who has passed on. I rubbed her head. I kissed her face. I sang to her.
Later that evening she closed her eyes to sleep and took her last breath in the wee hours of the morning.
It has been five years since I have cried in her bed. Since er death, I have gone through some of the most difficult situations and I can hear her voice telling me I am strong and I can get through. Just trust in God and know that everything is going to be alright. I miss her so very much. I am happy to have inherited her strength. The life lessons she taught me are far too many to explain. They live in my heart, just as she does.
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