. . . And Still I Rise
After all is said and done and my name has faded from memory, my spirit will still be around, checking to make sure everyone is fulfilling God's wishes = the main wish I have after I am gone is that the work to rescue the defenseless animals and abused strays will continue.
That is my wish and my prayer.
I have already made all of my final arrangements = there will be nothing left to chance, I organized it.
I'm a great organizer and wanted to put my final wishes in my own words.
My recent episodes of illness and grief stripped my soul bare, as if there were nothing left and my brush with death was real and surreal at the same time, like Lazarus, I came back, not quite as strong in body but strong in mind. I didn't actually die, but I came close, according to the doctors in the Emergency Room.
Being that sick is psychological as well as physical. My body betrayed me, didn't hold its promise of keeping me safe, but after all, I am mortal and I was wounded, seriously wounded by pneumonia, the silent killer that strikes without warning, especially to the elderly.
. . . and still I rise.
My routines are now normal, but I don't feel normal, I feel empty emotionally, having cried in my grief and cried out in desperation in the hospital to God to "let me go" = "just let me go" = but He did not "let me go". Trapped, I felt trapped.
Just found out last night that one of my classmates passed away in May 2014, the month of my birthday and the month of my diagnosis for MS. I cried for her, for she was one of my favorite people to be around = silly and reckless and outspoken, she was a bright light in my dark world. God rest her beautiful soul.
When all the paper plates on the kitchen floor are no longer put out for feeding, it will be time for me to go, it will be time for God to lead me home, for I no longer want to inhabit this earth without at least one of my babies in it. I don't think I'm going to live that long, but I think I will be here to see the last one of my babies breathe their final breath = I believe that's why God brought me back from the brink = to take care of them.
In honor of National Black Cat Day, here is a picture of my baby Lucy Belle =
My recent episodes of illness and grief stripped my soul bare, as if there were nothing left and my brush with death was real and surreal at the same time, like Lazarus, I came back, not quite as strong in body but strong in mind. I didn't actually die, but I came close, according to the doctors in the Emergency Room.
Being that sick is psychological as well as physical. My body betrayed me, didn't hold its promise of keeping me safe, but after all, I am mortal and I was wounded, seriously wounded by pneumonia, the silent killer that strikes without warning, especially to the elderly.
. . . and still I rise.
My routines are now normal, but I don't feel normal, I feel empty emotionally, having cried in my grief and cried out in desperation in the hospital to God to "let me go" = "just let me go" = but He did not "let me go". Trapped, I felt trapped.
Just found out last night that one of my classmates passed away in May 2014, the month of my birthday and the month of my diagnosis for MS. I cried for her, for she was one of my favorite people to be around = silly and reckless and outspoken, she was a bright light in my dark world. God rest her beautiful soul.
When all the paper plates on the kitchen floor are no longer put out for feeding, it will be time for me to go, it will be time for God to lead me home, for I no longer want to inhabit this earth without at least one of my babies in it. I don't think I'm going to live that long, but I think I will be here to see the last one of my babies breathe their final breath = I believe that's why God brought me back from the brink = to take care of them.
In honor of National Black Cat Day, here is a picture of my baby Lucy Belle =
She is representing . . . my baby . . . and she is my company tonight as I take the words out of my head and put them down in front of me.
People often ask me to write "happy" tales, but I don't think I'm wired for that = some people are born to be just who they are and I am just who I am supposed to be = took me a long time to get here, to recognize myself as myself, but here I am.
. . . and still I rise.
I can't make up stuff to write, it has to be "real" to me and my thoughts are very real, they are a part of my past, my present and my future. I have loved parts of my life and I have hated parts of my life, but when all was said and done, I was who I was supposed to be.
Take me for who and what I am or let me be.
I don't need your approval to live my life the way I want to live it and some people have a distorted view of my life, one which they will never change, but most of the time, their view is not true and it's not mine.
= To Maya Angelou, who passed away, also in 2014, my eternal thanks for writing this poem for those who have beaten the odds. =
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