ellensagh

14. Pure and Simple

Journal # 90 June 23, 2006 – October 14, 2006

Finished reading my book to the incredible volunteer yesterday. So grateful she did this. Started on the Full Moon day of March fifteenth. Now it’s over. Like I’m saying good -bye to the twice a week attention I was getting. Dreampt telling a young girl who is a near woman now that she is okay; can take care of herself; doesn’t need a hospital.
Talking to the kids a lot. We are all seeking wholeness. My son said knows what it’s like to cry for two days straight. Is it we want someone to help us or we feel hopeless; want to know the correct way? Lots of emotion. Heart area physically hurts. I have my book out on the floor; like it’s over but don’t know what to do with it. Thought about putting it in binders to put it away but can’t. It’s important for it to be out; as if I don’t know how to keep it important; how to keep a focus on my healing. The pain is so bad and I know the saying about what you give attention to; grows. I don’t want that but also want to be connected. Conscious and not denying reality.
I have no interest in being part of Tamara’s House anymore or just want to be a small part compared to how it used to be. I am singing with the inner city singers tonight who are releasing the song, “ Will We Always Be A Shadow In Your Heart?” It reminds me of the one I wrote called “The Wounded Within Cries Out In It’s Darkness.”
Planning an eighty fifth birthday for Dad. I’m doing the phoning. Still have the singers coming to my house once a month. Mowing my grass; fertilizing some flowers, want to fix my eaves troughs; someone suggested tar. Thinking maybe buy cement and fix the holes in my sidewalk. Found stretching exercises; maybe do that twice a day; but is that realistic?
Idea now to move this Book II I’ve written from orange, yellow, and blue binders to one white elephant binder but elephant reminds me of elephant never forgets. I don’t want the pain to stick around; the never forgets part. I guess I will always remember, but there won’t be a huge emotional attachment stuck to it. Right now there is. Don’t even want to look at my past scrapbooks; right now feels like a bunch of crap; nothing to be proud of in what has gone before; just a bunch of pain; know that’s not true; much there is awesome, awe-inspiring, caring, inspirational. I must be feeling the aftereffects of reading the examination for discovery; having trouble finding anything to be grateful for.
Stayed home for two days sorting. Big changes. Changed my living room. Still can’t put my books away. Crying happens. It’s like putting myself out of the picture. I am still attached to those journals. Those books still care that I existed; that I went through what I did; that others and I understand the pain of it all; the striving. What do I want understood? That I can move beyond the shit, the pain. There is still some shame around it obviously.
Now changed my bedroom around and love how it looks. Took all the shit out of there. Shit is referring to the church papers. I guess shit is how I feel I was treated by the church. In the flow feeling that journal numbers forty four to seventy six; thirty two of them that made up the second book, fit perfectly in the one box that was available. Will put them away. My scrapbooks are up to date and now put away in the top shelf of the cupboard.
So organized; not even dust around. Debating about inviting Dad and my aunt up for Thursday; can be here when I have singing and then we’ll leave the next day for Oiltown for the weekend. I think I will.
Did. Dad played every song on the fiddle that the singers sang. He had never heard them before. That was incredible! I am thinking of making a statement of documents like lawyers do. Had three women over and discussion about how hard it is to do what I want to do. Make a Book II. How it’s taken months to even put the disc into the computer; want to start editing. The woman volunteer said she will help.
Had a call from an old friend; working in Aquaba, Jordan asking if I will make a doctor appointment in Saskatoon for July. The Chinese woman called who I met volunteering with Open Door Society. A professor of physical therapy who moved to Ontario phoned to see if I could find some women to be in a study as she is making a booklet called “Sensitive Practice for Professionals”; for people who work with survivors. I checked out her writings; far removed from how I write; but know this issue of child sexual abuse underlies a lot of people’s lives; from colleagues to customers to families to friends and it does not matter where in the world they are.
My daughter hasn’t been speaking to me for weeks and when I finally reached her and said wanted to know why; she said she discovered a copy of my Book I in their library at work and debated about ever speaking to me again. I apologized for how I’ve hurt her; asking if anything I can do now. No.
I am dating Wes more. He kisses me on the cheek as he says good-bye after our dinner and walk. There’s something I’m processing or healing at a deep level; about being okay; worthy; as good as or whether I’m worth it. Will I have the tears, the crying episodes all my life? I’m so sick of it; the pain; the heartache. I have a beautiful house, money, job, friends and yet their is incredible sadness, pain and grief. I think of the pain my daughter is in because of me and I cry. How can I ever recapture the joy? There was some joy I think.
I’ve been seeing auras around people and things for weeks. What is that about?
A friend asked if I would sing a song at her friend’s memorial. She had a beautiful service in her house; the house was full and a very different funeral indeed. Bagpipes proceeded the people from the back yard into the home and the most haunting melody was played by a violinist. Powerful. She had reminders of a life set out on the table and around the home. Fit my mood these days.
Saturday June 15, 2006 5:30 am. Police outside my house since 1:30 am. Unsure what’s going down. Want to ask if there is a safety factor here. Had my chance. Didn’t. Wait. Watch. Then went out and asked city policeman, “What is happening?. He said was unsure what he can and can’t tell me. I asked if kids next door are okay. “Yes”
“Mom okay?” I ask.
“Not,” he said and added, “Major crimes and TV cameras will be here soon. Lots went on.”
I left. My car radio says one dead; one in hospital. Maybe gun involved. Glad I had something to do. I left town earlier than planned. Took Dad and my aunt to their friend’s one hundreth birthday. First time I knew someone who turned one hundred. Dad and I played music for an hour at the celebration. I could not get the thought of my neighbor being murdered out of my mind. The thing that drove me that weekend was Dad must have brought up my sister, Louise, who died violently at least five times. The murder next door is in my psyche. Got home and police guarding front and back of the house.
My daughter bought a house. Best exciting news I’ve had in a long time. Wes and I were invited to my cousin’s cabin for a barbeque. Enjoyable.
This Saturday morning sitting in my backyard seeing a blue light aura around the trees; while I wait for my sister to arrive for the day. Every morning now I work on editing my book II. Glad I’m doing it. Also on the weekend, I was walking with a child who said, “We have so many experiences, we forget what heaven is like.|” Don’t even know what we were talking about that it would come up.
I’m very jumpy about what goes on next door. The husband is out of the hospital; people coming and going. Went to the memorial service; police presence all around. Would be easier if someone was accountable for a woman’s death. Went out in the country and screamed in my car. Screamed in my pillow. Couldn’t sleep and grabbed the library book I picked up called “Dropped Threads” and wouldn’t you know it; a woman in it is talking about her sister who was murdered by Robert Pickton. The wailing comes. I know loss similar to hers. Hope I am able to deal with this inner pain sitting at the top of my shoulders. Is it mine? Others? Me not feeling emotionally supported? Is it little girl stuff? Adult me doing too much?
Screaming inside. I want it done; meaning the book. Well, I guess I’d better take some time and do it!
Asked Wes and he said yes to golfing in a tournament. Sent seventy five dollars times two into the organization putting it on. This organization sounds neat. Student dentists, social workers, doctors, occupational therapists; all working with people in the inner city. I can support that any day. Wes came for supper; was quite easy. He is easy to be with. He brought wine which we’ll share another night.
I’m in better space. Was in the deep and came through. Lots still intense. Abundance. That is what I have in this life; our country; our world; our universe. The affluence we have compared to the rest of the world; the bombings; the killings happening all over.
Dad’s eighty fifth birthday went well; as if the exact right amount of people showed up; some from my phoning and many from an ad in the paper. The program went well. I sang that song Dad taught me over the phone; “This is My Homeland” song accapella. Been a long time since I put myself out there. Was glad I could do it. Gladness a big thing; that I have a family; one I am proud of; roots. Sad my daughter would not come; too painful to be a part; but more so proud she knows how to set boundaries.
All of a sudden being invited over to different friends; one telling me she went into deep; wrote forty journal pages; memories still happening; rages over and over. So many women abused and so many struggle with worthiness; the meaning of life
Having conversations in my head about why it is important to edit my book. Mostly completeness and closure; fulfillment; sharing the love of personal relationships; conserve the gains; the power over helplessness; illuminate my experience; the divine contact; and release it all. I am here. The volunteer from the social work class is now like a close friend; helping non stop with document scanning. One day she lost them all on the computer. I told her I think it’s a message that she and I are not meant for administrative work.
Spent the whole day with Wes in the golf tournament. Went well. Full of doctors, professors, social workers from my past. A different world. Think about getting a driver or some new clubs; feel inadequate how to do that; been golfing a few times with women from work. Get freaked out about money; how much I should be spending.
Took a September week holiday. Stayed home. Frustrated summer is gone and haven’t seemed to have done anything. Unsure what I want in my future; want something different. Debating will I start swimming, yoga, mediation; spend more time being gramma, more writing; join a powwow sing and dance; walking; take a touch of healing class; singing sacred web songs; volunteer at theatre; time with friends, or the singing with people in the inner city?
Glad I gathered fifty presents to give to my sister for her birthday and she liked it. Went golfing with Dad; loved it. Ordered a seven wood golf club be made especially for me. Feel good about it.
Wondering how I’ll feel when my book is out the door. Am going to donate it to Tamara’s House. Glad the kids were over for Thanksgiving and I could make the pumpkin pies, the turkey and it all turned out. Lots of gladness these days.

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