Expressionless

I have a secret.

Buried deep in my heart is an ocean of words.

Can I tell you another secret?

Sometimes it is hard for me to express myself.

And it's the hardest usually when it's the most important.

I want to curl up with you and unburden my heart, but mostly I want to hold it all inside.  For all my words, for all my talking,  I often don't want to share.  Not with many people. Sometimes not with anyone.  

It has been an unusual week, the demands have proven to be too much and I mercifully succumbed this evening to quiet, candles, respite and tears. 

I can't exactly name my feelings for they are many.  To be asked, "What's the matter?" is ludicrous for I simply couldn't answer.  I can tell you a few things in specific but it is the larger, overwhelming picture that haunts me this night. 

I have too many responsibilities at my paid job.

I have too many responsibilities at my church job. 

I am pulled in too many directions everywhere I turn, and I resent it. Greatly. 

I have not recovered from the exhaustion of working so many hours coupled with a very quick road trip to Ohio to visit precious relatives, (some also from out of state), and then heading straight into a 12 hour inventory.  I was physically ill for a solid day, but it was worth it.  

My great aunt passed away and her funeral was Tuesday.  I can't stop thinking about it, and her.  I hope some nice things were said, and yet, I worry it was not entirely so.  Because the first thing anyone would ever say about her was, "She was downright mean."  A hard, hard women indeed, to the core, and I wish I knew the story of how it came to be.  Everyone has a story and people become what they live and what they endure.  She was the last surviving person in her family, and that in itself must be sad.  

My kids are at cousin camp and I received amazing pictures today of a fishing trip. The very first photo was of my aunt (in town for the funeral) and my two sons.  She had a big smile and looked so much like my Grandma that I instantly burst into tears. Followed was a photo of my grandpa with my sons.  He loves to fish and I love, love, that he is with them today.  He looks old; my heart cannot contain the love I feel, it slides down my cheeks unchecked and soaks my shirt.  I know that time is precious and my children will have this memory of him.  I'm grateful.

I'm a writer at heart, yet sometimes I can't explain.  Sometimes I just need you to know as you sit here with me in the quiet.  Look in my eyes, read the silence, and let it fall between us as the crickets sing outside the window, and the candle flickers into the summer night.