Every sense hath been o’erstrung,
and each frail fiber of the brain sent forth
her thoughts all wild and wide.
George Gordon Byron (Lord Byron)
Lying on the couch eating more bad food and drinking pop in the middle of the day watching yet another movie on Netflix with the curtains drawn tight shutting out a world I felt I needed to escape, I suddenly heard the most wonderful sound penetrating the window glass outside in that scary world. I turned the volume down on the TV.
I tried to pull myself off that couch where the deep hole that I had created by not moving tried to hold me in place, I struggled to get out of this hole I had dug, I knew I had to get to that window to see if it was indeed an old friend I had been missing. I pulled back the curtains and the blinding light made my world disappear into a tunnel for an instant, my eyes burned and I clamped them shut; that wonderful persistent sound still echoed in my head. The light slowly crept into my eyes as I opened them little by little. There she was standing tall, her head stretched out as far as it could go, she was looking at me with her beady little eyes from below and standing on a ground now covered with luscious green flowing grass and yellow dandelions. I wondered how the world outside could have changed so much in these last days while my world had spun furiously and kept me from seeing as I cowered in the darkened room. She cackled away and I knew what she was saying was something important.
The day my sisters and I had finally all agreed that we could no longer give our Mom the care her Alzheimer’s needed and we had found that special caring place that she now calls home, even by knowing she was now safe, a big piece of my heart and soul crashed to the floor and shattered into many pieces, feeling defeated, helpless and an extreme sadness I kept going as best I could, always dragging those pieces behind me hoping to someday pick them up and place them back where they belonged.
Packing up that house where my father had passed away years before while leaving my Mom surrounded with boxes of memories of a life of love and turmoil broke a few more pieces off my heart and soul every day with each stuffed box we piled high; my broken pieces continued to gather at my feet one by one. They were being dragged along mixed with the others and I did not know if I would ever get them all gathered up again but still clung to them and hopeful it was all going to work out.
Then there was an auction where I watched five generations of memories sold to the highest bidder which had me trying to gather as much of those memories as I could, afraid of losing a heritage that I desperately felt I needed to hold onto. Subsequently more pieces of me fell to the ground with every article I watched walk out that door with a stranger knowing they knew none of those wonderful stories that were attached. There were pieces of Buttons scattered everywhere and then I knew I was indeed in trouble because I had never been very good at puzzles and there were now so many tiny pieces, I tethered them together as best I could and kept going on with my life, a life I had created and loved before all those pieces started falling. I thought I was doing pretty well even with those missing and broken pieces all jumbled together dragging behind.
The Christmas holidays had me retreating into a world where I did not want to go and where I found those broken pieces mixing all together confusing me to no end. I convinced my loving daughters and My Hero that I was doing OK and just needed a bit more time to work things out, that was a lie and I knew it; I was not OK. My girls after the holidays went off to their busy lives far away and My Hero went back to his normal work routine and since the farm and the animals needed me I dove right in, trying to forget those broken pieces dragging at my feet trying to trip me up and make me stumble.
A phone call a week later about a brother I loved and could not help crushed those remaining pieces of me into a fine dust that scattered to the ground and covered those already broken pieces, every one of them. I was now a hollow shell trying to convince myself that I never needed those pieces in the first place but even so desperately clinging to them and keeping them at my feet, even though I could not see them I hoped they were still there.
This day as I look out this window from this dark room of sadness and a misery of my own creation, the light of the outside world pouring through the window with the curtains now wide open blinding me staring into the eyes of a turkey that also seemed to be lost who came with a message; I knew I had to listen. I knew she had to be very brave to stand in the open in the middle of the day near the road calling up to this broken pieces girl till she hopefully pulled back those curtains to listen.
There is nothing left to do but start to create a new world with new pieces as well as some of those broken pieces that I will be gathering up and sorting through, they may not fit as well as they used to but I will get them all back in there somehow. The dust has since blown away so it will not be retrieved and it may take some time and a little help from my friends, but I will do it. The pieces now dirty and a little worn from being dragged along are going to fit somehow and so am I going to find my place, thanks to a very brave Mother Hen Taunting Turkey that came with a message of hope and filled with a determination who dared to be heard.
I watched as this Old Mother Hen Taunting Turkey walked to the back of the house and hopped over the page wire fence to join the rest of her friends who were waiting in the field behind and knew right that moment that things were going to work out and I would be whoever I was meant to be, it may just take some time.
Thank you my friends.