I am a sensitive soul.
I am emotional.
I am an empath.
I FEEL stuff.
Other peoples’ stuff.
My own crazy-making-stuff.
As an intuitive, it can hard to foretell what’s about to hit the fan in the world without freaking out a little bit.
My 55 years of feeling to these depths have reminded me to surrender (cease control over the uncontrollable,) or die, quite frankly.
I have unmitigated and irrefutable, faith.
I don’t always live that way.
I can be controlling AF.
I can think I have all the answers.
I can be stubborn and short-sided.
I can suffer like there’s no tomorrow when things don’t go the way I want them to.
I can take life so seriously that it cripples me.
AND then I remember…
And I remind myself…
Where do you have power?
Where do you need to surrender and trust NOW?
It feels as though I’ve been in a deep dark pit for years now. In truth, it’s been mere months but months can feel like a lifetime when despair takes the wheel. It can feel suffocatingly inescapable.
I don’t know about you… but I blame myself. I shame myself as if that will instantly snap me out of it. I can hear my mother’s words as I type. Her standard battle cry was, “Snap out of it!” Every day that I haven’t I think I’m doing something wrong.
My mother’s ready to die. She flat out admits it as if she’s announcing she’d like cream in her coffee. Matter of fact, “I’m done. It’s been a good life… Your father’s gone. I’m ready.”
This is not shocking coming from her. She’s always been matter of fact, if not unedited, something we love about her.
I’ve been pondering her adamant stance and the distinction between my elderly friends and clients who love their lives, who greet each day with a heartfelt, “thank you,” and others, like my mother, who are pissed off and flat out DONE…
Daddy wanted to die at home.
Hospice came by with pamphlets on the end of life and what to expect.
My siblings flew in from far-flung regions.
I had arrived two weeks earlier upon Daddy’s latest hospital visit.
After his open-heart surgery three years ago, he had been in and out of the ICU continuously.
This latest month-long stint was his breaking point.
His six-foot frame had withered to less than a hundred pounds.