God love you, J. This has got to be so hard. I can’t imagine how it must be. I find it difficult to think when there’s a lot of noise - even thinking about being in such a “coffee shop” made me want to run. You are amazing. WE need to be aware to help you avoid such situations. But you survived this encounter - somehow. As nerve-wracking as it must have been, you came through it - a major accomplishment. Congratulations … and hugs!
In this, I am reminded of that movie, Altered States. Except, and this is at least true for me, the deprivation tank is choosing to reside in a rural place. Perhaps it's similar for you. Open spaces forever alter our reality of everything the city used to be for us. Yes, the injury you sustained is reality, yet the only thing I see, that's broken down, are the walls of awareness that city-life is all to often a cacophony of confusion. A state, no longer serving us a nutritious meal. We've politely excused ourselves from the table and quietly slipped out the back door.
You write with a lyrical grace, but I understand the sadness underlying the beauty. The metaphor of a supersonic jet landing in your head is especially evocative.
Love how you describe your dilemma. So accurately - we can feel every bit of it. Literally mind boggling. And the coffee shop noise? Earthshaking. I’m with you.
This is beautiful and heartbreaking. I hope your diligence and patience brings you two closer and that she learns to help you as you are now instead of pining for what was lost.
Sometimes it is hard to reach across the generation gap. Our son is a loving son, yet our age and relative mental slowness sometimes render us incapable of keeping up with him and his family’s conversations. And yet the spark of love binds us together. We pray that your daughter grow closer to you and understand your feelings and point of view.
Oh Judith my heart hurt for you reading this. The last thing we ever want to do is let our children down and all you did was happen to be sitting in the wrong car at the wrong time. There’s nothing fair in it at all. It’s the kind of thing that makes me want to shake my fists at the sky even though that does no good. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were in the car. I’m sorry that woman hadn’t gotten help. I’m sorry your daughter felt unmoored without the you she’d always had. And I hope she finds her bearings with the new you she has now because you’re extraordinary and none of this was your choice. Love to you, Judith. Love to your daughter.
You are the poet laureate of grace tragic and spirit triumphant.
i would prefer you delete the "tragic."
Despite the fact that I'd rather delete the tragic, I'm deeply grateful for your readership.
Okay
And you wrote this marvelous piece using an injured brain! Brava!
Agree!
Deep bow. Has not happened yet.
God love you, J. This has got to be so hard. I can’t imagine how it must be. I find it difficult to think when there’s a lot of noise - even thinking about being in such a “coffee shop” made me want to run. You are amazing. WE need to be aware to help you avoid such situations. But you survived this encounter - somehow. As nerve-wracking as it must have been, you came through it - a major accomplishment. Congratulations … and hugs!
You packed so many human moments and revelations into this short piece.
A joy to unpack.
Thank you. I am honored by your words.
In this, I am reminded of that movie, Altered States. Except, and this is at least true for me, the deprivation tank is choosing to reside in a rural place. Perhaps it's similar for you. Open spaces forever alter our reality of everything the city used to be for us. Yes, the injury you sustained is reality, yet the only thing I see, that's broken down, are the walls of awareness that city-life is all to often a cacophony of confusion. A state, no longer serving us a nutritious meal. We've politely excused ourselves from the table and quietly slipped out the back door.
Thank you.
You write with a lyrical grace, but I understand the sadness underlying the beauty. The metaphor of a supersonic jet landing in your head is especially evocative.
Thank you. I appreciate your comments and your readership.
Love how you describe your dilemma. So accurately - we can feel every bit of it. Literally mind boggling. And the coffee shop noise? Earthshaking. I’m with you.
Deep bow. Thank you for your comment.
Thank you for your comments and your readership.
Love this: “One might find this many humans in two or three counties and this much caffeine in three or four states.”
Thank you for your words. I deeply appreciate.
Thank you for your comments and your readership.
This is beautiful and heartbreaking. I hope your diligence and patience brings you two closer and that she learns to help you as you are now instead of pining for what was lost.
So beautiful, so felt. So very sad.
Very touching J. Made me cry…..
Sometimes it is hard to reach across the generation gap. Our son is a loving son, yet our age and relative mental slowness sometimes render us incapable of keeping up with him and his family’s conversations. And yet the spark of love binds us together. We pray that your daughter grow closer to you and understand your feelings and point of view.
Oh Judith my heart hurt for you reading this. The last thing we ever want to do is let our children down and all you did was happen to be sitting in the wrong car at the wrong time. There’s nothing fair in it at all. It’s the kind of thing that makes me want to shake my fists at the sky even though that does no good. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were in the car. I’m sorry that woman hadn’t gotten help. I’m sorry your daughter felt unmoored without the you she’d always had. And I hope she finds her bearings with the new you she has now because you’re extraordinary and none of this was your choice. Love to you, Judith. Love to your daughter.