New Cover Art for Blessings in the Mire
For the past several days, a low grade apathy has set in.Â That apathy became an incapacitating pain throughout my entire body, pain that demanded I succumb to bed rest for about 24 hours. No amount of Epsom salts in my aroma therapeutic baths, no amount of wine -If Iâ€™d had an appetite for it, and no amount of bed rest could take the pain. I felt as though I had run a marathon. With every part of my body. It started in my right breast. I thought for sure there was a mammogram in my immediate future. Then the next day, the pain was everywhere. Nothing didn’t hurt.
It wasnâ€™t until I was in deep meditation, when after having peeled back several layers, I understood that the pain is a result of depression. It’s mind body spirit connection at its most painful & obvious expression of imbalance. The pain is a symptom of my denial of emotions. And when you really think about it, it’s not a surprise that the pain first manifest in my breast….Â I’m a mother who breast-fed. And even if I wasn’t, every women is in some way breast-feeding the world. It’s our nurturing quality, We nurture the Earth, sometimes at the cost of our own well-being….
In a couple of weeks, it will be 21 years since my sonâ€™s death to suicide. He will now be gone as long as he was alive. 21 years ago on July 3rd, he pulled the trigger that took him, and simultaneously took a huge portion of me.
Iâ€™m not telling you this because I want your pity. I do not.
I am writing this because I want you to know that everything, even something as heinous as losing a child to suicide, is survivable.
I once heard Marie Forleo say that her childhood lesson is that, â€œeverything is figure-out-able.â€ Iâ€™ve used this statement in counseling for years. Now I add to that statement, that everything is survivable.
If you have gone through some trauma that threatened to take you down, you know what I am talking about. Perhaps youâ€™ve survived the unthinkable. And if so, that saying, â€œWhat doesnâ€™t kill you makes you stronger,â€ may have become a challenge, because the candid truth is that I am not stronger for having lost my son. That saying is bull shit. as far as I am concerned. The bigger truth is that I am much weaker now, than before he died. Like a shattered vase glued back together, the glued areas may be strong, however the porcelain is most fragile. There are parts of me that will never be quite as resilient, and yet there are parts of me which are much softer and pliable too.
I am however, more resigned than ever to show my scars to others, to let others know that although some things may come close to taking our last breath, when we have survived the unimaginable, we are changed. Not really better or worse, yet undeniably different. Yes, I’ve come unglued. And still, I am here and in one piece, wiser and more cautious than before.
And that physical pain throughout my body? Well that’s the physical effects of depression left unchecked. You see, I know this, because I have been here before. Not long after losing my son, I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. It’s not MS. It’s the physical manifestation of the emotion of depression. It’s the physical result of the emotion. Pain. A demand from the body that I stop and pay attention to the whole self. Mind, body, spirit: The whole of who I am.
When my son died, I was shattered on the inside where it isnâ€™t so apparent. My way out of that hell was to write, to sift and sort, and to ponder and release onto the pages, all the questions and answers of my life. Every impacting memory from childhood through the present came out onto those pages. The book was the dumping ground, and I was an over-loaded dump truck backed over the abyss, filling it with the ugly and the worn-out crap that had defined my life to that point.
And then, as is true with excavation work, then came the gold. There is a miraculous vein of gold in the digging. And that gold only became visible with the uncoveringâ€¦. It was there the whole time. But it took a lot of digging to get to it.
The completed book was then stuffed into a desk drawer for several years.
In 2006, eleven years after his death, the book, Blessings in the Mire: A True Story of Miracles & Recollections was published. Those who read it reported â€œhealing properties.â€ For those who had lost loved ones, reading my words provided hope. Hope that they too would survive. Hope that they too could eventually make sense of the loss. Hope that they would be able to experience miracles, and to find the blessings in the mire.
Here I am, another ten years later, and having dissected my malady during meditation, I have decided itâ€™s time to republish the book with a fresh cover and a few minor changes. Quite frankly, I donâ€™t have the energy to re-visit the writing of the chapters. Once it was written, there was very little chance that I would be able to read it; itâ€™s simply too painful to get through. Itâ€™s too personal. Yet here I am, telling you that Blessings in the Mire will be re-released on July 3rd. At least thatâ€™s the plan.
If it can help even one person, then itâ€™s all worth it.
At any rate, let me know what you think of the cover art at the top of this post. Do you like it? Does it evoke any emotion from you?
Let me know your thoughts.
PS ~ If you’re interested in getting the First Edition of Blessings in the Mire, it’s still available from the publisher:Â https://www.buybooksontheweb.com/product.aspx?ISBN=0-7414-3850-X