Hummingbird

Separation is tough. Being mistreated by someone you have 18-years of your life with is disheartening. The 18-years of history has evaporated in just a few short months. 

Today was a tough day and, I admit, I gave up in the middle of the day. I just pulled the covers over my head to make myself unconscious of the financial stress and emotional stress that weighed me down today. I couldn't do it. I couldn't live today. I couldn't keep holding in that sour bulge in my throat. It kept swelling and I could feel the explosion of tears and helplessness were on the horizon. I hate that feeling.

I sat on my front steps this evening as my children laughingly road their bicycles without worry, wondering what I was going to do. How was I going to make it through the end of July on an empty tank of gas and pennies in my checking account? I felt the tightness in my throat and a hollowness in my gut getting stronger. Any second, the volcano of feelings was going to explode, right there, on my front steps.

I took my last deep breath in. As soon as I exhaled, I knew the fiery pain would sear my throat and burn eyes, and make me feel nauseous. I was so alone. Empty. For a split-second, I imagined not being here. I imagined putting that final end to my pain. I closed my eyes, ready for the sting of salty tears. I was ready for you Loneliness and Helplessness. Let's just get it over with...

And then I heard that familiar summer hum whisper in my ear. I opened my puzzled eyes, and there he was, only a few inches from my face. His little body, shifting metallic green-tones in the setting sun, hovered next to my face. With robotic motion, he looked at me. He saw my soul. He hovered for a few moments, humming in the evening air. He was tempted by the fuchsia petunias in my terracotta pot on the front porch, but instead he looked at me again. 

I gasped a bit and in a moment he zoomed away, taking my pain with him. That small, green humming bird gave me hope. As if lassoing the lump in my throat and the hollowness in my stomach, he pulled it from my body and took it with him to dump somewhere far away from me.

And I said to myself, "Okay, Universe. I will go another day. I understand and I thank you."

All because of a hummingbird. 

Old Endings. New Beginnings.

  Well. Here I am again. Talking to myself and feeling blue. I am 18 again. Freshly graduated from the hell they call high school and ready to start my big grown-up life. 18-years ago, I was enrolled to take my first classes at the University of Utah. I had purchased a '93 Trailblazer which was paid monthly from the tips I got working at Cowboy Grub. I hated that job. It took years for the nightmares to subside.

  My future was unknown. I didn't know what I wanted to be or what my interests were. I was immature and somewhat relied on the fact I would probably start dating a bit, me in my awkward, late-bloomer stage. Maybe I'd find a guy and fall in love, a Mormon guy if course. Someone I could check the Returned Missionary box off with. Then we'd date. Get married in the temple and start our life together. The plan was to wait to have kids because I wanted my schooling completed. Then, I'd be a stay-at-home-mom and raise babies to be righteous Mormons. The Mormon Circle of Life rotating on and on through generations of its people. 

  And I would be happy.....

  This was a perfect plan for a naive 18-year-old with no life-experience. It was the plan I absorbed growing up in my faith community. But it didn't work out that way. None of it did.

  18-years later, I never finished school. I am 9-months into a five-year bankruptcy plan. I have two beautiful children, and I am four-months separated from the man I was taught would be my eternal companion. I am looking down the same road I was 18-years ago, wondering what the hell do I do now? How am I going to pay the damn electric bill? That money went to my lawyer. 

  I am ready to reinvent myself. I have a few ideas, but will my past failures haunt my future endeavors?

I guess we will see. I process my thoughts through writing. So welcome to my new beginning. This is gonna be fun. So stick around. It might be a train wreck.