.434 feat

every single moment...i am changing...i am healing...i am falling...i am growing...i am grieving...i am forgiving...i am forging...i am remembering...that true strength comes when you're undoubtedly at your weakest. and that life is a constant struggle and, yet, a constant ease as well.

not quite two years since my father transitioned. while the pockets of grief become easier, i have moments when i forgot that i am, indeed, still on a path of healing. and in these moments i fall again, allowing myself to be swallowed whole by whatever memory brought me there. 

but recently, something strange has been happening when i visit this all-too-familiar space. so strange, in fact, that for a moment, i thought i was unraveling at the hem line, because out of no where, it seems, i smile. and then that one smile escapes my face and takes over my entire being. and then that unrecognizable smile spills over and fills me with gratitude in place of grief and peace in place of pain and lets me know that, finally, i'm starting to get it. how can a spirit ever die when they live on vibrantly in your dreams?

he exist. i can feel him. 

and he whispers to me: 

"dear baby, though this healing is no simple feat, you have to be grateful for it all".

and then i answer, "that i will". 

and then i smile, because i am.

"man, i really miss my pops

hope that god watches over him and that he's on top

that there is no more disease and that he's alright 

that he's one of the generals inside the army of the light" 

[lupe fiasco]

.432 peace morning

"find peace in the morning [...] and you will have a good day"

.416 selfies

1. no point for this blog other than me feeling kinda hip in my favorite military thrift.

faved, 'cause it's presently the only fall jacket of mines that still buttons over my abnormally growing tits.

(they never returned back to their pre-baby | pre-breastfeeding size)

2. the pocket book is also a thrift gift, given to me by my elderly, jewish neighbor on the day she moved away.

(she was my neighbor for 11 yrs, so, basically, we're practically related)

3. i haven't washed my hair in over a month. the most love it's gotten is a bi-weekly argan oiling. 

(it's so matted, i'm sure some parts are locking by now...which i don't really want...i think)

(tights by french connection)

.335 day 302

1. i'm tired and it shows: working. mothering. creating. crashing. rebuilding. mourning. TIRED.

(hence the voided chubby face)

2. i've gained a considerable amount of weight. 13lbs to be exact: heartache, medicine, chocolate. 

(which is ironic, for, i lost a lot of weight last year: grief, stress, exhaustion)

3. this new patch of blonde is growing on me: regretted it 7 minutes after. hated it on day one. 

4. you cannot see my phlyy ass t-shirt: star wars, yoda, "awesome, i am".

.251 self-portraits

.221 day 196

[grrr]

i've been feeling pretty gangsta lately. partly due to listening to remi martin's verse on 'ante-up' on auto-repeat in my car whenever i'm rolling solo and partly due to the immense work hustle, boiling beneath my skin, suddenly spilling out in every area of my life. 

it's like, i am here. i am there. i am everywhere. i am nowhere. yet, i am -exactly- where i need to be.

"yah, trick, yah"

[yes...i  just quoted soulja boy. stranger things have happened]

"bitch, run THAT"

[remi martin]

.182 day 159

taken in kim's bedroom. 

you can't tell (one day soon i will photograph her entire space) but her entire room and home is decorated with an old english century type flair. brass frames and pastel flowered spreads. tarnished, wooden fixtures and bold cabinets and vases. this was a quick shot before we left out to do our joint mommy errands (at times, i've found that monotonous errands can be fun when you add a friend). i pulled back her floor length curtains for natural light and lazily snapped myself before she returned to her room...

.168 day 145

i'm with toots, practically, every moment, of every day. 

as a mother, it is, both, blissful and straining. i've seen every morsel of her being grow, and all it took was the sacrifice of personal space, my social life (romantic or casual) and large quantities of treasured sleep. as an artist, it's simply...a beautiful obstacle. so used to being able to create anything i felt, at any time, i've acquired patience and practice to hold on to inspiration long past the precise moment when "the moment has passed". 

i planned to take a few simple, soft, self-portraits, simply because the lighting in my room felt clean, cool... calming. but toots and toddler crackiness chose a different path, and i end up taken a just few quick shots and nestling my baby (and myself) into a clean...cool...calming...nap.

.151 day 133

no matter how much we hope...some things are just out of our control. perhaps i realized too little, too late, that my fate has more to do with attitude than physicality (passive aggressive ownership). i want to say..."if i live i'll do things differently" (and i will)...but that just seems like something people haphazardly bargain to god with when there is no where else to turn. 

if god truly does know my heart...i'll keep what i'm feeling...there.

i realize that death no longer scares me. but leaving toots is what presently has me up and adding words to a blog that i posted two nights ago. i'm so scared. and if i cry, my brain feels like it's swelling, so i can't. and if i vent to anyone, i'm hit with positive affirmations void of my reality. i'm nauseous and dizzy. i'm angry. there is a lump in my throat. i have no words at all to accurately portray what i'm feeling. if i die, perhaps i'll regret all the things i could have said, or the "final" words i could have written, but does it matter? will a letter to my child ease her future pain? wednesday, i go for my angio. if it's early, i can be spared (hopefully). almost all aneurysm survivors will have another form. almost all of them die. and even if they don't form another, their days are numbered, no matter how much they change their diets and eliminate vices.

my father died, less than a year into my survival record. and then i backslid. grief overwhelmed, common sense took an extended vacation.

i'm writing out pass-codes. want family and close friends to have access to "online" me and pictures of toots that no one has seen. and then i giggle a little. social media has become so ingrained that i'm actually writing out pass-codes. but i want this blog to remain. or, at the very least, for every post to be printed out for her, pictures and all. if i am not there to cheer her on through life, god, i just want her to know how amazing she is. and not because i am her mother, and she is my daughter, but because she has a rare beauty in her that will heal everyone around her if she so wishes. my amazing aquarian. if i'm not here, dear you...remind her of me...often.

(tears are forming. my brain...hurts. i'm happy my mother doesn't read my blog. i need to stop now)

truth is...it's a miracle i survived at all. even more so to still be here two years later. i had hopes of reaching that glorified ten year mark that so many brain aneurysm survivors strive for (it's a secret world, that no one knows exists, until they have to)...and i am not giving up. but...reality...is...reality. 

all i can do is "hope"...right? 

p.s: i don't have the energy to explain all that i've went through with this, but here are links to two sites that accurately convey those tedious details. get yourself checked. stop smoking. stop drinking. breathe. do yoga. or anything healthy that calms you. pick lavender. love OFTEN. and effortlessly (only an arrogant and lonely heart feels someone needs to "work" to obtain their love). 

my love is given...free of charge. take as much as you want, just leave a little for me to live off of. deal?

http://brainaneurysms.wordpress.com/

and this one is just a straight forward faq sheet.

(love. light. later.)