Searching for a Miracle…#410

Searching for a Miracle …

It feels like a cold rain pounding at my heart

these hours before dawn. The grief is

fierce as it raises and consumes my spirit,

assaulting my senses. Memories emerge from

the darkness, becoming one with my soul.

In the depths of my wounded courage, I am

listing in a sea of sorrow, my life filled with

more grief than many can bear.

It is the hard cold times before departing

this misery. I search for a miracle; hope

merges with despair; my destiny is to

leave all I have ever loved. There are times

when I am uncertain and afraid. Hope

has expired. Sometimes waves of anger

and fear hang above me, like a cloud

circulating over the earth.

Many times, I speak of death. Although

much is written about grief, soft words

are meant to calm the grieving heart.

Some will say how lovely words are,

and I doubt this is true. Yet, I sometimes

hear the elderly; talk of death until they

see their own grave beyond the horizon.

Grief is not calm and lovely; the words

do not stop the pain. Words penetrate the

brain, shattering the heart. Most are choked

with emotions under the flesh where the

heart is sheltered by outward suffering;

they close their eyes, hoping to find peace

before disappearing.

The grief therapist in my group believes

the words that enter the ears will have

comforted the unhappiness. Grief has no

place to hide! We all grieve in our own

time, short, long, or forever; we just stop

talking about it. I mourn my daughter,

parents, and only sibling, friends. I miss

them all. I wait, soon, very soon!

Copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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Living With Multi Myeloma…#409

Sharing with my followers a page from my daily diary…

A myeloma diagnosis can drastically affect the quality of one’s life. The disease gives me a feeling of isolation and being alone.

Myeloma has had a significant effect on the quality of my life, as well as my emotional well-being. I am managing it and have a close and meaningful relationship and conversations with my doctor. She has me on treatments that work and is slow in progression. She is my “rock.”

“Quality of life” is a broad term that describes a range of topics on exactly how myeloma affects the quality of my life or anyone’s life. Despite the impact of myeloma, I do everything humanly possible to make living with the condition more manageable.

About 99% of the time, I feel anxious and depressed, and stressed. I find it hard to exercise; mostly, it is slow walking, along with everyday chores in my apartment. I have no social life; it is difficult when you must ask someone else to drive you anywhere, including doctor and treatment appointments. I feel that most days, I am isolated and alone.

My circle of people has grown smaller over the past two years. I try not to let that stress me out, as stress is a killer too. On top of all the things that harm one who has MM is the unrelenting pain; it never goes away; it goes up and down in degrees. Like the medical team that works with me, always ask on a scale of 0 to 10 how your pain is. I always answer that it depends on what time of day it is and what I have done to aggravate my body. On a good day, my pain level is a 5; on a bad day, it is off the charts.

I know my doctor is trying to slow down the disease. I have great emotional support from most of my children and grandchildren; they have become why I continue to fight. The disease has also caused the family to pull away. I do not fault them; watching a loved one slowly die must be very difficult. My sons and grandchildren allow me to talk to them about my dying. Everyone should stop thinking that death is all I truly know to be certain in my life. Dying is like a divorce; no one wants to talk about it, hoping it will go away, that time will take care of it.

I write this to hope that if you have someone in your life that has or is dying from any disease or reason when these relatives ask, you say, “I am OK?” Well, that means that we are in control of the pain. It never goes away.

The dying individual does not want pity; they do not want anything but your love. They want ask for anything but listen if they talk to you. Take the time to remember that they were once active people who have been thrown into the pits of fiery hell because of their sickness.

May each of you have a great Wednesday. E.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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Queen Elizabeth II is Gone…#407

Before it, all began…

Americas have always been lands of immigrants, lands that have been “discovered” time and again by different peoples coming from other parts of the world throughout countless generations—going far back to the prehistoric past when a band of Stone Age hunters first set foot in what indeed was an unexplored New World.

Christopher Columbus and his fleet of three small sailing ships had left the Canary Islands, heading west across the uncharted Ocean Sea, as the Atlantic was known. He had expected to reach China or Japan, but there was still no sign of land. The Ocean Sea was also known as the Sea of Darkness. Hideous monsters were said to lurk beneath venomous sea serpents and giant crabs that could rise from the deep and crush a ship with its crew.

Finally, the men demanded that Columbus turn back and head for home. When he refused, some of the sailors whispered of mutiny. They wanted to kill the admiral by throwing him overboard. But, for the moment, the crisis had passed. Columbus wasn’t the first explorer to “discover” America. His voyages were significant because they were the first to become widely known in Europe. They opened a pathway from the Old World to the New, paving the way for the European conquest and colonization of the Americas, changing life forever on both sides of the Atlantic. Five hundred years before Columbus, a daring band of Vikings led by Leif Eriksson set foot in North America and established a settlement.

In the early 1600s, the British king began establishing colonies in America. By the 1700s, most settlements had formed into 13 British colonies: Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York, New Jersey, Virginia, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, and South Carolina. British America comprised the colonial territories of the English Empire, which after the 1707 union of the Kingdom of England with the Kingdom of Scotland to form the Kingdom of Great Britain, became the British Empire in the Americas from 1607 to 1783.

There was no hope of conquering America — the territory was too big, and available resources too meager. At the outbreak of hostilities, the British Army numbered just 45,000 men, spread over a substantial global empire. On September 9, 1776, the Continental Congress formally declared the new nation’s name to be the “United States” of America. This replaced the term “United Colonies,” which had been in general use.

The ancestors of the American Indians were nomadic hunters of northeast Asia. They migrated over the Bering Strait land bridge into North America probably during the last glacial period (11,500–30,000 years ago). Before the arrival of Europeans, the Native Americans lived as autonomous nations (also known as tribes) across the continent from present-day Alaska, across Canada, and throughout the lower 48 United States. These were my ancestors, North Alabama band of Chickasaw!

This brings me to today, we lay to rest a grand lady. Had things been different today, we may have all been speaking with a British accent and flying the Union Jack.

I wish King Charles the best, may his reign be long and successful.

E.

Toxic People…#398

Dear Followers,

Over this past year, I have shared with you that I have been diagnosed with Stage 3 Multi-Myeloma. I have tried to stay focused on writing a memoir, and I have taken from those written pages and created posts on my blog. Cancer is a teacher; cancer changes one’s way of thinking; cancer humbles; that is my description of cancer.

Some time back, I posted about removing toxic individuals from my life; cancer has taught me to value my time. My time is precious and short; I cannot give the time that I don’t have to people who are toxic, greedy, and thinks of only themselves. I should have done this fifty years ago, but it took cancer for me to realize that it was I that needed to consider a different way. 

We all have people who come and go during our lifetime, a scattered few walks and talk within a cloud of toxicity, conversation and actions. Removing them is like being tied to a tree with a noose around your neck. You cannot remove the rope; the noose tightens around your neck. Toxic people live in a cloud of lies, and you may be unable to escape in writing what may be my last book, filling the pages with things that I could have changed. Cancer has taught me, too late, what really matters. The pain located in my spine humbles me as well. It shames me that I have allowed parents that did not love me to keep me from returning. Being hurt was better than nothing at all. In the last three years of my mother’s life, she finally told me to stay away.

An entire chapter of my memoir focuses on my birth, which was not what my mother wanted. She hoped that I would die at birth. My daddy being under her control, rarely won a battle with her. I was raised by my aunt until the age of three; it was then that my daddy brought me back into a house filled with unhappiness and hate. I learned from his gentleness and love when he was allowed to show it. After marriage to a man I did not know, another southern thing that should have been outlawed, I keep returning to that house hoping to see a measure of love from anyone. My sister, raised until the rules of our mother, rebelled.

My mother loved her unconditionally but wanted to control her, which she never accomplished. My sister left, returning years in-between. I kept returning year after year, hoping to break through that bearer. I was filled with love for family. I did recognize that there was no love and that I was unwanted, but all those years of knowing taught me nothing.

She, by then, had brought another child into her life, an adopted one. I believe that it was an effort to “do over.” What she did not accomplish with my sister. That entire family of daddy, mother, and sisters lived within a cloud of toxicity that would last them all their lives. I was finally told to not come back several years after my daddy died. I never returned until her death three years later. However, those left behind kept the toxicity alive. My relationship with those left after their death was on and off, the greed shown at my mother’s death was so outlandish I sometimes wonder if people would believe it.

Multi-Myeloma decided to attack my spine. It was undoubtedly brought on by stress, a lifetime of anxiety that I allowed to get into my mind. This mental pain I have lived with all my life finally turned into a physical one. My first mistake was to continue to live within a family of greedy people; the second was to stay. I am not saying that these toxic family members caused my cancer, but their actions have not helped it throughout the years either.

They continued to live as entitled individuals and soon discovered no one would continue the entitlement after their mother died. I cannot see that they have learned anything; their mother continues to live on their shoulders, dictating the rules from the grave. Greed was their life, letting someone else carry the burden of their living expenses. I doubt they ever learned anything; my family’s life still belongs to someone in the grave. When the “giver” died, the individual turned more toxic than ever before and appeared to have no clue how to live. I continued to go back when allowed; I, too, had learned nothing all those years. The relationship was so damaged by their fear it could not be repaired. It is always a mystery how money can break apart people you thought to love you and that you did love. Cancer taught me a new way of living, one of truth. I never wanted anything but their love; they all withheld that too.

I worked hard to keep the relationship alive, but I apparently did not come to the rescue financially, and communication ended. I believe it was thought that I had money. I worked to make a living all my adult life; my mother thought I had money. She never felt anything else and asked that I continue taking care of what she deemed to need. She did not want me, but she did want me to step in her shoes when she died. She asked that of me many years ago; however, in those final years, hours she had me banned from the room until she breathed her last breath. I was told it was all the family, but who knows, and now who cares?

This has been a long time of teaching me to not run after those who do not care unless you extend a hand filled with money. Toxicity, the poison that ran through my family, was not love; it was simply greed. Finally, I have become a student over this past year of dealing with cancer. So many years wasted; however, better late than never learning anything. I have removed the toxic people from my life. I felt the weight lifted from my shoulders the moment the decision was made; it was easier to breathe.

I have written about this in “The Last Chapter,” and I want to share it again. I still care deeply about those who have hurt me. Yet, I cannot go back to listening to their lies and claims to always walking in the image of God or asking for prayers. Their actions do not show that they need any help financially or otherwise. To the world outside their other toxic associated group, they no doubt genuinely believe they are the ones that need help. When they show their lifestyle, it clearly represents someone who has more than most. It is almost kin to a “scam.”

After more than 50 years, I finally cut the relationship. I could not change what they do or act; they are believed to be correct and do not see their own faults. They manipulate people and situations to their own advantage. My health cannot be subject to unhealthy ways; it is up to me.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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#Cancer #Mental Health #Toxic People #Anger #Writing

Searching for a Miracle – The Poem…#378

Searching for a Miracle –

The hours before dawn, and a cold rain pounds into my heart. The grief is fierce as it raises and consumes my spirit, assaulting my senses. Memories emerge from the darkness, becoming one with my soul. In the depths of my wounded courage, I am listing in a sea of sorrow, my life filled with more grief than many can bear. It is the hard cold hour before departing this misery. I search for a miracle. Hope merges with despair. It is my destiny to leave all I have ever loved. 

I am uncertain and afraid. Hope has expired. Sometimes waves of anger and fear hang above me, a cloud circulating over the earth. I do not speak of death. Yet, the elderly where I reside; talk until they see their own grave over the horizon.

Much is written about grief, soft words meant to calm the grieving heart. There will be those that say how lovely these words are, and I doubt if they are all true. Grief is not calm and comforting; the comments do not stop the pain. Words penetrate the brain; shatter the heart.

Most are choked with emotions under the flesh where the heart is sheltered by outward affliction; they close their eyes, hoping to have the scene before they disappear. Grief has no place to hide! The speaker believes the words that enter the ears will comfort despair. It will not.

Unwanted from the Moment of Conception…#377

Old slave quarters – My birth home 1939

  

A passage from the book I am writing, my story.

I believe that from the moment of conception I was searching for a Miracle – I am far past the time when I can hope for a miracle. The hours before dawn, and a cold rain outside the tiny slave quarters pounds into my tiny heart. The grief is fierce as it raises and consumes my spirit, assaulting my senses. Memories emerge from the darkness, becoming one with my soul. I left a place of warmth and goodness to be channeled into a world of heartache and disappointment. In the depths of my wounded courage; I am listing in a sea of sorrow my life filled with more grief than many can bear. It is the hard cold hour before departing this misery. I search for a miracle, hope merges with despair, is my destiny to leave stop the beating of my heart and return home.  I chose this path to learn of such things to take back to my creator, to show and feel human despair

©May.2022.elizabethannjohnson-murphree

Thoughts of the Past…#351

Image result for Shotgun House Sharecropper

Thoughts of the past…

During most of my life, I thought that I would die young; now at eighty-two I know that is not going to happen.  I passed the deadline for that one years ago!  I now live in that overwhelming situation that many elderly people find themselves in; sick enough to think that I am dying and well enough to keep breathing.

My body is bent and broken as I lean into that proverbial forest where I know that I will not go without food as I may have done in those younger days.  Yet, the question may be how or why you hunger at all.  Survival is no longer the situation; thought is given to if I even care?

Many of you may have had parents that would tuck you safely in your bed at night, tell you that “Everything will be all right”; but I did not have those parents.  Mine dying of old age has since passed on, decades ago, my mother would not come home until long after I would have been in bed.  My daddy, he patted me on the head like one of the dog’s saying “Nite”.  If it was during the school year after the man chores, I was responsible for, I would finish my homework by an oil lamp, putting myself to bed.

The feeling became normal to living; I would eat whatever a nine-year-old could cook for myself and my daddy, write in a Big Chief note pad, love them both with all my heart and will until I join them wherever that may be!  Well, just a note from memory!

Back On-Line…#349

Image result for someone typing in a dream

I am back on-line and out of the hospital once again.  I want to let you know about my latest episode with “Multi Myeloma”, bone cancer.  I went into the Oncology center for my “Chemo” treatment Friday, August 20, 2021; the ride was uneventful as was the blood draw.  I was taken to Dr. O, office for a consult before treatment.  It was there that she informed me that my oxygen was low and that she was sending me via ambulance to the ER.  The ride to the ER was the last thing that I rationally remembered.

I remembered one of the ER Doctors saying that I had, a fever, lungs filling up, Pneumonia, for many my age this is a death sentence!  They begin treating the infection immediately, I explained that I needed to go home, that I had been in the hospital for two-half weeks, Rehab for two-weeks, and I had been gone from home for over one-month.  Home only one day and was in Oncology for Chemo, I needed to go home.  I remember IV’s and confusion!   

I opened my eyes and it was still dark outside, a nurse told me it was August 21, 2021, I told her that I thought it was December 21, that my room was decorated for Christmas.  She was very kind explaining that I had entered the hospital on August 20, 2021, it was early morning and there were no decorations in my room.  Thank goodness she stayed with me continuing to explain that I was taking “mega” medications and that may be the reason for the delirium. I “thought” that I got up out of bed making my way outside where there was snow on the ground, a scene out of a movie “Four Season” that I had watched recently.  I tried to remember the names of the other couple go no avail, not even the stage names or the man I was with, Alan Alda.  My thoughts, I was dying and my children had decorated the room making it Christmas for me. 

When morning light began to creep into the room my mind took another turn into the fantasy world of delirium.  Christmas had disappeared, staff came in and out, I believed it was time to “shut up” and take in my surroundings, the only real thing was my son, Chuck.  

With Chuck being there and a telephone call from Carl make me realize that they too had experienced this type of delusion, and Mia a wonderful nurse that stayed with me until he shift had ended.  I continued to weigh in on my surroundings, I was suspicious of many things, and I tried to keep up with the staff, their names, and their positions in the hospital.  I read each IV that hung over my head, the contents and did I know what they were giving me.  My little knowledge of medicine gave me no help, but some of them I understood.  The hospital was not trying to poison me!  Chuck and Mia talk to me, he seem to have a great deal of understanding of what she was telling him, she had hugged me earlier, which was nice.  I did begin to come out of it and by Saturday afternoon, once again had control of my senses.

My delirium is now gone…  I had to spend several days in the hospital.  The combo of medications placed me in that position, which I did not care for and hope to never experience again.  I am back at the computer and tomorrow plan to work on my book.

My plan is to take all of the experiences that I have endured to put in the book that I had started before all of the health problems begin, Severe Anemia, Vitamin D Deficiency, No White Blood Cells, Cancerous Red Blood Cells, Bone Cancer and the latest a Broke Back and a Right Fracture of the Ankle, and on top of all of that Pneumonia.  Yet, here I sit pounding out my latest story for all of you on the old keys.  I and down but do not count me out!

I love each and every one of you and hope to work on a poem to post over the weekend, along with writing as much as possible on the book.  The days are getting shorter and the deadline may be at hand.  I hope that you will find my poetry books interesting and the book about my daughter compelling.

Take care of yourselves and each other.

EAJM

*What are your thoughts on Sirhan Sirhan getting paroled? 

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The Sea…#346

Artwork by Elizabeth Ann Johnson-Murphree
The Sea…
As I lay in pain, the room grew dark,
The mirrors and windows covered
In black. Then came the truth about
Dying and the opening of the grave. 
I was weeping but no one, heard,
The pressing of the brace against my
Skin was gone, yet I felt it still, a ring
Of fire.
A man with an ashen face looked
At me sadly.  I tried to speak, tell
Him not to worry, that I would Soon 

be free, my sufferings were
Soon to be over, and I would have
Freedom and live in grace.  I knew
Waiting for me was meadows, and
Fields of green clover. The corn-
Flowers  would look like tender lace.
We are by the sea, the misty air is
Falling on the sea of people dressed
In black, the sea of people, there
Are no more lies.  No more hatred
You can chose to die in triumph or
Disaster, it is your choice.  The
Tools that you chose to use in life
Are no longer needed.  There will be
New beginning, your heart will no
Longer be in pain.  Now you may

Walk with Kings, the Heavens are

Yours to bring peace until us all

Meet again.


©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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A Life Unrepressed…#345

Image result for image of typing on my computer

Today, I feel blessed…

I have spent the last three weeks in the hospital and one in a rehab/nursing facility, four weeks..  I fell! I was transported to the hospital.  Within the one week that I was there I was diagnosed with bone cancer, severe anemia and the fall broke my back and right foot.  I am on the mend; cancer will never go away, a rare one with no cure.  The anemia will hopefully at one point change and the broke back will mend.  I have a back brace that has to be ultra tight on me, and I must wear a brace for the rest of my life.  Oh well, I still have my sense of humor!

That’s the bad news; the good is that I have mega writing time. I feel stripped of both worlds.  Only my computer gives light to my days and nights, creating reality and chalets the world of imagination.

I want to share the meaning of creating poetry.  What I see in a poem, it is an image in my mind that must have all the words come together to creates a story.  When creating a poem it becomes the center of my existence.   A writer, actually lives in two worlds, one of reality and one of make believe.  There are times when they meld together; I fear one day the latter will become my only world.  This may come with senility?  At my age, I doubt I will ever see that stage of life.

Currently the world of make believe, fiction, blogging and imagination serves me well.  It masks the pain!  My site, gives me an outlet to create in my poetry how I feel emotionally too.  The realm of imagination is one of quiet periods of reality and fiction join together to give the strength to find a reason for existence.

Peace and Love to each of you.

E.

A Life Unrepressed
Lighting surges through a war of disrespectful words, tears descending, wet.  In times of uncertainty, an unknown sadness is out of control, a smile, a gesture; or fear clings to a receptive body.  Words may not bring rest or smiles, the soul deep within knows.
There is no one that can unlock the heart, nothing that can be said or felt.  Thoughts, do not reveal or conceal, disguise the lack of sympathy, place blame and criticize.  Alienate the voice, if only for one moment feel free.  Fate, possession, strife, and life.
The genuine self, forced to obey, despite and un-regarded life blind to the hurt of others will embed hate eternally.  The knowledge of life fire and force, walking down a rough path; deep pain.  No spirit, hate has the power to control, nameless feelings that have conceded to a life unrepressed.  Speak and act so no one will know hidden damage floating down to the soul.
The hidden self, inward strife and following demands; in return, a thousand nothings, all-miraculously give power.   Hide in the depths of the soul; echo speaks of pain.  Lackluster eyes stare, glare, and the words unspoken deafening creating fear.  A bolt of tones, frightening, is piercing ears.
No feeling stirs, the heart laid plain, unaware of a life winding down, no meadows of flowers, no sun, no breeze, and the madness is elusive to all.  No feeling, no respite.  In quietness, the war of mocking words; the tears, the sadness. The thoughts of the sea, the crashing waves; soul and spirit sinking within its wet madness and always stay, stay, and stay.
Too late, love revealed itself in death, and the heart has nothing to say.  Living and moving in disguises, alien, until the end.  Life had nothing to possess, strife, identity.  Blind, uncertainty, life no fire or restlessness, a thirst for the mystery of it all, nameless feelings lived in vain.  The loss, the heart lay open for all to see, the hurt hidden twisted among the rubble of pain.  Yet, after all that, there is tomorrow.  

©2021.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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