Freedom, by Susan Austin-Crumpton

Don’t cry, Susan
My mother said as many of yesterdays’ horrific events
fade back into the recesses of my being …
my tears dried.

Don’t feel, Susan
the world told me as a diverse and risking life continued to teach me
well into the depths of my adult life. . .
Numb became normal.

Stop! my body tries to tell me
as I cry and risk and go on
well into the best part of my life and my work.
I go on working. . .

Don’t be a woman of possibility,
a woman who says the f___ word,
obey the message
“ be nice”
the world says of my ability to say no
because I am a female.

Smile, don’t cry, be nice, talk nice
holds me in a self-made prison of my messaging ...
I want to roar, shout, cry, be hated and
most of all not be nice!

I hurl myself through the wall of messaging
Plunging into the
Wild wonderful world
Of freedom and excitement and possibility
Of creative identity named

Susan Austin-Crumpton
Executive Director & Founder
The Estuary, Inc.

Why Their's and Not Mine?, by guest blogger Jacqueline DeSelms-Wolfe

We woke up this morning to a large red ring around my daughter’s belly button. Thankfully this episode was on a regular weekday instead of a Sunday. It was like God listened when I prayed for some weekend medical relief, or rather wrote all about it here. He must of forgotten, however, that we were just at the doctor yesterday for her 7 year check-up. 

Ma Is Dying, by Guest Blogger David J Saffold

Ma Is Dying, by Guest Blogger David J Saffold

Tuesday, Crying Again!

This morning I found my eighty-four-year-old mother sleeping with her legs hanging off one side of the bed.  She has gotten much weaker and can't pull her legs up onto the bed anymore.  She could last week, why not this week?  She cries out in pain as I pull her to sitting position - I have to hold her back so she doesn't fall back on the bed.  Everything with her is a chore - hard labor!  I flinch when her pain makes her cry out.  Her hip muscle has stretched from lying like that all night.  I finally get her to her recliner and get some Tylenol down her throat.  “Ouch, ouch, ouch, everything hurts” is the song she is constantly singing.  I beg her to eat something but can only convince her to drink a little vitamin drink.  So I sit down on the couch and my eyes well up with tears.  I have a great urge to cry just like I cried yesterday morning.  I don't know what to do and nobody else knows either.  I am helpless and don't like being helpless - so I cry.  I guess I am not the tough-guy I like to think I am.

Love, Freedom, and Death, by Susan Austin-Crumpton

Love, Freedom, and Death, by Susan Austin-Crumpton

In the last few months I have watched three beautiful people enter into the physical release of their death.  Those of us left behind are devastated with loss and profoundly missing their physical presence.  Sadness and loneliness fill our days.

Embracing the Healing Time, by Laurette Yund, BSN, MHS

Embracing the Healing Time, by Laurette Yund, BSN, MHS

I was deeply moved when I read the following poem by Pesha Joyce Gertler.  Her story resonated with my own life experience, bringing sadness and regret, until the last words lifted me high with compassion and love.  And I looked at my life with fresh eyes, with acceptance, embracing this too is God.