Tag: alice in authorland

When an Introvert Grieves

Alice LundyLeave a comment

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People say, “Don’t isolate.” What if I connect to peace, the divine, and my loved ones on the other side in solitude?

Being with others—anyone, at this point—feels confining. Solo, on my deck, with my dog, or walking in the woods, I’m free to let my heart and mind converse while my soul steps forward.

When I’m alone, my beloved talks to me from the beyond. What?! You say the girl’s gone bat shit crazy? When I’m alone, I don’t care because even if it’s make believe (I know it’s not), I’m continuing a relationship I never wanted to end. Neither did he. Maybe that’s why we’re so lucky.

I’m lucky. I’m loved by so many. People want to reach out and comfort me in my grief. In gratitude, I try to reach back, but it’s an uncomfortable stretch for me.

I make that stretch because I live in this world. Being with others grounds me like a teenager in love with a boy her parents can’t understand.

Once grounded, I try what works within those parameters: socializing. But, small talk is like eating sand. Maybe because I was in sales for so long. Now, I can hardly tolerate what I once did so well for a living.

I’ve shifted. If you don’t want to go deep and be real, I’m not interested. I’m not saying I can’t be. It takes work for me to come outside of my mind and be fully present with you. I strive to listen and ask questions, due to my craving for soul connection—or at least erasing the mask of personality and finding the point where we’re the same.

It appears people in this land of extroverts enjoy people’s company regardless of the depth of conversation. Maybe that’s not true, but I’ve found a lot of people not so into being real. They only pretend to answer questions about who they are. Deflection is a mastered art in socialization.

So many people wear masks and shields when they enter the world. It makes sense. We’ve all been hurt. Sometimes it’s unconscious. As authentic and present as I strive to be, I keep my old shields handy. They go up readily and rightfully in the company of certain individuals. Don’t we all do that, even a little bit?

I feel it and I’m tired. I don’t want the weight of my shield and the mask no longer represents me, but I don’t yet know what does. I’m transforming.

I like being at home, alone, naked of my armor, and free to just BE: happy, sad, angry, blissful, and bereft. Here at home, I feel secure and comfortable—the safety extroverts get out there with other people.

Let me be clear: I don’t like a lot of people. So, now you know. I spent my life trying to like everyone and judge no one. Kevin helped me to see and accept this truth and many others about myself. I judged myself for not being like Kevin or my sister Jayne. They seem to like most of the people they meet. I find it fascinating and impressive, but I no longer pretend I feel the same.

I don’t like a lot of people. That’s true, but it’s not that I dislike, disrespect, or wish them any harm. It’s just that their company doesn’t spark anything in me. Nor mine in them.

Then, others light me up, turn me on, ignite my energy, and help me remember who I aspire to be (ME!) and who I am without my mask or shield: a beautiful soul playing a role on earth. I recognize the same in them. Although I despise the word tribe, it fits.

I come from a small tribe. Currently, it’s a tribe of one plus. In my tribe, we hold private ceremonies. My dog, God, guides, angels, and loved ones on the other side, even Mother Mary, the Holy Spirit, and Jesus Christ are invited.

If I share this truth outside my in social circles with unspoken conventions, I feel self-conscious, pretentious (even though I’m only sharing my experience), and defensive (as if I have to prove what you’ll never believe). Why?

At home alone, I relish my introvert status. I feel no dispute in who I am. Well, that’s not quite true. I see my inner conflicts and sit with them. I read (solo). I write (solo). I pray, walk and think with myself and my (imaginary?) man. I never enjoyed anyone’s company so much as when Kevin was here. I still do. It’s my private heaven.

I know he’s dead. I’m grieving in my weird, wild, introverted ways. Let me.

Let me be alone with him. Let him whisper in my ear, make jokes, send me signs, and dance with me. Maybe I’m crazy. “Crazy, sexy, cool!” Kevin says.

Is this why they say, “Don’t isolate”? You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m an introvert. I like my company.

Here’s the other thing I find happens to me—as an introvert, surrounded by extroverts (people I love). I say yes on their behalf. Or, I say yes trying to convince myself it’s all about the attitude or energy I bring.

So, I find myself in the back of my sister’s boyfriend’s new Toyota Avalon. I’m uncomfortable. Can you direct some air back here?  Not so fucking much! Geez, I’m freezing. I recognize this as a small form of a panic attack, although I don’t believe in such things. But, if a panic attack is like Get me the fuck out of here! Why did I come? I want to go home! This is stupid.

Just breathe, I tell myself. Alice, just breathe. Then, eat. You need some food. I breathe. I eat. I mentally cuss out the waiter. Where’s my goddamn beer?

Don’t worry. I’m not turning into a drunk any more than I’m going to be fat. It’s just that I have an insatiable appetite to feel good. Right now, it’s sometimes cheap leaps. I allow myself because I know myself.

I’m an introvert and a rebel. Basically, I spend time alone thinking of how I can shake up the world. I want to fight the big things—racism, poverty, electing money, the prison industry…but right now I’ve got the ghost of grief on me. That works well for my introvert self.

But, the rebel in me? She likes to slam doors, burn bridges, jump on the back of motorcycles. My rebel self likes to walk away from relationships and jobs. She wants to prove her freedom. I do what I want!

I see her eating and drinking like she doesn’t care. She cares deeply about her health, but she’s so fucking scared that anything can happen to anyone and she just has to hold it together until the next time it falls apart. See, this girl in me, this rebellious, introverted writer has a broken heart the size of the canyons she ran through in her New Mexico childhood.

I’m trying to get that girl back. I remember being that little introvert, the rebel who abandoned Campfire Girls to build a fort in the canyon behind Mountain School.

In third grade, I ditched school to play in the canyon. Even though I got caught, I’ll never regret that day.

Or the ones where I lingered on the edge of cliffs while resisting the temptation to jump into death, darkness and the earth floor of the canyons.

I have within me a need to go to the depths of my grief alone. Just like the teenager who ran her way through more canyons than I can count.

Don’t worry. As was the rule, I’ll be home for dinner. Or I’ll call.

Please don’t worry about me when I isolate. I’m not alone.

 

Walking Female

Alice LundyLeave a comment

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I drove my nephew an hour and a half north to buy a car. I was only there to give him a ride. He didn’t need me for protection. However, if I was buying or selling anything that involved meeting someone I’d never met, I’d ask TJ to come along to make sure I was safe.

Women walk vulnerable in this world. Too many of us know this from walking into danger when we thought we were invincible, or at least tough. We knew our power. Until one day in some subtle, sexist, or violent way a man took it away. Too many of us were taught our vulnerability.

Even those of us who carry distaste for the word victim and wouldn’t associate it with ourselves. Still, we learn to walk in pairs and let people know when we make it home—so they can breathe easy.

I watch girls walk unaware and I pray I never forget. (Lock your doors. Look around. Pay attention. Keep alert. Walk confident. Don’t park near vans. Park near the light and by a door. Shit! How the hell am I walking alone again?) I pray for safety.

Mostly, I’m safe. I try to be smart, but sometimes that means feeling fearful. Occasionally, it means missing out.

The other day, a white panel van was parked where I typically walk in the woods. It was the kind of van they find dead girls’ bodies in on Law & Order.

It’s fine, I told myself. I walk in those woods almost daily. When I moved here three years ago, I’d be surprised to see anyone on the trails. Now, the trails have been cleared and publicized.

I usually go during the day during the week. Now, I tend to see a few men and their dogs doing just what I’m doing, enjoying the woods. But, do they get a twinge of fear each time they run into me? I like to imagine the handsome ones get the rush that comes from the sight of a pretty woman.

I’m friendly if he is, but not too friendly. My vulnerability dances like a word cloud above his head. Because I’m a woman alone. Sometimes, I feel this way even with my dog. Paranoid, eh? Maybe, but I don’t want to be the girl in the back of a panel van.

So, my dog and I stayed on the neighborhood sidewalk that day. It’s the sidewalk where I was walking last year when a neighbor I’d never met ran to me and told me her boyfriend was trying to kill her. Terror screamed from her eyes. I took her to the police. Later, my sister and I knocked on the woman’s door to check on her. Her boyfriend really was a 6’5 badass, scary dude. The police confirmed it when we asked them to check on her. Then, they laughed because Mr. Badass beats her up often and she calls the police, but she won’t get a restraining order. It wasn’t funny.

Violence against women, in speech and action, are too common. I met this gal the other night—mid-40s. She was at a concert with her mom. I was with my sis.

I showed the gal pictures of my now-deceased boyfriend. She showed me pictures of her face after she went on a date with a guy her brother hung out with in high school. She didn’t know until her first date that the guy is now a cage fighter. She didn’t know until something set him off and he used his fists on her face and his feet to kick her body.

I’m 5’4. This gal is shorter than me. The guy is a cage fighter. He may find himself in a new kind of cage soon, as her court date is coming. Now, unfortunately, now she knows her vulnerability through experience.

Isn’t a civilized society supposed to care for its vulnerable?  Remember that whole women and children thing?

What kind of a man would do this?! Maybe a man who forms his character in an environment where cage fighting is a career choice and a Presidential nominee talks about grabbing pussy.

Can we, as a society, take some responsibility for the kind of men we’re applauding and the kind of character flaws we’re ignoring?

This attitude toward women that says, “Hey, let’s take advantage of their vulnerability because we can” is loud in our society. That saddens me.

Do you know some of Trumps’ followers are tweeting #RepealThe19th: women’s right to vote? This should be laughable by now, but it’s not.

I’d like to end this rant by saying thank you to all the men of class and character, men who stand up to shameful words and despicable acts, the men who walk us to our cars for safety AND honor our worth as women.

May this be the ideal that leads us forward as men and women. May we walk together.

 

 

To my beautiful Black Lab, Phoenix in her eighth year:

Alice LundyLeave a comment

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You’re at the vet now. Each time I get up to get coffee, go to the restroom, or step outside, I feel your absence like a twinge on my heart. I miss the tinkling of your tags and your body blocking my path. I remind myself there’s no need to check on you. You’re just across the street at the vet.

Yet, I miss your presence. You, Phoenix are my true companion. I’m lucky you chose me to love the most in this world.

I feel so blessed that I got you back after losing you all those years ago. I only let him take you because I thought you’d be happier on a hobby farm.

I had no idea he’d lock you in a dark basement. I’m so sorry that happened to you and scarred your sensitive soul.

Please know I’ll never give you up again. Not for any reason. You’re mine. I’m your mom. I take that role seriously and it’s an honor.

I wish I could explain it to you in a way you’d understand. They say dogs have no memory, but you clearly remember being alone and scared.

Unfortunately, I can’t take you with me everywhere. So, I go to a lot of trouble to make sure you’re not only well cared for, but also well-loved when I can’t be the one to do it. I’ll never leave you in circumstances that would jeopardize your well-being.

I know—you think your well-being is jeopardized any time I’m not with you! You’re so cute how much you love me!

Please know it’s mutual. You comfort me and bring me more peace and joy than I can measure.

One day you’ll have to leave me and I’ll have to let you go. Until that day arrives, I’ll do my best to ensure your health and happiness. We’ll walk, play and hang out like the friends we are.

But, sometimes caring for you will mean things neither of us enjoy, like the vet putting you under to clean your teeth, as is happening while I write this.

Sweet dreams, my baby. See you soon.

The Making of a Home

Alice Lundy4 Comments

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I haven’t eaten oatmeal since my boyfriend Kevin died five and a half months ago. The oatmeal retreat wasn’t conscious.

Today, I woke up thinking I want oatmeal. I didn’t feel especially hungry, more compelled. The temperature here in Ohio is in the mid-70s. It’s summer, but it feels like a fall day. I’m wearing Kevin’s flannel shirt.

I take a bite of the oatmeal I made. I’m mentally transported into his kitchen. How many times did I see him stand at that shitty old stove making oatmeal?

He ordered a new stove once. I somehow convinced him to cancel it. I later realized I was manipulating him. He wanted to make his place a home for me and I was afraid he would.

So, when Kevin ordered carpet in February, I stood in the store anxiously petting samples. I played nonchalant as Kevin tried to include me in decisions. He signed the paperwork. We went home—to his house—with the carpet samples. Together, we picked a final color of carpet that would never be installed. A dead man doesn’t need new carpet.

How can he be dead after eating all that oatmeal, doing all those workouts, and being so damned handsome? He looked healthy and lived vibrant.

At least you can see a falling star fading. Kevin’s light never dimmed. It just went out.

Life is unpredictable. Who knew eating oatmeal today could take me back? I didn’t even like his oatmeal!

I didn’t like his house, except for because it was his. I didn’t want to live in St. Louis and certainly not out in the country.

Now, the memory of my man standing at his stove making oatmeal and sitting down next to me at his new little round table in his kitchen warms like home in my heart. A home I lost.

 

On My Knees

Alice LundyLeave a comment

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I want to be the brave girl, the strong one, the bad-ass I profess myself to be. Don’t the signs, angels, faith, and therapy win me some place at the front of the line?

Will I ever be an Olympic champion of life? I want to overcome grief in a single splash, but I keep swimming. I’m in the pool practicing my strokes. Why does grief knock me off my game?!

I yearn for my intentions to match my reality. Yet, I’m still on my knees. Crying.

Finding Love in the Midst of Grief

Alice Lundy2 Comments

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I love my purple pens. I love water, sunshine, smooth jazz, and my Black Lab. I love time to myself, the smell of trees and their tall green leaves stretching into the bright blue Ohio sky. I love tennis balls on behalf of my dog Phoenix who adores them.

I love drinking out of my deceased boyfriend’s coffee cup—the striped one with a chip—once a week. It’s like a special occasion—a flood of warmth and memories that I can’t hold every morning.

I’m in mourning, I suppose—although that sounds morose and inaccurate. Grieving is more to the point. It’s a striving forward with cement boots of sadness. Sometimes each step forward reminds you you’re walking in circles. So be it.

Damn, you know I’m transforming if I’m saying, “So be it.” Anyone who knows Alice Lundy knows she never said, “So be it” in her life unless sarcastically.

Hell, maybe that’s half my problem. I’ve spent my life trying to improve everything, especially myself. What if I just love life the way I loved Kevin? Or the way he showed me love—strong, solid, simple, and passionate?

I must remember my way of being evoked that in him—as his did in me. We were a collaboration of our best selves.

I felt no need to change Kevin. Nor he me. I’d like to say all of my relationships embodied that principle. Well, there’s a difference between truly accepting someone and telling myself I should, if you know what I mean.

With Kevin, I already knew what I considered the worst of him—the things that normally would tempt me to judge or dismiss. I already knew those things and Kevin knew my areas that some might consider character flaws.

I learned the depth of him later. The more he revealed his deep, dark secrets, the more I snuggled into his arms. He showed himself and held me tighter. He let me in!

It wasn’t just that Kevin shared his internal self; it was that I found him more and more fascinating. I felt compassion for his dark edges because he described his journey in a way that connected with my heart.

And when I shared with him? Ha! I told him the worst of me when we were just friends and I didn’t fear him breaking up with me or the look in his eyes changing.

His eyes brightened when he read my book. Kevin got me. He got me when I told him stories, exploded with jealousy, or felt ill. He almost always said just the right thing.

Kevin’s reactions, compassion, and acceptance washed away painful memories that had haunted me.

I always sought more and spent decades trying to improve myself in order to qualify for something grand.

I didn’t realize I was always qualified. I just hadn’t connected with the right man who could recognize my beauty, brains, and crazy as being loveable and let me love him like a mirror loves confidence.

We were crazy, sexy, cool. FIRE! & ICE! I was loved by the FIRE! I am transformed and continue to change. Through it all, I love myself, as I did the day Kevin barged into my heart.

Now, I go back to basics. I love sunshine, mornings, coffee in his cup, watching birds at his feeder and deer in my yard. I love the simple things. I seek them while I grieve.

 

 

 

 

 

Boxers

Alice Lundy2 Comments

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I live in his boxers, t-shirt, and KISS robe.

I smell his cologne like I’m taking a hit to get high on him.

I was high on Kevin. He was my drug—

made my nerves relax

and brain light up.

He ignited me because he

acknowledged the real me.

I’d gotten sick of guys not getting

the gift standing before them.

Then, Kevin saw me.

And I saw him.

In a new light.

Yeah, it was like the lights were turned on

after we’d made peace with the dimness.

There we were face to face with fantastic.

We smiled our way in and Kevin had a

smile on his way out

of this world

in his sleep.

Oh baby, I wear your boxers.

 

 

Be Like Kevin

Alice Lundy3 Comments

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Call. And call again. Take the calls—even when you’re driving to dinner with your girlfriend and looking for a parking space. Take the call, especially if it’s your dad. Not because he’s 85, because he’s your dad.

Connect with people. Laugh. Let your funny be infectious. Don’t be a hater. Speak your mind. Apologize when you screw up. And mean it. Move on.

OWN your anger. Be forthright, but be gracious. Love women. Really love them. And music. Listen to music-LOUD! Especially the 80s. Hard rock. KISS.

But take Etta James and the candles. Yeah, bring that old boom box to the beach. Play the game Washers.

Read. The Bible when you feel nudged. Take pleasure in reading. Find your guy. Kevin’s was Lee Child, but he also read Mark Twain, JR Moehringer and Alice Lundy.

Give people nicknames. ICE! ICE! ICE! Let it be your way of honoring them.

Pray. Out loud. In the morning. While drinking coffee and watching birds with your girlfriend.

Say, “I LOVE THAT!” often. Say, “I love you.” Write it. Write letters. Send Valentine’s Day cards with love to everyone.

Enjoy good food. Make memories, like taking your gal to Tony’s, where you used to go with your mom. But, also go to dive bars. Bring home Taco Bell sauce packets that say “Marry Me” and present them like a bouquet of flowers.

Seek love. Be romantic. Be real.

Follow your passions and applaud others. Take care of your business, but don’t be so serious. Make work fun. When it’s not, refocus. Readjust. Decide what you want and go for it.

Change. If you want to. Become better.

Be at peace with yourself. Take care of yourself. LOVE YOURSELF. And especially, BE YOURSELF. Kevin was totally himself, not imitating a soul.

Be emotionally courageous. Say: This is how I am. I have a temper and I can be selfish, but I’m the man for you. Yeah, be a man—in the best sense of the word.

Support your team and Diva’s team and your people. Show up. Be on time. And have some style!

LIVE your life. If it ever comes to your door, kick cancer’s ass!

Speak a different language with your brothers—one your girlfriend couldn’t understand if she wanted to. Make your cousin a brother and make the word BROTHER mean something. Make friendship and family mean something.

GO ALL IN. Whatever you’re doing: sex, drugs, rock-n-roll, sales, wooing a woman, loving your mom, hanging with friends, frying fish, developing relationships, telling a truth, listening,… damn, Kevin could listen.

I know he could talk, but he could really listen.

Open doors. Pull out chairs. Hug. Hold your partner tight through the entire night. Kiss too hard and love like this is your last chance and you want to get it right.

Buy little gifts. Don’t expect so much from others. Give because it makes you feel good.

Tell stories. And make them good!

Hang with your boys. Be wild when you’re young, but never grow old. Get out of the house, but spend time hanging at home, just chillin’.

Be like a kid. But be a man. Face life head on.

Be like Kevin, but you can’t. There was only one. So, be like you—the one Kevin loves. Still.

 

 

In Another Room

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This, this is what I’ve dreamed of: waking up peaceful, happy, energetic, a hot cup of coffee, sitting on my deck under a blue sky, my foot touching my Black Lab as she reclines at my feet, my journal, a pen, this glorious moment.

Then, it hits me like a thump in a V-8 commercial: five months! Five months ago today I got the news that Kevin died in his sleep, like angels snuck him to the other side. Sudden, unexpected, a heart attack.

But, Kevin’s a salesman and somehow he’s convinced the powers that be or just gone and done it in his own crazy, sexy, Fire! way. Anyhow, he’s here! He tells me that over and over and I know it to be true.

He’s just like when he was alive. As he says, it’s like he’s walked into another room. His personality and love are the same. The feeling I get when he’s here is the same.

But, the physical reality of grief and loss insist the sadness is more real.

Maturity involves holding opposing ideas. A part of my spiritual journey is embracing this new form of relationship with Kevin.

I believe in life on the other side. I’ve been to more psychics than doctors. That’s my evidence—all the times my mother and brother came through.

Each of them has also communicated with me directly from the other side, but nothing like the FIRE! I feel I’ve entered a new world. In the midst of my dark grief, Kevin shares the light of his love. I haven’t so much resisted it, but relished our moments and conversations while wanting to show the world, to prove this is happening, but why?

As Kevin points out, I never needed to prove our love while he was alive. He told me to trust it. I did.

When he began to fret because we lived in different cities, I focused on how fortunate we were to really spend time together when we were together. I told him we’d merge when the time was right—when I get a book contract.

Is it possible to take on that attitude now and acknowledge our situation? He’s in a different dimension. He died. “On the other side” never made more sense. It’s similar to living in different cities. Maybe we practiced for this.

Maybe we can continue our relationship on this new path. Why not? He’s as willing, optimistic, and loving now as when we first got together. He encourages me to let him love me, to believe he’s different and we just keep getting better. He’s been here with me during most of my breakdowns since his death. He holds me and comforts me.

He’s in me, a part of me. I love the idea of “twin flame.” This experience is beyond amazing, like my eyes opening to a new world, like falling in love all over again (in the midst of agonizing grief).

I’m accepting, loving, communicating, dancing with, and listening to my lover who now lives on the other side. To recognize the signs is like honoring a wedding ring’s meaning rather than showing off the sparkle.

It’s a mind blowing privilege Kevin and I get this gift of communicating even though we’re worlds apart.

The words and love are no less powerful. This experience is beyond amazing if I allow it and quit comparing it to the past. That’s how he helped me open up to his love in the first place. “I’m not those other guys.” I set aside the rules I created from fear and found the most fulfilling love I’ve ever known.

We pray for miracles, yet evaluate, question, and try to disprove their arrival. I didn’t have time to pray for Kevin’s life. I didn’t know it was in jeopardy; he was healthy.

That’s what I tell myself. He just turned 58. He had the most fantastic physique of any man I’ve ever known. He worked out and ate mostly healthy. He had energy—wore me out!

However, he overcame colon cancer in 2012. The truth is, each time he had his cancer check-ups, I braced myself. I prayed. The first time I questioned myself. If what his doctor said was right, that cancer often comes back, could I handle it?

I’d been by my mom’s side as she battled cancer and died. It had only been a couple of years since my sister buried her husband because of cancer. I didn’t have the most optimistic mindset.

So, I prayed. I prayed Kevin’s health continue. I prayed he be cancer free and we share a long life together. I prayed for God’s will, and I vowed if cancer found a home in Kevin’s body again, I’d be there by his side fighting the bullshit and listening to his every wish. I made my private, solemn vow, picturing it, readying myself mentally, and solidifying my love.

I never told Kevin. I didn’t have to. He was praying the same thing—praying his health remain and we could keep on living and loving.

The last time Kevin visited my house, we sat on my couch. He said, “Icey, I don’t know how long I’m going to live. I’m not a young man. I hope I live into my 80s like my dad, but I just want you to know—all the time I have—I want to spend it with you.”

Looking back, one might think, maybe he knew? No, I don’t think he knew, certainly not consciously. What he knew was how great that moment felt (after all the challenges we’d each endured, it was especially sweet), and how quickly it could all be taken away.

Like Kevin’s friend Megan Boken, a volleyball player who was shot and killed for her cell phone. She was 23. Her life ended. Just like that.

Like Kevin’s mom. She was doing well after her stroke a few years prior. It was Thanksgiving. They shared a family celebration in Florida and went to sleep. Kevin was tired. He’d been drinking. He slept on the couch. His mom tried to wake him. He dismissed her. He was so tired!

In the morning, she was no more. Kevin’s heart broke into a thousand pieces, the pieces of a son held together by his mother’s love.

Kevin called me. We were just friends back then. Once you’ve experienced losing your mother, you know how to be there and listen when another faces that fate.

So, we both knew death. We knew life. When we met in our 20s, we were certain of our individual power and ability to control life.

By the time we came together as a couple, we knew life is fragile. We’d each been through some shit we’d no longer tolerate—from life, others, and especially ourselves. We wanted love, but our souls weren’t for sale.

We didn’t just fall in love. Our souls merged. When Kevin came full on into my life (because that’s how he did it), he returned my innocence and opened me to my femininity. He believed in my dream. He got me in the way no person ever has.

And I got him. I saw the shit I would’ve judged another man for and I let it slide with delight. At other times, I stood up to Kevin in the way I always wished I stood up for my truth, ideals and opinions. He heard me. What a fantastic blessing!

Everyone seeks to be heard, to tell their story without being judged, condemned, dismissed, advised, matched, or made fun of. Not so easy, eh?

Kevin and I rolled out our truths and histories throughout our friendship. When we graduated into boyfriend/girlfriend roles, we grew into our best.

I don’t know what to call him now. My dead boyfriend? My boyfriend who died?

He hollers, “Call me the FIRE!”

FIRE! FIRE! FIRE! I love you!

“ICE! ICE! ICE!”

It’s the same. It’s different. He died. He’s alive on the other side. I’m here, embracing his love, a new attitude, my life. It’s meant to be lived in all its peculiarities. And, I don’t care if they call me crazy.

 

 

 

Do You Have a Man or a Boy?

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Women—

He’s a grown man. You know that to be true, but how do you treat him?

Women don’t want a man who always gives advice or solutions. They don’t want someone who tries to control or manipulate or create an agenda for them. They want to be respected—as women.

I’m not judging. I’m just saying I see plenty of women putting out a vibe that says otherwise. That is, if you believe as you are you shall receive. Every action creates a reaction. Every word has meaning. And intention, even unvoiced, is felt.

When someone tries to control or manipulate me, when they want me to behave a certain way, because they believe their way is the right way, I tend to resist.

So women, I insist you consider yourself when condemning your man. I’m not saying don’t disagree, but he doesn’t need a hall monitor, a permission slip to make decisions, or a daily lecture on communication.

He’s a grown-ass man!

But, he acts like a child! You say. Maybe. Maybe you should ask yourself—do you have a man or do you have a boy? How did you attract that?

If he’s a boy, let him go. If he’s a man, let him be a MAN. Step back. Stand down.

I’m not saying lose your ground, but be his lady, not his mother. Be a woman. Watch your man shine.