Life is a Symphony of Chaos

In memory of Rosemary

By Kim Morrison

Life is a symphony of chaos where some of us can hear the music with in it and dance to it while others are at least able to bounce their heads to it well enough to be able to live their lives. In contrast, there are other people who struggle mentally from some organic reason who may never dance or hear the music amid the chaos then there are other people who may have once danced or heard the music, but some mind numbing period of their life, a life altering tragedy, or vile violent act by another caused them stop hearing the music just long enough for them to be swept up by the chaos that they never quite regain their ability to hear the music let alone dance to it. Many of these people are victimized again, in some sense, by unanswered questions or what I would call the endless “why’s” running around in their head and occasionally they come to the point where they begin to contemplate suicide to either silence the demons, questions, in their heads or for whatever reason they come to a mental reckoning and decide that life as they know it is no longer worth living. It is at this point that their contemplation turns into commitment and they succeed in their attempt at suicide.

      Unfortunately, the friends, family, or co-workers of someone who committed suicide are stunned or shocked by what they have done because some did not even know the person had mental issues while other people never thought their mental issues were bad enough to cause them to commit suicide. In contrast, those close to them that knew they had problems will wonder why they did not see this coming or if there was something, they could have done to stop it, but the fact is you will not see it coming or be able to stop it because they will do everything to keep you from interfering if they are committed to the task of taking their life. Everyone one out there knows someone suffering from mental illness, but they did not learn about it because the person with mental illness ran up to them one day and said I have a mental illness, but I am getting help for it just as no one struggling mentally is going to let you known that they are planning or going to take their life. The most you will ever know if you are lucky is that they had contemplated suicide once or twice in the past. The problem is people with mental illness often suffer in silence because there is a stigma associated with mental illness, so it is not something that is going to be talked about over coffee at Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts, but perhaps it should be.

        If you are struggling with mental illness depression, anxiety, or anything else, please seek out help before you become a painful suicide statistic. Many of us have inner demons we wrestle with daily and we cannot always deal with them alone, so let someone try to help you at least hear the music well enough once again to allow you to bounce your head to life’s symphony of chaos and if you are really lucky just maybe you will find someone that can help you dance to it again.  

Love Is A Strange Thing

By Kim Morrison

A lot of people, including my mother and father, could not understand what I saw in my wife. Most thought that she was not good enough for me or good enough to me or too old for me, but for all those years she stood by my side through all our ups and downs and despite my mother and father’s dislike of her at times. Whether people understand it or not she was not only a part of my life, but my soul. I love my wife Arleen and miss her more than anyone could imagine. I knew she was the one I would eventually marry after our first date or I should say breakfast at 3 AM in the morning at a diner in Catskill, New York. After a night of drinking neither of us had much money, so we pooled what we had and ate a little and talked until daybreak sometimes saying what the other was thinking before they said it. We both laughed about that and I said I think we have something here what do you think? With a grin she said yeah, I think so too, and it was not long after that I our life together began.

     Love is a strange thing because there is no script, no understanding of why you fall in love with this one or that one, and chances are you will not fall in love with someone that will meet with everyone’s expectations or approval and that certainly was the case with us. When people talk about what is important in a relationship, they always say love or trust, but what they rarely mention is one of the most important parts of relationship and that is conversation. Being able to communicate with your partner about anything and everything will be what preserves your relationship throughout the years because some important things will waver, but conversation can never waver because it answers the questions and is the cure for any doubt you may have in your partner. It is the difference between a relationship lasting a few years and one like ours that lasted thirty-five years, so when people ask me what I miss about my wife I say I miss talking to her every day, I miss the sound of her voice, and I miss knowing she is out there. Yes, I wish I could hug and kiss her once more, hold her hand and look into those enchanting big beautiful hazel brown almond shaped eyes that captured my heart oh so many years ago, but what causes my tears now is not being able to talk to my friend, my partner, the woman who often drove me crazy that I have loved for decades and still love to this day.  

This was written in memory of my late wife Arleen Lois Morrison     

Nobody

 I was nobody

I was never known by millions.

I was not of influence, wealth, or power

I was just another person in the crowd.

I was a body at many different jobs

I had a few relatives and friends all over

Some I only talked with on the phone or online.

I think some of them miss me, but I am not sure

I know what is left of my family misses me

The empty seat at the table still makes them all tear up.

I was nobody

The world did not know me

I was a face passing through the realm of time

My anonymity was both a curse and a blessing

 I did not matter to most people.

I was a just few numbers and a name

on cards and things in my wallet

I was of little to no value to most people

I was just one of many who died of a deadly virus

Now I am a number in a death count that still climbs

I was nobody

Yet a stranger held my hand knowing my light was extinguishing

A trembling hand that had clearly held too many hands like mine

with a pair of teary exhausted eyes ravaged by this unrelenting insanity

The stranger gave me hope because after all the pain and suffering they endured

they were able to find a few more tears within them for a nobody

The stranger understood that I was not just another face or number

They realized that this nobody was someone to somebody somewhere.

God Make It Stop!

The hearts of our once invisible heroes grow weary fighting a relentless demon.

God make it stop!

They sacrifice all with little to save souls from the consuming darkness surrounding them.

God make it stop!

How many faces of those gasping for life’s last breath will be burned into their memories?

God make it stop!

How many hands will go lifeless in theirs because of a viral monster that yet goes unanswered?

God make it stop!

How often must they gaze into already tear-soaked faces and be the bearers of even worse news?

God make it stop!

How many times will they totally collapse from exhaustion from working extra shifts and hours?

God make it stop!

How many more tears will fall behind their masks for those they could not pull back from death?

God make it stop!

They yearn for a whisper of hope to dull the ventilators symphony of despair and desperation.

God make it stop!

They search for the rainbow beyond a dark ominous cloud that now besieges all humanity.

God make it stop!

           

Written for all the medical professionals working tirelessly through this epidemic.

A Few Heart Droppings

My book with of lot pieces that many people liked and some work never posted anywhere is out on Amazon. It is not just a book of poetry there are essays I have written and a complete play. If you wish, I could send you a signed copy.

Link for Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1965615155

Contact:  Kim Morrison

(352)-364-3307

Kmorrison31@tampabay.rr.com Blog: www.kimmorrisonblog.com

Heaven’s Gotta Wait

Heavens Gotta Wait?

By Kim E Morrison

ACT I

(Grandpa and Suzy are walking in a park)

Suzy

Grandpa Jim is there really a heaven?

Grandpa Jim

I do not know for sure Suzy because no one has ever returned from there, but if there isn’t a heaven a whole lot of people here are praying for nothing.

Suzy

Grandpa Jim if people do not know for sure there is a heaven then why do so many believe in God?

Grandpa Jim

Well Suzy I think that is because believing in something is far better than believing in nothing. To think that everyone you knew and loved who died went to heaven to be with God is the promise that allows many of us to eventually be at peace with our loved ones being gone.

Suzy

“Why do you call it a promise Grandpa Jim?”

Grandpa Jim

Well it is a promise Suzy because religion is faith and faith is believing in something that you do not know for certain is true, but something you want to be true and because religion wants us to believe it is true, so you could say then it is an unspoken promise that religion has made to people.

Suzy

Grandpa Jim If there is a heaven do you think everybody goes to heaven.

Grandpa Jim

I think most go to heaven Suzy why would you think otherwise?

Suzy

Grandpa Jim I have heard people who believe in God and heaven say that these people or those people will not get to go to heaven because they are different in some way or they believe in something different, or they feel differently in some way.

Grandpa Jim

No Suzy the people you hear who think this kind of stuff are living proof that not even an all knowing, all loving, great and wise God can miraculously make stupidity in people disappear. No I am certain any God one might believe in would be waving an angry finger at people who think that he or she would exclude anyone because the whole point of faith is to comfort people in their darkest hours, not to find fault with them or to hate them for their differences.

Suzy

Grandpa Jim do you think there is a hell too.

Grandpa Jim

Well Suzy if you believe in a heaven you then must accept that there might be a hell too?

  Suzy

Why Grandpa Jim?

Grandpa Jim

I do not think one can exist without the other. If you believe heaven is where the good goes there must be an opposite for the bad. If you think about it many things have an opposite or two sides, a coin has a heads side and a tails side, the opposite of north is south, and so on.

Suzy

Why would anyone want to believe in a God that would want to send anybody to hell?

Grandpa Jim

Suzy if there is a God, he or she does not send anyone to hell.

Suzy

If some people go to hell, then how do they wind up in hell?

Grandpa Jim

Suzy if you believe in God then one of the greatest gifts, he or she gave to humans and one we forget or misuse is a thing called “free will” and this allows us to make our own choices to do what we wish good or bad and to believe in what we wish right or wrong, so then it is our choices or the choices we make that determines whether we will go to heaven or hell.

Suzy

Grandpa do you really think God could be a girl.

Grandpa Jim (with a grin)

I think God can be whatever we believe Suzy and right now I am leaning toward God being a woman because women from the time they are little girls tend to ask a lot of questions  and two it is wishful thinking on my part because men have controlled things down here on earth for a long time and it is clear to me now that they have not done very good job.

(Grandpa Jim a little out of breath decides to take a break from walking and sits down on a wooden bench near and old oak tree and little Suzy sits down next to him.)

Suzy

Grandpa Jim are you okay

Grandpa Jim (grinning)

Yep, part of being and old fart is thinking you can do more or walk farther than you can.

 Suzy (leaning against Grandpa Jim)

Grandpa Jim do you think Grandma Sara is in heaven?

Grandpa Jim (grinning)

Yep, I sure do Grandma Sara would have been far too insufferable for old Satan to deal with, I am sure she is up in heaven right now eating a hot pastrami on rye with a half sour pickle causing God to frequently roll his or her eyes and utter the Yiddish phrase “oy vey.”

Suzy

What does insufferable mean Grandpa Jim?

Grandpa Jim (with a smile)

I loved her dearly and miss her, but Grandma Sara could be insufferable and that is just a gentle way of saying big pain in the butt.

Suzy (laughing)

Oh! that is not very nice

Grandpa Jim

No, but it is the truth just the same and these days the truth is something that does not whistle through our ears very often.

Suzy

Grandpa Jim I am going to miss you too much when you go to heaven

Grandpa Jim

Suzy I will miss you too, but it is road we all must travel eventually

Suzy

Grandpa Jim do you ever get over someone you love being gone?

 Grandpa Jim (looking thoughtful)

 No Suzy you just simply do the best you can to live with them not being here. You never stop missing them, but your feelings of loss slowly fade away to you feeling that your life did not end when theirs did even though it hurts bad and feels that way. You find comfort in all the special moments you did get to have with them while they were here and try not to dwell on the time you did not get with them.     

  Suzy

Grandpa Jim what do you miss the most about Grandma Sara?

Grandpa Jim

 Well she was my partner in life so I could say a lot of things, but from all those things I think having a conversation with her is what I miss the most.  

ACT II

(Grandpa Jim looking suddenly looking a little pale and sensing something is wrong with his health slowly puts a hand to his chest. Grandpa Jim needs medical help, but he does not want to panic Suzy who just stood up, yet he needs to alert her that he has a problem)

Grandpa Jim (in a slow calm voice)

Suzy, I need you to stay calm. I got a problem, and I need you to call 911 and your father for me right now.

Suzy

Oh my God Grandpa Jim! What is wrong!

Grandpa Jim (with more panic in his voice)

I am not sure kiddo, but I need you to make those calls right now starting with 911 and you need to tell them I am diabetic.

Suzy (now with tears in her eyes and a crackling voice)

Okay Grandpa Jim I think I got this

Grandpa Jim (with confidence)

Oh, I know you do Suzy

(In minutes the ambulance arrives in the park and the EMT’s start working feverishly on Grandpa Jim as a frightened teary eyed Suzy looks on wondering if this will be the last time she sees her Grandpa Jim alive at that moment Grandpa Jim looks up at the young girl and gets a sense of what she is feeling and removes his oxygen mask and speaks to Suzy despite protests from the EMT’s)

Grandpa Jim

Don’t you worry about old Grandpa Jim kiddo we will be back here another day I am sure of it.

Suzy (in a tearful voice)

 What makes you so sure Grandpa Jim? I am worried that I will never get to see you again.

Grandpa Jim

I told God just a few minutes ago that you have a lot more questions you need me to answer, so heaven’s gotta wait.

Suzy (with a forced grin and tears still in her eyes)

Did you really speak to God Grandpa Jim?

Grandpa Jim (with a slight grin.) Nah but I did leave him a detailed voicemail.

Saying Goodbye to Your Partner in Life

By Kim E. Morrison

In a lifetime a person will experience a lot of loss, see a lot of people they loved or have loved pass away, but none will be more stunning, numbing, soul crushing, or life altering as losing the person you have loved, had children with, and built a life around for decades. In a single instant you feel as though the weight of the world has dropped on your head because in that very same instant you suddenly realize that your life has changed immeasurably and will never be quite the same again. The person that loved you despite your imperfections, the person that was by your side through hardships, and helped you endure many other personal tragedies on life’s journey is gone and despite well meaning friends and relatives trying to cheer you up or being there to help you deal with the aftermath you will never in your life feel more alone and that generates a fear of the unknown and in turn that creates a number of questions: What do I do now?, How do I live without him or her?, Why did they have to go now?, and the list questions never ends. Unfortunately, many of those questions do not have answers and that only adds to the pain and sorrow that you are now enduring. Religion helps some folks at these difficult times and that is wonderful for them, but the phrases they toss out like “they are in a better place,” or “it is all God’s plan” really do not do the rest of us much good because God’s plan no matter how wonderful it may be is hurting us beyond words at this point in time and that so called better place better meet expectations because at this moment we can think of no better place than having our loved ones in our arms.

The painful reality is this is road we will all have to travel eventually, and the tears and pain will then be someone else’s burden to bear. However, it is all on our porch now and no matter how much time passes you will still miss your spouse, the passage of time will slowly ebb the tide of tears, but even years later your eyes will still well up with tears and your voice will crack when a memory of the person you lost engulfs your mind. You move forward or transition to the next stage of your life because you have no choice, but to do so. However, you will never not feel some sadness when the hand that held yours, your partner in life, the love of your life, or whatever comes to mind because your heart and soul is forever imbued with their memory and that is the way it should be.

My cousin Donna lost her husband yesterday after a long illness and I wrote this short piece for her. Even though I know from personal experience that no words help in the early stages of grief

Who Are We?

Are we a shining beacon of possibility to people everywhere?

Or are we doomed to float endlessly in the sea of our own contempt?

Who are we?

Are we the welcoming light of hope held up on high for all to see?

Or have we succumbed to the darkness of hatred and indifference?

Who are we?

Are we the champion that seeks to set the best example for the rest of the world?

Or have we resigned ourselves to accept the requiem of our national conscience?

Who are we?

Are we capable of finding the greatness within ourselves once again?

Or will we endlessly tumble into the unquieted abyss of our past glory?

Who are we?

Are we doomed to sit in quiet desperation contemplating what once was for eternity?

Or will we once again strive to make our greatness more than an empty slogan on a cap?

Who are we?

Hey Mama, I Think The Gringos Are Hungry

Hey Mama, I Think The Gringos Are Hungry

“Hola Mama, Creo que los gringos tienen hambre”

By Kim Morrison

 

When I was a teenager many years ago, my family decided that we would get out of the cold weather of upstate New York and travel to Florida in the winter and comeback in the spring. My father sold everything and bought a travel trailer. At that time, we had started to do flea markets along the way to finance our trips back and forth and it seemed to be working, but the thirty-one-foot Rolls International travel trailer proved costly to move down the road and not very convenient for the purpose of setting up and selling at flea markets, so my father sold the travel trailer. We liked traveling down to Florida in the winter, but we wanted to see more of the country and since one of my uncles and his family moved to Arizona we thought we would get something that might possibly make a trip or two across the country. Unfortunately, my family never had much money, so my father, a man of many ideas, who liked to drive and could drive anything got the idea of getting a bus and converting into a camper. The first bus of two my father and I converted into a camper was an old 1960’s model blue Ford school bus. It ran like a champ after our mechanic did some repairs and modifications on it, and it wound up working out well for us because we made several trips down to Florida, out to Arizona, and that old bus even got us out to San Diego, California once.

I reflect on those times now and can say that they were exciting and fun in many ways and quite honestly a learning experience like no other that very few will ever know or understand. However, the trips were not always easy, sometimes we did not make much money at the flea markets we stopped at, so we had to augment our plans a bit and make stops at flea markets we had never been to before. On one trip to Arizona, we left Pensacola, Florida without much money because the flea markets there were awful money wise. However, we had a lot of stuff to sell and quite a few cypress clocks that we were not sure would sell in other parts of the country, but we figured we could at least get to Texas with what we had and hopefully make some money there to continue our journey to Tucson, Arizona. Unfortunately, we had issues with the bus along the way that cost us a little of the money we made, and the weather was not working in our favor, but despite it all we did manage to make it to San Antonio, Texas. When we got there, we had just enough to pay the flea market space rent, so for all intents and purposes we were flat broke, had very little to eat the night before, and had to make money at this little rundown indoor market to not only continue our trip, but to be able to eat the next day. It would be a gross understatement to say that we were nervous about what the next day would bring. We were in a strange place, at a flea market we had never worked before knowing that we never did as well when we setup at indoor markets, a little hungry and knew we would be even more hungry the next day if we did not make any money, but we did have a package of Top Tobacco which always came with rolling papers that we rolled into cigarettes. I am not sure whether rolling them or smoking them eased our tension more, but in either event it seemed to help.

The next morning, we carried our stuff into the flea market and began setting up our tables with the hope of having a good sale day.  Everybody in the place seem to be able speak Spanish, but us which was not unusual when you consider where we were. The people setup next to us with mostly used items were a very friendly Mexican family that could speak no English at all. We did not know whether they were legal or illegal immigrants and quite frankly it did not matter to us because we were all there for the same reason and that was to make some money. Our Mexican neighbors were cooking something on an electric hot plate that smelled so good that it was making me hungrier than I already was, but the best we could relay to them through gesture is that what they were cooking smelled good. After we got all our stuff setup and already begun our day, one of the children of our Mexican neighbors again through gesture held out and offered us a few breakfast tacos they had made. We assumed they were breakfast tacos because it was still breakfast time. We gladly accepted because by that time we were hungry and still had not sold anything. We thanked them numerous times and wondered if they did not somehow know or could tell that we were hungry because we did hear the word gringos a few times. However, this kind gesture from folks that could not understand us any better than we could understand them came as shock. These simple tacos were made of refried beans with bits of fried egg and bacon wrapped in a soft tortilla shell, but still to this day they were the best damn tacos I have ever had because they were the result of a pure act of kindness from strangers who could not speak our language, but somehow knew that we were hungry.

We did not make much money that day, but we were not hungry anymore and in better spirits thanks to an overt act of kindness shown to us by strangers who spoke a different language from us. We did make enough to eat later and the next day the cypress clocks we brought from Florida that we thought might not sell anywhere else took off and we wound up selling most of them right there the next day and made enough money to continue our trip to Arizona where we wound up selling the rest of them. We never returned to San Antonio, Texas, but my family and I never forgot that a single act of kindness by strangers, a gesture that transcended both cultural and language barriers, an act of goodwill that clearly illustrates that good people do come in all colors, shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and faiths. Yes, mama the gringos were hungry that day and sometimes a simple breakfast taco is far, far more than just what is under the tortilla shell.

An Unspeakable Truth

First, this piece is not politically motivated or a referendum on anything currently going on.     Second, I want to state unequivocally that I do not claim or presume to be an expert on women’s trauma or sex abuse related issues. This is just one good man’s opinion on not all that women go through when they are sexually abused or assaulted, but on the truth that women, no matter how tough they are or how hard they try, never forget or even get by these horrific events in their life without issues no matter how much time passes. My opinion comes from being an active listener and the ability to garner trust with many people extremely quickly which is one of the reasons why I switched from mass communications in college to psychology. In the different positions I have held I have had countless conversations with women young and old and some on occasion have told me some very personal things or details of things that happened to them that they have never told anyone else. The fact that some of them told me about their rape, molestation, or sex abuse I still to this day find surprising because I can tell you these are things women do not like to share with anyone period and none have ever done so with me without either a tear entering their eyes or their voice cracking on, at least, the high points of the horrible event they were recanting to me. In my opinion, the idea that any woman who was a victim of any kind of sexual abuse wanting to speak about what happened to them in any kind of public forum, let alone testify about it a hearing, for profit or any kind of contrived purpose is utterly ludicrous. Sexual abuse and things of that nature that women at any age have endured are what I call unspeakable truths and if you are lucky enough to have heard one of these intensely personal stories from any woman of any age please realize that she only told you because she trusted you, for whatever reason, absolutely implicitly.

Over the years I have heard a few stories from women which include everything from violent rape to sexual abuse that were sometimes so gut wrenching or shocking to me that they left me stunned and without words which is a hard thing to imagine because I write, so I usually always have words. Despite that I write, I have never written a story based entirely on any sexual abuse or rape any woman has ever told me about and I never will because what was told to me was in confidence and I hold those kinds confidences more dear and near than a Catholic Priest holds a confession. I learned quickly from these women that their stories are known by a very select few people and in one case I am certain no one knew what happened to her when she was a young teen, not even her father or mother. Just imagine having some type of sexual abuse happen to you when you are a young woman or in your teenage years and never disclosing any portion of it to another living soul until many years later just simply because you felt no one would ever believe you, not even those closest to you. Imagine holding on to a terrible secret for years that may have eaten away at your self-esteem to a point that this one life incident has redefined your feelings of self-worth. Imagine trying to tell people what happened to you knowing full well that they will either not believe you or make you feel like you did something to cause what happened to you. Imagine asking yourself over and again “why me,” or “why did this happen to me” as if you were somehow selected to be raped or sexually abused. Imagine feeling so dirty, sullied, or fouled by an experience like this that no matter what you do you cannot physically or psychologically wash it away. Imagine constantly feeling like you have had something taken from you that you and only you had a right to give. Imagine taking anxiety medication for half your life to eliminate the memories, nightmares, or unrelenting moments of fear and emotions that just well up inside of you out of the blue because of single horrible event in your life that you had no control over. Imagine being haunted by a memory of some vile act done to you ten, twenty, or forty years ago and doing your best to live with it, live around it, to move on, to grow as a person personally and intellectually despite of it, but still, no matter how far you have come, never being able put the memory or memories of what happened to you to sleep permanently, an incident that almost certainly altered you or your life in some way whether you realize it or not. Now, imagine garnering the courage to publicly tell your story and after going through it all having some man say, “Well it was a longtime ago and after all boys will be boys.”  Yes, boys will be boys, but good boys know better and a truly good man or men should damn well know better.