Category: The Cracking Chasm

We are burying my mom today. It is 01/28/2025. Why is it so hard to comprehend? Each of us live and each of us die. It is a gracious fact of life. 

It feels however, like a horrible punch in the gut. My little mom placed in that big blue box and dropped into a hole in the ground.

It doesn’t feel like a gracious gift. 

It is a gift, however. Her mind and her body were broken. 

As she slipped out of this life and into the next, the King of all Kings was waiting, was watching. He knew everything about her. 

He knew more about her than she knew about herself. 

Did He have to remind her? Did He have to introduce Himself? 

No. 

She knew. 

She knew as she was known. 

My beautiful little mother became who she was created to be. 

This day is a day to celebrate Helen’s life which just started on the other side of Glory. 

Death looks different on the other side. It is the release from the hostilities of our Broken World.

This gift is given by God because He did not want us to live forever in this Hostile Broken Place. 

It is difficult for those of us left here. How do we accept, or comprehend it? How do we go on without the light she provided?

We will go on in a darker place, asking, and desperately seeking; Light.

(Genesis 3:22)

I was unprepared for the emotions that slapped me yesterday. 

My family was celebrating Easter Sunday. It should have been a day of awe at the incredible gift of the resurrection of Jesus… but, instead, my unresolved grief had me in a rotten mood. 

It has been three months since my mother’s death. I assumed that the rolling grief that cycles through my bitty-brain had temporarily run its course. 

I had so much to do, after all. 

Preparing for a holiday is a bit daunting for an unorganized introvert. I was not graced with the natural ability to host that my mother had. She made everything look so easy. Most likely, it was easy for her. 

Slapped, shocked and unprepared, that was me; on my first holiday dinner without her. 

My mom had not hosted a family celebration for almost seven years, but she was always there. 

I made sure we had family recipes and a few of her favorite dishes to make her happy. It was important to me that she was there. She was still with us, as we celebrated. 

There was one thing I never made. The daunting thing I never even attempted to make: ‘Mimi’s Rolls.’

The recipe, written in her beautiful cursive writing, is in the family binder that she gave us all for Christmas one year. I have an older copy of the recipe written on an index card. It looks so easy. 

It is not. 

I grew up eating these rolls at every holiday. In fact, a holiday wasn’t complete without what she called ‘Good Rolls.’

~~~~~~~~~

Rolling grief.  

Unprepared. 

~~~~~~~~~

I was also unprepared for the strangest and most beautiful surprise at our Easter gathering. A family member secretly and perfectly made my mom’s rolls. 

When she walked in with ‘Mimi’s Good Rolls’ I was shocked. I can’t think of one thing that could have made me happier. 

This sounds silly, but it was like having a piece of my mom with me on that stressful, emotional day. 

It was a beautiful gift. 

I was unprepared. I was unprepared for exactly what I needed. 

Thank you, my Dear Tiffany for bringing my mom’s hug to me on my very difficult day. 

The battle is hot

but my heart is cold

I cling by a thread;

the story of old

of how my savior

would bleed and die

For all the tears

That I now cry.

All the Questions

and all the Whys

are lifted up

to empty skies.

Why. Why? All the

WHYS.

Unexpected Grief comes upon you without your permission. Without you allowing it to enter your life, it pushes in with maximum force causing your heart to crumble and your soul to tremble.

There is a Shadow in a cliff that offers quiet refuge. It is difficult to find in the shock of your situation. Who is able to look for refuge when the soul is outraged by unexpected injustice or the cruel reality of Death?

Blindness comes with Grief. Numbing heart-wrenching darkness swirling around clarity. Nothing is solid. Life is flux. There is a devastating tremor; terror stops reality and a dimensional sense of time and space invades thoughts and actions and emotions.

There is a Shadow in a cliff that offers quiet refuge. There is a place where the unending flood of tears is gently collected in eternal vessels. In the Shadow, questions go unanswered and yet the free flowing tears which do not lessen the pain, allow movement and motion to slowly creep to the edge of the mind’s precipice.

Momentum. No. Hope. No. Acceptance? How.

Motion however slightly, returns to the rocky precipice and with the quiet breeze of the Shadow comes the first ability. One beat. One small beat of the breaking heart begins. It moves, feels, sees; a life unplanned. One step forward on a broken journey; unwanted. Now, one step forward on this unplanned path.

Rampant Fear

Fear spreads across borders and through boundaries.

Unchecked, it is more deadly than any contagious pathogen.

Rampant Fear feeds itself by ravaging the mind of its Host.

Small insignificant doubts become menacing scenarios as Fear flays and feeds.

Rampant unchecked Fear will kill.

Fear, however, is terrified of FAITH.

Fear FEARS Faith.

Deny Fear.

Stop feeding the insatiable sensations.

Stop listening.

Fear is limited when faith is wielded.

Choose FAITH.

Conquer rampant fear with abiding faith.

Faith overcomes fear.

I find myself, in the very early hours of the day, in my pre-coffee haze, sitting in the re-memory chair.

My house is lit with yellows, not the bright LED lights of the present: instead, I have chosen incandescent bulbs.

It is not so difficult sitting in re-memory with the kind, warm yellow bulbs of the past.

I am yanked back to a day of confusion.

No! I will not go back.

If my life was a book, a movie, a comedy, or drama, this day would be a day that would read well in the total story.

My life instead is a compilation of moments strung together haphazardly, or randomly, or without my approval, bringing me to this yellow, un-caffeinated moment in time.

I see you, sir, from my chair of re-memory.

I see you and your love.

I see your horrid, unexplained death at the hands of an unknown pathogen.

I was disallowed seeing you then. It is only in this odd moment that I am hurled back to watch.

The hospital staff did not let your friends visit.

I was no longer your friend.

I was the pariah.

I would have been there. I would have suffered your death.

I mourn you still.

Bye, sir.

I wanted to be there for you.

It was un-allowed.

I, in my re-memory chair, see you still, in the prelit dawn.

She was sitting in a restaurant in a tiny Texas town. From my vantage point, all I could see was the back of her beautiful baby blue prom dress. Such sparkle!

She had smooth, long brown hair, clipped back with rhinestone barrettes.

It was a strange dichotomy. Her glitz and glitter was a bold contrast to the decor of the small Mexican Food cafe, decorated with clay pots, southwestern art, and years of grease and sweat.

My attention was drawn to her while I tried to appear inconspicuous. I could not, however, stop staring. She was seated with elderly parents or neighbors. Then I saw it. She was wearing flip-flops.

She was either braver than I, flaunting this fashion faux pas; or, she was on my-side of crazy.

As I watched transfixed, I see her turn her head. She is not a teenage prom queen.

She must be at least fifty years old.

It is now clear. She IS on my-side of crazy. Good for you, lady. Wear your sparkle. Shine in the middle of the day, even when others find it odd or inappropriate.

I admire your lack of inhibition.

Your disregard for society-imposed fashion– well, quite remarkable.

You certainly piqued my curiosity.

I, like you, want glitter in the middle of the day.

Eve, Why?

We now die.

Why did you listen?

Tears streaming glisten.

The Face Of GOD turned.

The ground scorched and burned.

Eve. Why?

See GOD cry?

“My God, my GOD;

Why do you forsake me?”

Eve why;

Why did you listen to God’s enemy?

I know.

I would have listened to him too.

Our Humanity nailed GOD to that Tree.

Why did we forsake him?

I must ask me!

Fickle weather. Searingly hot. Bitterly cold. Talk. Topics of conversation when shallowness is needed.

There are uncomfortable times in life when shallowness screams to be heard. Say something.

There are times when words have no meaning. Thoughts are useless. Allowing silence invites dread.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Fickle weather.”

Wisdom calls.

Where paths meet she takes her stand.

Wisdom’s voice is calling with this demand:

“Choose Wisdom not silver, knowledge not gold.

True wealth is something you cannot hold.”

Wisdom directs; “hate evil, fear the LORD.”

In listening hearts true treasure is stored.

Be filled with delight, rejoice in the day.

Seek Wisdom, and ask her, know her, and pray.

Seek her in the streets, find her at her door.

The favor she grants is knowledge, and more.

Wisdom CALLS.

Listen to hear.

Wisdom hopes

To draw you near.

(Proverbs 8)

The Tsunami: To my Rescuer

Mental illness was a tsunami. It wreaked total devastation; unannounced.

There was no warning before it swallowed me up in its miry depths.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Tossed.

My soul was wrecked and ravaged by the torrential savage tsunami.

On the very shores of death, I was deposited.

Pain and brutal sight surrounded me.

Those who were not dead already saw, as I saw, Destruction staring at us; Eye to eye.

Why.

Why did I see the depths?

Why did I take my last breath only to be recesitated and regurgitated by the creature Destruction?

Images burned into the silence in my soul will forever smolder because I have seen him. He knows my name.

Tsunami. I have seen you eye to eye and yet you did not overcome me.

Tsunami. I am stronger; I am wiser; and I am more compassionate because you tried to take me to the Miry Depths.

I however, had a rescuer, a resource of which neither of us knew would intervene.

I had a Storm-Stopper.

Burned into my soul was an ability to ride water.

I have no why.

I however have sight, that was given to me in the brief moment before you thought you had stolen my last breath.

The image of miry death and the torrential savagery are now Strength in me.

The collapse, and the devastation, is part of who I am.

I am not afraid.

I wear my burden lightly.

Again.

Again,

and again. Toss my soul if it allows me to see my Rescuer; my Redeemer; my Storm-Stopper.

Tsunami.

I know your name.

I know of your limitations.

I know who you are.

You?

You know my Rescuer.

Again.

Again

and again.

10/04/2017

janatisdalehorton

Do I fight it or do I embrace it as the next step in the evolution of me?
The leathery softness, the sagging skin…the fishlike pattern worn into my arms as if the Artist used the wrong brush while painting the strokes.
Time has worn wrinkles of love, laughter, tears and worry into deep crags around eyes, mouth, cheeks, forehead and chin. All of these, mark the passing of time.
Time: slipping smoothly, soundlessly along while eroding my shell.
Time: marking me in ways my soul doesn’t feel and I cannot fathom.

Dust. Mist. Vapor.

Who am I internally?

Reason. Purpose. Direction?
Is my Soul marked in ways similar to the external? Are there deep crags?
Are there artistic renderings? Have I been marked in ways I cannot explain but for Time’s ceaseless ticking?

Joy. Sorrow. Solitude.

Each of these are etched into the very core of who I am. Only in accepting the internal and external changes am I able to truly love this new phase.
This me. Fighting Time is futile.
This Evolution of Me: how do I earnestly and eagerly seek it?

Surrender. Acceptance. Anticipation.

I must seek the Artist’s Vision and embrace, not just who I am, but also what I see; the timely eroding of the outer me. I want to accept it, not quietly but joyously, in anticipation of the new phase of who I am becoming. Wiser perhaps? Interested in things other than just the day-to-day mundane. Looking and seeking more… more wisdom, more value, more adventure?

Degeneration and wasting away of my outer body is inevitable; the wrinkles, the etchings each tell a story and are not going away, but are daily increasing. I must therefore work on a regeneration which builds up my inner self- my soul. The me inside the exterior shell must be fed a daily dose of joy, kindness and humility.

Wisdom in wasting is powerful wisdom, while the virile find strength to be their master, the weak master wisdom in the guise of humility. A humble heart, who can find? Pride and strength exalt themselves while kindness and love are found to be quiet and strong.

My Artist loves the changes being wrought in me. How can I question His definition of beauty?
A new rendering: beauty in difference? My soul seeks to see the same.

I am asymmetrical

In a symmetrical world

Asymmetrical

I am an asymmetrical girl.

I do not lack substance

Although I am not clearly defined.

My form may not be pleasing to you. I don’t really mind.

Beauty beholders will often see that some ideals are just trickery.

An Asymmetrical in this symmetry loving world…

Will see the depth of spirit in this overcoming girl.

YES

I am Asymmetrical in a symmetrical world Asymmetrical, I am an asymmetrical girl.

My heart needs the whisper of the wind.

It needs the silence surrounding dawn.

My heart sheds tears as it hears the song of the birds. The sunrise brings fluttering things that I need to know.

White butterflies have an obscure beauty, a purity and humbleness that my heart aches for in ways that I do not understand.

Little Squirrel; where are you scampering? Worm, did you know that the mockingbird was eyeing you?

Gentle Breeze; why do you blow? Where are you going? Do you know?

Tears…where are you bound, as glorious day breaks, who sees you?

Why cry?

The Green Grass knows your soul and the Water sees its sister streaming from your heart.

Broken? This heart is not broken. This heart is longing; longing for the freedom, for the joy, for the release from the power of the dark night.

My heart needs the whisper of the wind,

the power of Dawn as she silently awakens the world.

My heart yearns for you, Dawn.

I need your Light in my dim soul.

The Summer of Great Sorrows (TSoGS) last year, was the summer that took my Daddy’s life. His funeral was on the day of my Danny Boy’s birth. It was like grieving them both on the same day; new death and unforgotten death; together, buried on the same day. That day I greive two of the men I love unconditionally. They are out of my earthly life forever. It is the worst day on the “Jana” calendar; a day of my heart’s forever grief.

TSoGS also robbed my mommy.

I know. Mommy is not a word an adult uses for her mother. I did not know Mommy was a young child’s nickname for ‘Mother’ I thought “Mommy” was Helen Tisdale’s name.

Her name is still Mommy to me. When death takes her; I will be an earthly orphan, with both Mommy and Daddy: gone. It will replace 6/29/2018 as the worst day on the “Jana” calendar.

In The SoGS; there was a tragic accident that ended the life of my daddy in five short days and robbed my mommy of who she used to be.

It is certainly hard to reconcile in one’s heart that the best day of your life was one of the thousands of days that came before this day… but you don’t remember which day it was, or what happened on that day. That is what the accident took from my mom.

It took the memory of the best day of her life. It took the memories of all of the best days of her life.

She has so many jumbled long term memories, and then she has a short-term loop of memory.

I call her my Day-to-day-Mommy. She knows me. Every day she knows me. Every day she knows me but can’t remember yesterday.

‘I have never been to see her, and she wishes I would just call!’ (Her perception not her reality.)

My Day-to-day-Mommy is someone I am extremely grateful for, and am happy to have in my life, but she breaks my heart when she does not remember yesterday.

My Day-to-day-Mommy; I love you.

If Daddy and Mommy had both been killed in the accident during TSoGS, perhaps it would have been a more joyous exit from this earth for her. I think, however, it would have been the ruin of me.

We each must endure the heartaches we face; sometimes that means we are alone. Only we, know our own hearts; we know, and God knows. He sees our sorrow.

I hold to the belief that a day is a gift. My mom has been given additional days, and rather than being something that she just has to endure; there will be purpose and beauty. She (and I) will diligently seek the gift. It was a choice we did not make. It is not where we want to be, but it is where we are. This is the saying my mom coined after Dan’s death and is the grass burr behind my cerebral cortex.

“It is not where we want to be, but it is where we are.”

It is an unusual gift. No one wants undies for Christmas; but undies are a practical gift. Gifts are not always faery dust and joyous magical thing-a-ma-bobs. Some gifts are practical, useful and questionable. These gifts of days for my mom and me are like that… in our season of waterproof mascara, or naked eyelashes…we will unwrap this gift; me and my Day-to-day-Mommy.

It is where we are.