Let Me Tell You One Thing

May 15 2018 The one thing that most people never realizes until it happens to them is that after your husband dies suddenly, it takes awhile to catch up with it all, if you ever do catch up. For instance, my husband, Clyde, whom I married at 15 as a virgin, by the way, he was a virgin also, and the years we had together, 55 married, and two years dating, (since he was 16 and I was 13 when we met, died on November 7, 2016 in my presence and suddenly.  He fell back to the floor and was dead even though a medical team worked with him for 30 minutes or more. All of that takes quite a toll on someone's' psyche, and to compensate, the brain starts feeding itself some nulling drug so you can actually function through the funeral and the coming months.  The drug more than likely is something that is placed there for trauma victims and those survivors of those who face sudden death. It could even be why: Philippians 4:7 and the peace of God, which surpasses all understan

What kind of dance may it be, The one that only brings agony. A twist, a turn, a one, two, three. The pillow that looms close to my head, The one that tells me he is dead. A twist, a turn, a one, two, three. The pillow that lifts my knees high, The one that gives no warmth to my thigh. A twist, a turn, a one, two, three. The pillow that embraces my neck, The one that says my life is a wreck. A twist, a turn, a one, two, three. The pillow that lays close to my side, The one that pretends to be Clyde. A twist, a turn, a one, two, three. Dancing with my pillows, In a waltz of sorrow, Now and forever will feel hollow.

There has never been another piece of my furniture that calls my name; however, my bed has called out my name many times on certain occasions. For instance, when I am very tired, when I am very sick, or when I am very sleepy. I can't imagine my dining table, sofa, dishwasher or any other objects, appliances, decorations or any inanimate mass calling my name, but it seems that beds do call their owners. I began to think about how personal my bed is.   It holds me, comforts me, relaxes me, and wraps me in undisturbed sleep, rest, and tranquility.  Out of all the pieces of things I have, my bed is by far the most giving. I was having a conversation about my bed calling me recently with two other people, and I was talking with them when they also said, "I hear my bed calling my name."   I had a visual of our beds in our homes calling out to us and saying our individual names.  They were a chorus with voices raised high calling through the universe trying to reach us.