I'm looking back over my self-therapy writings. A lot of my sadness and heartache came out in poetic form.

I didn't purposely set out to relate and examine my angst in verse, sometimes it just happened.

I wrote this about two months post-relationship and shortly after I became aware of the fact that it didn't have
to be over in his opinion. That made things even harder for me. I've never had to determine to end a relationship
with someone I still love.  If I 'broke up' with a boy, it was because I didn't like him anymore. If he 'broke' up with me, he didn't like me anymore.

I might still love or care for him, but no chance of reconciliation.

When my marriage ended, the love had been long deadened. No conflicting feelings or yearning for that person.

Mostly fear and anxiety regarding the new life to come.

So this has been a whole new experience knowing he isn't good for me and loving him anyway.

I miss you-has to be over.
No fear, no anxiety, I know it's over.
Just sadness and yearning.
The occasional tear.

Thinking of you less and less.
Sometimes an hour or two.
Happy for that.
The occasional smile.

So many things I love about you.
And not for the usual reasons.
I love who you aren't.
I love what you don't.
I love what you won't.
Just can't love what you do and who.

I want you-has to be over.
No touch, no closeness, I know it's over.
Just craving and feeling.
The occasional heat.

Could have you-has to be over.
Can't share, So-I know it's over.
Just mourning and grieving.
And occasional healing.  

Getting better everyday.
It's over.

Yearning never stops.
It's over.

Missing his touch.
Over.

Try to ignore and just go on. Tell myself I'm lucky.
Dodging that bullet!

But once in awhile, just once in awhile.
I'm there in my head.

I breathe him in, my mouth on him, his mouth on me.
So close behind him, so close behind me.
Moving against him, flush from our dance.
He's kneeling over me-stretching my limb, mouth warm and wet.
On my toes, foot, leg.
More sensual, more moving,
Than anything I've known.

Never will be another him for me.

When did it become unacceptable to mourn or grieve for more than a little while and in more than a quiet way over anything-anyone? Buck-up and go on.

We say, "She's taking it so hard." Why-because she cried? Then we say, "She's holding up so well." Why-because she didn't?

Have you ever seen foreign people on television who've lost a loved one? They scream and cry and get loud and maybe even beat their chest or fall prostrate onto the ground. They don't shed a civilized tear, take a Xanax and go on. They aren't 'holding up'. They aren't quiet and sad and holding it all inside with a brave, noble face. They experience their grief and their pain.

They make a scene.

When my mother died, I did the quiet tears, the 'normal' behaviors, the usual. Until one day I began screaming in my car. I couldn't scream loud enough or long enough. Even though I was alone, I was embarrassed and soon stopped. Never did that again.

It took seven years for the pall death had cast to disappear. I only realized it was a pervasive presence when it was gone. What if I hadn't kept it all in, hadn't 'held up' so well, hadn't masked the sorrow, hidden the grief? Would I have healed more quickly if I hadn't pretended all those years?

Why do we want everyone to get over everything so quickly? We get annoyed and impatient and start withdrawing when someone doesn't just "move on" with their lives after a great loss.

I'm impatient with myself right now because I should just get over that man. I can tell, when I occasionally speak of him, that some others agree. But should our loved ones be that disposable? Should I think that little of a seven year relationship and the one I gave my heart to? Should I disparage my sorrow and my tears because, after all, it's been over five months?

My best friend's son died a little over a year ago. I can't even fathom losing a child! The grief sites she visits say it's worse the second and third years after the loss of a loved one. My first thought was, "People want you to be over it after a year." You feel the withdrawal and lack of response and support. So you don't talk about it. You internalize your grief. You're alone with it.

There's an expression I've heard, "A problem shared is a problem halved." Maybe if it was acceptable to 'share our grief' and keep on sharing, it wouldn't turn inward and grow depression, alienation, introversion and more grief.

I need to listen to my own grief and accept it. I need to listen to others' grief and accept it.

                                                         WE ALL DO.

It's been five months without that man. Most days I'm happy. Today the car wouldn't start. Called
AAA. They sent a little boy who knew the basics but not much more. He got me started and I went to
an auto parts store. "It's not your battery, ma'am." Great! Could happen again-who knows. Stopped 
at Staples and bought a computer chair. Tears just came on the way home. I needed to sort through 
my feelings and out came this poem. My daughter read it and said it reminded her of Dr Seuss.

Why am I surprised,
By this sadness and tears?
I've grieved for so many,
For so many years.

I know there are good days,
I know there are bad.
So why the surprise,
That I'm feeling so sad?

I know by heart,
How grief comes and goes.
Some days you feel happy,
Right down to your toes.

Some days you don't think,
You'll be normal again.
But tomorrow will come,
And it eases the pain.

So I'll just cry,
And I'll welcome the tears.
The warm, cleansing rain,
Falling into my ears.

I'll know they're God's taxies,
To cleanse away sorrow.
And when I wake up,
It will be tomorrow.

PHOTO: Mama Lee Rotten aka Kathy (Johnson) Brooks and her sister Penny (Johnson) Fenton, 1956 or 57

This was a country song maybe in the 90’s. It put into words what most of us already know if we love music. 

THE SONG not only evokes the memory, it takes me back to that place. Gives me back that feeling, the place, the weather, the sadness or happiness of that moment. I’m there again.

“Kathy, I’m lost, I said, though I knew she was sleeping. I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why.”

Simon and Garfunkel transport me back-I’m young and heartbroken and disillusioned and, WOW, they used my name. My most important boyfriend gave me my first S&G album and I’ve loved them ever since.

“Imagine me and you-I do-I think about you day and night, it’s only right, to think about the girl you love, and hold her tight-So Happy Together." The Turtles take me to my room, pale green with soft green and white striped curtains and sheets. My shorthand teacher suggested practicing to the radio. I loved that assignment! I must have written those words dozens of times. The only radio station I could reliably tune in had a very short playlist.

A few years later, married, pregnant and living in Key West. Hot and humid and rainy most every day. A different world from the Pennsylvania dairy farm where I grew up! Several songs can take me there. “I Wanna Make It With You” (Bread), “Fire and Rain” (James Taylor), “Spill the Wine” Eric Burden and the Animals. When I hear them, I close my eyes and I’m sitting at the old metal table I covered with bright contact paper to hide the rust. I’m smoking a cigarette and reading Ayn Rand. (yes, I was pregnant. In my defense, that was before we knew the possible consequences of that act) It’s hot and sunny-so humid! Then clouds and torrential downpours. The conch train goes by the Presidential Gate across from my downstairs apartment. Good thing it’s covered. In an hour or less, just as hot, all evidence of rain, gone.

Some years later, my sister was sick-deep depression-empty eyes. She had a record she loved and played over and over. When she died, I played that record once and never again. I was there again, the sadness, frustration, hope, fear and the culmination of sorrow and loss.

The song remembers when-through good times and bad-the soundtrack of my life.