Choices of a Broken Heart

Two paths

Victim

Unsure

Insecure

Shocked

Embarrassed

Humiliated

Frustrated

Furious

Helpless

Anxious

Tentative

Sad

Unsure

Heroine

Aware

Sensitive

Surprised

Angry

Curious

Thoughtful

Responsive

Confident

Open

Sure

Hopeful

Aware

I choose heroine.

                                   

©Conni Cartlidge, 2014

Grandma

A tree falls in the forest.

I hear it

Sigh.

Grey knotted skin

tears.

Crack.

Brittle back

snaps.

The windstorm too much to withstand.

A young neighbour breaks the fall.

Held gently in fresh green boughs

Making room for new growth

It humbly passes.

I hear it.

An old woman dying in her bed.

I hold her

Gaze.

Clear eyes

 close.

Silence.

Shallow breath

 stops.

This life too long for weary bones.

Granddaughter strokes her hair.

Hands in hands

Clearing the way for the next generations

She silently passes.

I hold her.

My grandma.

With my grandma many years ago.

©Conni Cartlidge, 2014

Roller Coaster: A Year in My Life

“She had a mastectomy last week.”

“We’re getting married in April.”

“Sorry I didn’t get back to you last night, but my mom passed away.”

“Would you like to teach over at Urban Circle?”

“I broke up with him.”

“He doesn’t need another hip replacement!”

“Don’t rush me.”

“Do you want to listen to our new song?”

“I guess I didn’t get the job.”

“They checked me out and my heart is fine.”

“I need to sit down.”

“It’s a boy!”

“I realized I’m a girl.”

“I’ll go to the funeral with you so you don’t have to go alone.”

“Try the hot tub.”

“Will you shave my head?”

“Have a good day dear. See you tonight.”

“Love you mom.”

“Cancer free!”

“We found these kittens in the ditch.”

“Can we have our party at your place?”

“He’s disappeared again.”

“Thanks for helping me with this. I really appreciate it.”

I scream down. I climb back up. Life is a ride.

An Oath to Children

To the children in my care:

·      I will honour you and your family, respecting the love and deep understanding you share.

·      I will welcome you into our beautiful play space and be joyful with you as we experience the peace of nature.

·      I will treat you with integrity, as you grow alongside others. Fairness and honesty will help us to solve problems together.

·      I will celebrate your courage as you learn how to say good-bye and how to say hello.

·      I will remember with humility that you know what you need. My safe arms, kind words and open heart will always be yours.

·      I am your Early Childhood Educator.

©Conni Cartlidge, 2014

Speak No Evil

The third monkey.

Valued

When her mouth is shut.

Muzzled

Mute

Screeching

Within.

She sees evil.

She hears evil.

She aches with sadness.

Quietly.

©Conni Cartlidge, 2014

Girls

I love the show “Girls”. I wait for the new season of dysfunctional friendships and unhealthy relationships.

Marnie, Shoshanna

Jessa and Hannah

Anxious, unemployed

Messed up and obsessed.

But I look around me, and the girls I know are not like those television characters.

A sixteen year old German flew to Canada, missed her connecting flight in Toronto, figured out new arrangements, and made it to our home in rural Manitoba. She climbed onto the bus the next day and began attending the local high school, knowing no one. She joined the cross-country team, then she joined indoor track. She aced all her classes. And now she’s learning to shovel snow.

“Do you need help, Conni? I can do that!”

A twenty-one year old was born in a boy’s body. So she found the resources and raised the funds and got herself to Montreal for the surgery she needed.

To have the body that matched her soul.

A twenty-three year old had her ceiling collapse. When she realized that her landlord was not going to fix it properly, she gave her notice, found a new apartment, hired movers, and got herself relocated within a month.  And then built her own Ikea couch.

All by herself.

A twenty-nine year old was busy raising her son. When her niece needed care, she took her in, rescuing the child from addicted parents. A year later, an infant nephew became her charge, too. So she clips coupons and lives carefully and fights the system and does whatever she can to protect those little ones.

To give them a real family.

The fifty year old friends started to lose partners, fight cancer, miss their kids, look for new jobs, move out of their homes, mourn parents. So they drank coffee and complained, or ranted and cried, or laughed good big belly laughs. And sometimes they shopped. Or baked.

Or did nothing at all, with each other.

The support group of eighty year olds cried together as they tried to cope with aging and abuse and partners’ confusions. And they laughed  till they cried again, talking about how ridiculous life could be.

They were the toughest old girls I ever met.

So the TV show is just a TV show.

Entertainment.

In real life

The girls are all right.

©Conni Cartlidge, 2014

Transition

I didn’t understand. I didn’t think I could “get” it. How could someone be born in a boy’s body, but not be a boy. It made no sense to me. But I knew it happened.

So I tried really hard to remember back to my childhood.

How did I feel when I was a little girl?

I clearly recalled thinking how happy I was to be a girl. Many boys I saw were loud and obnoxious. They were supposed to be that way. They were expected to not care about privacy. Locker rooms were a free for all. It disgusted me. I was so happy that I could just be myself, playing with the toys I liked, chatting with my friends, using private stalls in clean washrooms. No towel slapping. No wedgies. No wrestling or roughhousing.  I was so relieved that I was a girl.

Now, a twenty-one year old I know is transitioning. As we sat up late talking, I shared my thoughts with them. And they said, imagine feeling the way I did, but not having a girl’s body. Imagine telling people that you weren’t comfortable with the expectations placed on you, but being told, “you were born with boy parts so you should act like a boy.” No matter how awkward you felt.

And it started to dawn on me…I would have been horrified if someone had expected me to act like a boy. I would not have been able to do it. But I was lucky enough to have the body and the heart of a girl, so different demands were not placed on me.

And my transgender friend then told me about the loneliness of growing up outside of society’s norms. Childhood was sad and adolescence, heartbreaking.  

There was a quiet retreat in to screens and fantasy.

No interactions so no expectations.

Solace in solitude.

Twenty-one years was too long to live this way. Twenty-one years of being misunderstood and ridiculed and hurt and shamed. Twenty-one years of isolation.

Their transition is now complete. As their body heals, it begins to match the soul.  The load is lightened. Life can be crazy and fun and happy and shared! Twenty-one years have past. They are over. 

And my strong friend deserves EVERYTHING.

Twenty-one years is too long.

I think I understand now.

(For Alison, with love and admiration.)


©Conni Cartlidge, 2013

                                                                

Celebrate!