Once I had three legged stool that held my entire universe. One leg was my religion and belief in the Creator I called G-d, the other was my mother, and the third was my children. It has been almost a year ago since the first leg was broken from my precious stool, the one that was my faith and belief. It seems almost ridiculous to tell you that the break was begun by one of my children, the third leg. They did not actually take it from me as much as inflict a severe break on it. How could they take something so precious as faith and belief from me when all my life no one could have done this to me you may wonder? I am not so sure myself. Perhaps I place too much value on this young one's opinion. Perhaps I was never so sure of my faith to begin with. I did try to hold on for a time afterward and refused to give up until...until the second leg was broken and removed from me, the leg that was my mother. She left me and this planet 10 months ago and the loss is irrevocably abysmal. This, I suppose, was the final blow to my wavering faith. I was and am still very angry. I was and still am haunted by dreams and tears. How could I feel so abandoned? How could I have reached this point in my life? There is much that has led me to this point. Now I feel like a lost child searching for home. My universe has tumbled and now I know not what to do, and thus I have been for almost a year. A year of loneliness and un-surety, of tears and sadness.
And what of the third leg you ask? Thankfully, I am most blessed among mothers and have the most amazing children that have come forth from my womb. They love and accept me, although I am sure they do not understand me. They respect and honor me and there is little if anything more I could or dare ask for from them. But alas, a one legged stool can hold naught of the universe I once cherished. They are most precious to me, but they need me in a far different capacity than they once did.
I once defined myself wholly as Mother and Daughter and now...now those definitions have slipped through my fingers like sand. I must recreate and redefine who I am. If I fail to do this I feel I shall continue my journey on planet earth sleepwalking, even as the living dead.
I stand here in the darkness holding my broken stool and see naught of what lies ahead. Am I imagining a vioce that whispers, ahead? I too am as Pandora, broken and fearful, I am peering into my box, reaching in and searching for Hope.