Memory grinds and grinds; a mortar and pestle

Things come full circle. I have written this before.

The Past intersects with the Present and the Future is imprinted.

A man was killed last night in the dirt lot north of my fathers old gas station. He was rushed to Denver General. He did not make it.

He is dead.

That dirt lot was my yard.

Denver General was where I found my mother on a gurney in a hallway that last night she ever took a drink. I found my mother on a gurney in a hallway the day before I approved a medical detox.

A man was killed in my yard last night.

He was on a gurney at Denver General.

I remember this:

Blood pooled on the asphalt; my father’s blood pooled; police lights in the window of the gas station.

*******************************

Blood is shed.                  390 North Main has seen more than its fair share.                        So have I.

A man is dead. A man is in custody. Families lives upended.

Again.

A man is dead; Mommy and Daddy too.

I am in custody of things that come full circle.

*********************************

I read the twitter feed from my sister late last night. I could not sleep and checked my email. The news traveled from the Denver Post to England and into my bedroom.

The news arrived and was not alone. Triggers. PTSD settled in for the long night and who knows when it will take flight again.

Leave me be.

*********************

Memory grinds and grinds; a mortar and pestle

making something out of nothing

breaking this

down

to that.

PTSD.

Peace?  Not so much….

Jen

*********************

7 News * Brighton man dies as wife watches

~ by Step On a Crack on April 2, 2012.

18 Responses to “Memory grinds and grinds; a mortar and pestle”

  1. Oh honey. More kids without moms and dads. Too much life lost … too much blood drained. IT IS draining, and a GRINDING FULL CIRCLE of life.

    How may i “cheer you up” … 🙂 . You know i like PITH. 😉

    LOVE MEL XOXOX

    Hang tough wee lady, bit heart!

    Like

  2. BIG HEART. Golly, i sure don’t pay much attention to my fingers, or my eyesight, for that matter.
    thinking of you …

    Like

  3. […] Memory Grinds and Grinds * A Mortar and Pestle […]

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  4. PTSD is crazy. I could not It sleep at 5 in the morning. Insomnia twitter fix. 390 rang small bells … So little when we left. Seeing a video today of the dirt by the forecourt where we use to plant flowers. Like Bee and I did yesterday. Small petrol crisis here… Queues down the road blocking traffic. Old women storing petrol in jam jars, burning down houses. More memories. There is always tonight to sleep.

    Like

    • Dear Andrea,

      You were so little and so much like our Sweet Baby Bee! I have so many fond memories of you: your goofy hair, your questions questions questions till I thought I would lose my mind. I remember holding you. I remember brushing the hair out of your beautiful face as you slept. No Gas. No Gas. and the Threats from the young punks, “Gas for Free old man….or else…” Or else came more than once and Daddy never gave in. Remember putting the sign out “No Gas Today”?

      You are right. tonight we sleep.

      I adore you Art! Always have; always will. We have been through rough times and we have come out the other side. yes we have. We can COMMUNICATE now. We can be whole

      Love, Jen

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      • My Bee. Your boymanboy. For them memories of springtime gardening will be about life, growth, and loving mothers. That is it. No loud noise no fear no anger. No looking over their shoulder. Boy oh boy we have come out the other side. Hopefully our babies will be the be the winners.

        Like

      • Dear Art!

        Yes. Our kids have a totally different life. Thank God…

        Love so much Love,

        Jen

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  5. So sorry. So very, very sorry. Praying for your peace. ❤

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    • Dear Kathy,

      Thank you; for being here and for being YOU! I have to say the murder has thrown me. There is a news video attached to the article and I would have been better off NOT looking at it. I know there is a gift in here somewhere. I am devastated for the families involved. Growing up in a tough (putting it mildly…) neighborhood was both a blessing and a curse. It seems the Barrio has not changed since my days there. Sad. Poverty will do that.

      Thank you for the prayers!

      XO Jen

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  6. Peace is there, always waiting for you. Writing these words will usher it to you again. xo

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    • Dear Debby, I was a total mess this morning and writing helped so much. It is not all the way out and gone; but some of the serious sting is. You are right, as always. Writing is cathartic.

      XO Jen

      Like

  7. I am so sorry Jen. Will ramp up the prayers today. Right now.

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    • Dear Heidi! I can feel those Powerful Prayers all over the place! Thank you…

      I can’t help but think of the families who are now living with this. These cycles; addiction, poverty, violence…. Tough to break. and sad, so damn sad.

      XO Jen

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  8. Dear Jen –
    Two worlds, yesterday and a life time ago, colliding. Now wonder the triggers rushed you.
    My heart hurts for all of you. For the family you were and weren’t. For the return of old grief.
    And for the family who now knows the terror of new grief.
    You’re all in my prayers tonight.
    Debbie

    Like

  9. […] I get scared. The murder in the news yesterday, another act of violence at my dad’s old station sent me […]

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  10. I’m truly sorry.. I believe there are places in this world so ingrained with pain that it loops.. and loops. and history does repeat.
    It is a very.. I’m stuck for words. I know where I grew up and I see it in my mind’s eye and am haunted. I see the way the past is being grown over and strangled and I’m haunted more. I see the way the land is reclaiming it as it’s own, and i feel a little bit of peace. Where i lived, the land IS relcaiming it, growing up around it, making the house rot more and sink into it’s own beginnings of a sinkhole and that is very apt even though it plays into the nightmares for me
    I hope you someday do find peace.
    *hugs*

    Like

    • Thank you SO much for being here and for THIS! I know what you mean. Place can be haunted. I have been back and it is chilling.

      Man! You are a Poet! I love the description of your Haunted Place falling into a sink hole. I just love the language and the imagery AND I can just imagine how that would only add another layer of pain to the nightmare. I am so sorry!

      I think Peace is here. I think that when something triggers the memories of the place it just brings me closer to closure. I will say that when you grow up f**ed up you really don’t know it. It isn’t until later that it hits.

      I am going to visualize a SinkHole….

      Peace to you my friend, Jen

      Like

      • i actually never thought of it that way, that i could be writing poetry, I don’t think of myself as a poet.
        words are so powerful arent they?
        you are right about triggering it brings closure closer – we have to go through to get through.
        a friend who visited my old home with me say “nature has a way of making things good” and i agree. It was wiping out the past in it’s own way.
        do you fear the changes? i do.. even though it’s so good to be here in the future and away from that nightmare I get pangs of fear about the places, horrible and haunted as they are, no longer being there or being different, and I don’t understand that!
        Peace and blessings xox

        Like

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