Excavation

First is sadness, Shovel after shovel of
Sadness. The tears falling—
And not just the little ones.
Big full tears like
Giant rain drops
Rolling down my cheeks.

Then relief.
The shovel lighter.
The work easier.
Finding my breath
A rhythm carries me
Like making that same shot
Over and over and over
On the basketball court.
Swish…swish…swish. All net.

But then comes anxiety,
My hands shaking as I
Shovel—unsure about
What I am unearthing.
My heart racing
My breath short
My mind spinning.

Eventually anxiety gives way to
More sadness. But this time it is
Sticky with a coating of fear and
Marbled with the fat of rage.
I barely want to touch it
For fear it will consume me.

Periodically, rainstorms
Of confusion drench
My heart and my mind.
Clouding my vision
As I keep shoveling,
Disoriented and desperate
For solid ground.

But the confusion begins
To dissipate, as
Understanding bubbles up.
I begin to see what is
Buried underneath.
The shovel grows lighter.
Things begin to
Make sense.

All along, though, there are
Visitors—friends, seagulls,
Butterflies, kitties, angels,
Jesus—who sit with
Me while I keep digging,
Sometimes digging with me,
Sometimes just sitting.
Reminding me that
I am not alone
I am not crazy
I am ok

My body leads me
Through this, my journey
To freedom.
To freedom.