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When we were growing up and would encounter the cruel tongues of other children, we were taught a rhyme designed to assauge our hurt feelings: "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." Who hasn't since learned to prefer the crippling pain of a broken bone over the searing arrow of a distressing word embedded in the heart?

The Bible says that the tongue is impossible to tame, comparing its power to direct the course of our lives to that of a bit in the horse's mouth being used to control its body, or that of a tiny rudder directing the course of a ship. But is it their wielding by the untempered tongue or the substance of the words themselves, be they accidentally discharged in the urgency of a heated moment or eloquently woven with deliberate precision and released with calculating aim, that have the power to heal or to destroy? The inaudible voice of the mute is the same to the hearing ear as the sonorous persuasiveness of the most eloquent tongue to the ear of the deaf. It is development of the language with which we convey thoughts and feelings, and not the ability to "talk" that sets us apart from other animals. An infant can communicate his needs by making sounds, but his ability to make himself understood is very limited until he learns the words to express what he is feeling.

Unfortunately, within the ability to make ourselves understood lies the inherent pitfall of being misunderstood.

I've always been one who could express myself better in writing than in conversation, at least in matters of the heart and soul, but have sometimes had to face the harsh reality that my best efforts to communicate have fallen profoundly short of their intent, sometimes even yielding the opposite result.....which is what brings me to where I am today.

I think it might be in order to preface whatever follows with a confession, of a sort. I don't have a freakin' clue when it comes to effective communication in a relationship once feelings are involved. It isn't logical when you consider that some of my best qualities, as well as professional competencies, are related to beng able to communicate well, both verbally and nonverbally. But once my heart is invested, I seem to chart a course hellbent on destruction. I apparently have a fatal flaw that keeps relationships from working for me. If I had any clue what it was, I'd fix it. I guess that's why I quit trying for so long. Then, after nearly 20 years, I let someone open that door. He led me to the precipace and made me believe I could fly. He took me where I'd never been and showed me the world through new eyes. He gave me hope, restored my faith and woke my heart from its long, dreamless sleep. Then, in an instant he vanished and slammed the door behind him, leaving me in freefall with no escape and no answers....only fruitless speculation as to how I might've fallen victim to my own untimely words.

Don't be too quick to judge me, however. You're obviously no genius in the relationship game either, else you wouldn't be here reading this. There's only so much that can be written off to lack of opportunity. The truth is, anyone over 30 who is still floundering on how to make a relationship work needs to scrap the old playbook and admit he/she is ill-equiped and be willing to try a new approach. Like it or not, no matter how well we have come to terms with the pain experienced in past relationships, it is still intricately interwoven through the fabric of who we are and will influence how we interact with any partner that follows. So also does a partner bring with him his own wounded history. With 20/20 hindsight, I would suggest that a good place to start over is admitting to one another that the rules have changed, and that you don't necessarily know what the new rules are. You might have to make them up as you go along, but this way, you can at least make them up together so you're both playing by the same ones.

The Kiss

No shame feel I

for this most envied

kiss! But joy!

Let others weep

at knowing we

sate our desire

in lips tracing

the lingering lines

of each other's

mouth, of arms

and hands entwined

about each other's

bodies; in this

our kiss, we find

the lingering longing

brought to its surcease--

we, in this, passion

play have found what

all others desire most:

that special someone

with whom to bond!

Let them envy--these

who agonize in solitary

fear. Or let them hope

that they too will

find lips so sweet

to caress all

through the night!

I have allowed myself to be under the control of a certain man that had my feeling and thoughts to be locked away. The number of years (27 to be exact) has flown and drug by. Every year has seemed the same. There was never any respect, love, honesty, caring, ect. ect. shown in return.
Now, I want and need a life of my own. But I don't want to go to fast. As a matter of fact, I'm scared of what is out there. I just don't want to be hurt anymore. I do know that I want true happiness one day, but don't know exactly how to go about it.

I've wasted 32 years. My life is meaningless. I ask GOD all the time why do you keep me here? What purpose do I serve? (only one, and that is being a lung donor to my daughter)

I got on a thought after a conversation with a friend who is a biblical literalist. It's seems like a sort of self check question. Is what you believe influenced by what you can see, or do you view what you see in terms of what you already believe?

Steve and I had so many dreams and made so many wonderful plans for our future. Life was so good and I was happier than I had ever been. My son had some problems adjusting to the move, but he was happy. It meant the world to my son to have such a loving, healthy family and he loved Steve like a dad. Everything was going right and it seemed as though nothing could ever come between us, as I knew this love would last forever!

After living together for 6 months, my world began to tumble down around me. Steve became ill and was admitted to the hospital. We were told that his appendix had ruptured, but everything would be okay after they did surgery. After the surgery, my son and I were at the hospital every day and night. We only left long enough for me to work and my son to attend school. On the 3rd day of Steve's hospitalization, I began to worry, as he was not doing well at all. He began having difficulty breathing and the nurses were neglecting him. Upon my arrival at the hospital that day, Steve told me that they would not even bring him a drink of water.

He could not get out of bed, due to the severe pain he was in and he was also becoming extremely bloated. I talked with the nurses and told them that something wasn't right. They assured me that he was okay and just needed to get out of bed and walk, even though I told them that he could not get out of bed. Like an idiot, I trusted them, as that is what I have been programmed to do.

When I arrived to the hospital for my 2nd visit on the 4th day, Steve was failing fast. By this time, he began talking out of his head and having extreme breathing difficulty. A nurse's aide had put a re-breather mask on him the prior day, but he would not leave it on, telling me that they were trying to kill him. I explained that he had to wear it in order to get the oxygen he needed, but he insisted he could not breathe. Why didn't I "hear" him? I was very worried, but felt the staff knew what they were doing. I left that night, only to be called back an hour later. The nurse said Steve had pulled his IV and was wandering into other patients rooms. My son and I went back to the hospital and spent the night.

In the wee hours of the morning, Steve's breathing was worsening by the minute, and he was losing control of his bodily functions. I went to the nurse's station and told them that his oxygen saturation needed to be checked, as they were not doing this on a regular basis. His sats were down to 40, when they should be between 95-100. I began yelling at the nurses to intubate him; they refused, only telling him to stop panting like a puppy dog. I was irate and in a panic! I could not believe no one was listening to me, as I was running in and out of the room screaming, "SOMEONE PLEASE HELP HIM!" This was the last time Steve would witness my spunk. Apparently the nurse's aid that hooked up the re-breather oxygen mask had not filled the bag with oxygen, he was breathing carbon dioxide. These people that I was supposed to trust were suffocating him!

Steve's life came to an end that morning, and I felt as if my life and his wonderful love had also come to an end. It has taken me almost 3 years to grieve his death and at times I wasn't so sure I would survive. As impossible as it was to realize then, I now know that true love never dies. His physical body may be gone, but his love will live on in my heart forever.

This is a true story that I wrote:


Sometimes in our lives, love blossoms, grows and lasts forever. I was blessed with this amazing love, although the physical aspect only lasted a year and a half. I may never find love again, but I will always have it in my heart because of one very special person. I will always feel blessed to have had the opportunity to be loved by him, and to love him with my whole being.

On a beautiful August day in 2003, love found me when I least expected it. At the time I did not realize what an impact it would ultimately have on my life.

Steve and I met on the Internet and talked for several months before deciding to meet. On that sunny, warm, August day, I had arranged a picnic and boating party for the people I worked with and invited Steve to join us. Surprisingly, he said yes and agreed to meet us there. As my sister and I drove to the shelter where the party was being held, I saw him sitting there at a picnic table. He looked so sweet and a bit nervous as I walked towards him. I introduced myself and felt an instant connection. I was not dressed up or wearing any make-up that day, as I was in my "boating clothes", which consisted of a pair of Capri's, T-shirt and a baseball cap. I was surprised that he even sparked an interest in me.

My bosses grown son was there and asked his mom how long we had been married. He told her that we looked as if we belonged together and was shocked that it was the first time we had me face to face. The comments of that stranger validated the instant feelings I was having for Steve.

I asked Steve if he wanted to ride in the truck with me while I backed the boat trailer into the water. Understand that I had only done that a couple of times and it takes skill and practice, which I did not have. There was a man waiting in line impatiently behind me. He must have felt I was taking too long because he cut me off as I was backing down the ramp with a 2000 pound boat. Oh, was I ticked off! I stopped the truck, jumped out and began yelling at the man. We had several heated words, while Steve was in he truck saying, in his adorable southern accent, "you are going to get my butt kicked!"

After that incident, I thought I had blown it with that sweet man. He must of liked my spunk though; we were a couple from that day on. It still amazes me how quickly we realized we were made for one another. Before he left that evening, he thanked me for asking him to accompany me throughout the day. I intentionally did hat knowing how out of place he must have felt. I fell in love with Steve that day!

Almost a year later, we decided to take the next step in our relationship by moving in together. Steve worked for for and only had 3 years until retirement. I opted to leave my job of 4 years, take my son and move to Louisville to be with him. We rented a beautiful house and made it a wonderful home, even though I did not find a job for 3 months and money was extremely tight.

I had never known a love like that before, and I was finally able to give my son the family I had always dreamed of. We had regular family meetings and did a lot of communicating. We did not have arguments; if we saw things differently, we agreed to disagree and moved on.

My spunk did reappear on a few occasions with his grown son, Steven, however. Steven moved in with us, agreeing to help pay rent and is the reason we had a 3 bedroom house. That boy wouldn't even get a job! This situation definitely did not help with our financial situation. Not only did we have to pick up Steven's share of the rent, we had to feed him too! Steven and I had quite a few disagreements, and I honestly felt he was taking advantage of Steve and I. This became very painful for Steve. He did not want to see or say anything bad about his name sake and first born son, even though he could see what was happening.