Coral’s Healing Room at Coralsblog.com 505-269-9242 iwritetohealmyself@gmail.com I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

Emerging from the grave…and it feels so good…

Blog, blog, blogging in my head…and then I sit down to write and it’s gone, gone, gone…

I suppose that sometimes, fleeting thoughts are good…maybe like unanswered prayers…maybe they flutter away because I don’t really need to spend time with them…

My thoughts have been my own worst enemy, for as long as I can remember. Tamara told me this morning…”When you think like that…just stop yourself, and say, ‘this is not reality. Let it go.’” And what a wonderful idea! I will try to put it into better practice. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

This is also how my mind works…someone will say something, maybe even something that seems obvious or abundantly apparent, and it flies around, until eventually, it flies right over my head…and then, someone else, or even the same person, says it differently, and it just clicks and I get it….in a different time, in another moment…it is almost like it’s brand new, and the best advice I have ever heard…

I was in my studio for hours yesterday, like 12 hours, non-stop…with Nahko playing and Taos chillin and a fire burning…and I felt home…a cluttered and neglected home…and my home…and I never thought I would see the day…

I have the most beautiful studio, that I have not even been able to be in, since it was built, for more than a few hours…the sadness and the hurt and the loss was just too much…

My Mom loaned me the money to buy the building, as it sat…no windows, barn doors and no insulation, electrical or finish work…just a shed…and I was elated!!

I have wanted a lofted studio as long as I can remember…almost as long as I wanted the Mohawk…I would spend hours, in parking lots of Home Depot’s, walking through all of the sheds and dreaming…and making plans, for the day I could finally buy my own…

My Mom watched me and when the day finally came, that I had a huge chunk of the money, and yet, I still came up short. My Mom helped me by loaning me the rest, so I could have it delivered right away, and I could pay her back…my Mom saw me and my dream and my passion and that was as wonderful as finally getting my own studio…

Shortly after the studio was delivered, my Dad and I scheduled a weekend together, to do the electrical! Could things get any better? My Mom saw my dream and helped me to make it a reality…and a Daddy Daughter weekend with my Dad…my favorite memories in the world, learning home improvement with my Daddy!!! I was fucking blissed out!!!

Tamara was totally on board and we picked the perfect spot together for it…the perfect paint colors and where to drop electrical…and now, it was in my driveway, and I could see it everyday and dream all I wanted, without stepping foot into the Home Depot parking lot…I finally had my very own!!! And, my Daddy was coming to help me to build it into my dream, starting with dropping electrical…I couldn’t wait! I was so excited! My dream was finally, really manifesting itself…

I went and got all of the materials on the list my Dad made, with the drawing he sketched…fuck man, I was stoked!!! We were scheduled to have our weekend and to begin building my dream, right here, in my own driveway, in the mountains, where I have always wanted to live, where I’ve always known I belonged…my life, in those moments, could not have been better…truly blessed and blissed the fuck out!!! Life was good indeed!

It was Thursday night and we were two days away from Daddy Daughter weekend and I had all of the supplies purchased and ready to go!! Tamara and I had picked piñon all day long and we went to bed, sore and totally exhausted, and so accomplished…and we slept…

Startled awake, out of a dead sleep, my phone was ringing…and my phone never rings that late, and it certainly never rings that late with my Dads cell phone number in the caller ID…my Dad was following the ambulance to the ER. my Mom had a stroke and had fallen and could not get back up…

I don’t know if you have ever had a call like that…if you have, you already know…and you don’t knowit, in that moment, but your life, as you know it, will never, ever be the same again…

My Mom was to retire from a job that she had come to detest on Friday, after 23, 24…years…the exact number just escaped me…anyway, it was a long time served, with pay capped years before…Friday was her freedom ride, from a hell that imprisioned her for all of those years…My Mom did all of that time, in hell for Shawn and I and for she and my Dad…for the benefits and stock, so they could enjoy their retirement, and so Shawn and I would always be taken care of, after they passed away…and tomorrow was to be her “get out of jail free card”…

Only not…My Mom didn’t have a stroke…my Mom had Stage four breast cancer, with metastasis to her liver, her lungs and her brain.

My Mom never made it back to work to retire or to her little retirement celebration that I had planned for just she and I…that was all she wanted..and for my Dad to stop by if he got off of work early…my Mom died, two months later..

When my Mom realized that she just was not going to make it, she sat with me in her loveseat and she asked me what my dream was for my art studio…detail by detail, I told her, because I had been dreaming of this for almost a lifetime…and I had it all imagined and already built in my mind, for many years..

My Mom hired a contractor and he started work immediately, and worked his ass of in the cold and the wind and the snow…and he worked and he worked some more…

My Moms last visit, we stood under the porch of the studio…none of the work had begun the last time she saw it. My Mom was never able to come out again…I showed her pictures, and Tamara took a video of the progress, and she died before it was completed…and I died inside too…

I laid right down there beside my Mom, and I fucking died too…and only in small glimmers and in brief glimpses, have I shown many signs of returning…I could not hardly step foot in that beautiful studio…I tried and I tried and I tried some more…I could not step foot back into myself or my life, other than to do my work…because my clients needed me, and I needed them too…

I wanted to name the studio, Studio Sherry…and my Mom was not having it, so I asked her what she thought it should be named, and she named it Studio Birmingham, after the Tracy Lawrence song, Paint Me A Birmingham.

We took one last trip to Houston, as a family, before my Mom died, and she asked me to play that song over and over and over again…and I did…

My Mom said that I would paint Some Birmingham’s myself someday…with my heart crushed, I couldn’t even paint my own fucking name…and I could see she had become delusional with her brain tumor…I could not breathe anymore, let alone ever amount to anyone that anyone would want to buy “art” from…

My Mom also said that I would write books and stand in front of large crowds and do great things…maybe even do some stand up comedy (and she even gave me permission, to use her in my material…and I will…not to worry Mom, you’ve given me some great stuff!)

I always believed her…somewhere deep, deep inside…I knew she was right. I am here to do great work…to write, to paint…to heal and to help others to heal…and to love and to be loved…

So, yesterday, with all of my heart, and with my Service Dog right by my side, we headed down to the studio, to begin to heal…to allow the healing…and we painted, and we painted and we painted some more…

My Mom was with us all day, just like she promised and it was wonderful! I finally know that I will be okay…because I am not dead really, and neither is my Mom, really…and neither is the one that you’ve lost, that you cannot live without…

As I emerge from the spot in her grave that I have been lying in, next to her,since the day we buried her, I realize that she has returned to the place from where she came…she is earth again….and I recognize her just fine…I mean, I don’t see her, I feel her and know her and love her so deeply, that I just know her…

I am covered in dirt and I am not dirt really, at least not yet. I am a hot fucking mess, but I am not fucking dead…and so I stand up and pull myself back to the surface…I neatly  place the dirt back over her resting spot and I shake myself off and I my dirt there also…

Holy shit…I am not dead! I really, really am not dead…I am here, now. I am right here and I can feel me pinching me…

As I turn and look back at the place where I have been lying for the past 25 months, I realize why I have been so fucking cold…chilled to the bone, where I’ve been completely unable to get warm…and stiff and sore and fucking lifeless…I was, truly, for all intensive purposes, lying right there next to her…because I had no idea how to be here, without her…

I am back and I will paint and I will draw and I will write and my work will take on dimensions that even I, cannot fathom…it is already beginning and I can feel it welling up inside of me…I am alive and I am going to live! I hope you will join me…I really, really do…

I believe in the good things coming!

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.